Attack of the Sexy Teenage Vampires
By Tom Lichtenberg
“Grubby animals!” he said. “Just look at them, crawling all over the place like vermin. They disgust me.”
“Good they don’t feel the same about you,” she gave him a look.
‘They would if they knew,” he countered, but he knew it would never occur. To them he was only a boy, or else a young man, a little thing to notice, admire and want. The same with her. Together they’d been around long enough to sense, even to smell the meagerest whiffs of attraction.
“The one in the suit,” he said.
“Is mine,” she quickly offered up. This game they played. How fast they could know. Any man or any woman might be a target for the boy or else for the girl. It was important to know which, because in that knowledge lay the whole of the tactic. Plus, there were different methodologies of approach. Most were resistant to the simple and direct. You had to play games with these creatures. You had to be shy or be bold, be quick or be slow, be discreet or be flamboyant. Some could never be coaxed from their shells. Others would leap at the slightest opportunity. For example, the one in the suit. This one was hiding his secrets. He’d been alone for many years now but worked hard at trying not to show it. Already balding a bit and putting on weight, he went through a rigorous exercise routine to keep his middle-age years a little at bay. Up on the streets he walked with a purpose, eyes fixed on a distant destination. This way the muggers would not draw near. Never let them see a moment’s hesitation. Hadn’t he been through the gauntlet in his time? Hadn’t he felt the blade of knife on throat? Not to be caught off guard, and the same was true for love; burned once, burned twice and burned again but after that it was going to take a lot for him to even twitch at a hint of an interest. What he didn’t know about himself was something the seemingly young girl could tell. He thought he was still twenty four. That meant bait. That meant it was in his mind that she – what was she? seventeen? – might actually be in his range.
“But worth it?” the girl suggested doubt.
“Thin blood,” the boy agreed. All this while waiting for the train that never came, the N-Judah line at rush hour. The cluster of beasts thickened while the youths sat on the round stone slab selecting meat as if it was their personal Mongolian barbecue stand. The one in the suit had no idea and never would.
“Lady Perfume,” the girl sniffed out.
“Nice flesh,” the boy said, inspecting the flabby arms. He liked to see them wobble about. It meant for easy pickings.
“Keep your teeth in,” the girl advised as she observed some tightening of his brow.
“Share and share alike,” he reminded her. Teeth were out of date. Nowadays the talent used a needle, just a prick is all it took. They had high tech drainage power these days, could pull half a pint in seconds flat. It didn’t take much. The old school operators worked alone but you could spot them easily. Rags. Bad hair. You’ve got to keep up with the times. You need to go above ground and get some fresh air and let the wind take the stench of the station off of yourself. A pro needs to travel, keep moving around. You can’t keep haunting the same old locales. You’ll be spotted, too easily. They have cameras and stuff these days, old man. No loitering, and stay on your toes.
These two made it their business to see the world, although they had a definite preference for certain coastal American cities. It was the menu, mainly, which provided variety, taste and substance. You can’t have the same old filling cow-fed obesity all of the time, a trend so dominant they now rode the rails right across the heartland, never even stopping, and forget about the south. Don’t even go there, child.
“Pick of the litter,” Andy announced, winking off to his right.
“Diamond clad dinner,” she clicked, and on her feet went straight for the prize. Tall young man, looked army, like a fighter, with a tattoo on his neck that practically declared himself food. She, a scrawny little thing, all pale and black, sporting that retro Goth thing those days, even with a sapphire stud pierced through her cheek, worked her way towards him. He, big man, heaving that duffel bag over his shoulder like he really was going off to war that very minute, was looking above the crowd. From his height it was like a sea of evening hairdos all coming undone. Lord of all he did survey.
The boy followed Anne as she made her approach. This was going to be fun. Was she going to step on the guy’s foot or bump against his knee? Had to make herself known to him somehow. He’d never notice that tiny thing down there. Ooh, she did one even better. A hand so careless brushing up against ass and holding, hold it right there for just a moment. The apparently awkward looking-up chagrin. The looking-down what’s that? Oh, that!
“Sorry,” she barely whispered. He had to lower his head to catch it.
“Come again?” he asked in his husky military man way.
“It’s just so crowded,” she shrugged but touching him again with the same hand, this time on the side of the leg just below the belt. He had to look down there at the fingernails painted the same as the stud, and didn’t he notice some eyeliner sparkles that color as well? Yes, she had a grace, and the thing was, he could have snapped her in two and that was definitely a part of it. He was turning, and as he turned, the boy did his thing, a stick and move jab with the point that would have made any old heavyweight proud. Big boy never felt it. Big man was all attention to the girl and she was now gliding away, just vaguely, peeling off into the crowd that somehow became a herd to the man, crude stupid beasts that were blocking his way to this catch and then wouldn’t you know it, the stupid N-Judah arrives, and army boy has to go catch his train. For two whole stops he thinks about her and what could have been, and then there is this redhead getting on at Van Ness.
“A-B positive,” the boy says, licking the glass.
“Give me some of that,” she grabs it from him and takes a long draw.
“Delicious,” she says with a smile.