Her outfit, what little of it there is, is a jet-black leather halter top with a leather micro mini skirt. Nine-inch—okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating—red, fuck-me—her words, not mine—pumps complete her outfit. They’re so tacky, but hey, it’s Halloween. When she smiles, which she hasn’t since arriving at the loft, she has realistic vampire fangs, which would scare away any john in a heartbeat. But she loves the look, and it’s not like any of her co-workers will see her, so that’s all that matters.
Kevin, who at the moment is in the main living room, is dressed as Frankenstein. He’s Frank and she’s Frank’s vampy slut. A perfect match.
“Earth to Dora! Step into the fucking dress.” So much for her effort in curtailing the language.
“Slutty Julie, language, please?”
“You would make anyone cuss. Let me button you up. They could have put a zipper and put fucking fake buttons on top. There must be a hundred,” she complains.
Now some people would think from Julie’s tone that she hates to do things for me, but no, she loves me. She just shows it in a different way than most people. She’s kind, giving and a sweetheart,—oh hell, who am I kidding? She’s a pain in the butt.
“There, done. You can handle your shoes, right?” she asks as she walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I found the perfect shoes to match the color of the dress. They’re not Victorian, but they won’t be seen, as the dress sweeps the floor when I walk or stand. But they match even though they’re hidden. Mine are not “nine” inches, but a sensible two. Walking out into the common living room, I take a seat by Frankie waiting for the slut to finish in the bathroom.
We can hear the music as soon as the elevator opens on the top floor of the majorly upscale hotel. A long hallway with burgundy—sink-your-heels-in plush—carpet leads up to a door at the end of the hall.
We’re late—half an hour, to be precise. All because Julie rubbed her eye and her fake eyelash fell in the sink. Kevin, aka Frank, had to run to their apartment and get the glue to put it back on, which for some reason was harder for her to do the second time around. But it’s fashionable to be late, right?
So here we are, and all I want to do is turn around and go to a normal party where people are only known to each other. Julie’s radar picks up on my hesitation and she grabs my long, white-gloved arm and pulls me down the hall. The walls are mirrored, so I glance at myself and then relax as I remember I’m masked, and thus anonymous. I gently touch my hair that I was going to leave down, but Julie pulled it up for me and produced a tiara, which is nestled in the middle. I feel like a princess.
As we approach, the doors magically open, and I look up and see one of those security cameras in each corner above the door. No magic, just someone manning the cameras. As we enter, the party is indescribable, a definite system overload. Yes, appropriate scary music, decorations and a mass of dressed-up party-goers. Even the waiters are dressed up in Grecian togas, sandals and laurel headbands.
Within seconds, Julie loses her grip on my arm and Frank and Slutty Vamp are sucked into the crowd. Great, just great. Maybe an escape should happen. I turn to leave right before I feel a hand wrap around my wrist, and I’m pulled onto a marble dance floor. I turn back and find myself facing a topless construction worker with eighteen abs, or maybe twenty. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and tight jeans with pristine work boots that completely make his outfit seem phony. Anyone knows a construction worker doesn’t have dirt-free and scuff-free boots. It’s a slow dance, so he pulls me closer and starts humming in my ear. His cologne assaults my nose, making me want to sneeze as my eyes water. I definitely need unpolluted air right now, and just as I think it, it happens. I’m pulled away from construction man and into the arms of a vampire, whose devilish grin and wicked teeth make me shiver. His cologne, thank goodness, is subtle and his arms feel comfy.
“Do you come here often?” His corny fake Transylvanian accent whispering in my ear makes me giggle. “I vant to drink your blood. Your neck is begging to be bitten.”
He continues his corny lines, making me laugh loudly, which unfortunately for me, happens at the same time the music stops. I feel a thousand eyes staring at me. Geez, who knew laughing was prohibited at a monster’s ball? The music starts up again and I turn my head to find that Mr. Vamp has disappeared and has been replaced by a half-mummy, half-zombie. It’s kinda cool, and since it’s a fast song, I get to look all I want.
The costume must have cost a pretty penny. It looks like someone really cut an actual mummy and a zombie in half before fusing them seamlessly together. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy my last dancing partner, Mr. I Want to Drink Your Blood, pouting with his arms crossed, staring straight at me. Is it wrong of me to feel a little satisfaction at him wanting little ol’ me? I think not.
The music ends and a hush falls over the crowd. They all look at the entrance to the huge room. I stand on my tiptoes to see what’s causing all of the commotion. The crowd parts, and I see three identically dressed, all in white…Musketeers? I say this because of the tight pants, elaborate white capes with a crest on the left side, high black boots, realistic swords, a blousy undershirt, and cavalier-looking white hats with a huge black feather sticking out the back. Their faces are covered with a full cloth mask with only their lips and eyes showing, definitely creepy and theatrical at the same time.
“Great, the Modelteers are here. The party’s finally started!” a voice yells.
The crowd roars. Yep, light bulb goes on as Julie stands beside me, grinning.
“Aren’t they something?” She moves in closer so I can hear.
“Show-stoppers for sure. These guys love to perform. Maybe they missed their calling and should have chosen acting.”
“I know I would pay to see them in a movie.” Julie seems to have missed my sarcasm and has gone over to the dark side with everyone else in the room.
“I’m off to pee.”
Julie just nods her head.
“Excuse me, could you direct me to the bathroom?” I ask a waiter juggling a full tray of drinks.
“Hallway at the back. Turn right and you can’t miss it.” He smiles and then moves on—delightful butt, muscular arms, and all.
It takes a few minutes to reach my destination, dodging clusters of gyrating bodies. When I had tried on my costume, my first thought had been how I would actually go to the bathroom. But low and behold, the skirt is velcroed on. I quickly peel it off and toss in over the door. The slip I’m wearing underneath is easily raised and I finish in record time. Leaving my skirt on the door, I wash my hands, not having to touch anything while doing so. Modern technology amazes me. When the towel machine dispenses its prescribed item with a wave of my hand, I wonder why we don’t have them in our loft. I grab my skirt and go to put it back on when the bathroom is suddenly filled with a group of Amazon women in various costumes and a cloud of obnoxious expensive perfume.
I exit the room and stop in the hallway to put my skirt back on, but before I have a chance, I look up and see one of the Modelteers standing in front of me. He bows and then takes my left hand and kisses it. He straightens up and his mouth pulls up in a grin.
Then I’m gently pushed up against the wall. My skirt falls to the floor and his mouth meets mine—oh lord, he tastes like peppermint—but that thought quickly disappears as his arms pull me closer. My heart can’t beat any faster without giving out. I try to keep my eyes open, but they fall as his lips place feverish kisses around mine. His body is hard against mine, and I feel his tongue lick my lips. I moan and his tongue plunges inside my mouth. My whole body goes into a total meltdown. I want to wrap my legs around his waist as his tongue wildly mates with mine, but my legs are like jelly, and I know his arms are the only way I’m still standing. His hands roam up and down my back, pulling me so close I can feel his apparent desire as another moan rips from his throat.