Man's Natural Predator

It had been two days since Melinda’s encounter with the Count.  She sat in her one bed flat, vacantly staring at the TV, the room dark, only lit by the natural light from outside.  Wearing just her knickers and her bra, she couldn’t understand why she was still feeling so hot. Wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, she swung her legs over the armchair, turning her head to look over her shoulder to watch the TV.  As she looked at the small portable TV, the picture seemed to go out of focus and become very fuzzy for a brief second and then slowly refocus.

Licking her lips she acknowledged she was very thirsty but found it strange she did not crave water. Licking her lips one more time, she moved her tongue across her front teeth.  Pausing for a second, she repeated the exercise and focused her tongue’s attention on her K9 region. Feeling an abnormally sharp pointed K9, she tried to recall the last time she checked her teeth. Paying no further attention, she gently closed her eyes in hope that this would ease her pounding headache.

Braving to open her eyes she looked at her hands.  She noticed that they were shaking quite vigorously. Her combined symptoms did not really worry her, as she had experienced many a bad withdrawal before.  The only real difference was she did not feel the urge to tear the flat apart to find a fix.  

“I feel like crap.” she softly spoke under her breath thinking if she would be able to work later that night. Closing her eyes again she heard a distant voice in the middle of her head say,

“Don’t fight it Melinda, it won’t be long, soon you will feel invincible.”

For a moment her headache cleared. As it did a clear mental picture of the Count filled her mind.

Startled by this image, she sat bolt upright from her slumped couch potato like posture. 

Taking in a large gulp of air, her face became stricken with fear, as she worked out that this was no bad come down.

After taking a long cool shower, Melinda had managed to calm her excessive sweating.  Wearing a mini skirt, thigh length boots and a cropped vest, she stood in her usual place on Vauxhall Street.  Looking at her watch she acknowledged that most bars would be chucking people out and prepared her posture ready for the next kerb crawler.  Watching the body language of the oncoming cars, she could normally correctly guess which cars would stop.  A Porsche Boxster showed the tell tell signs, Melinda waited patiently.  As the car slowed to a standstill, the driver lowered the passenger window and lent across the passenger’s seat.

“How much to suck me plums?”

Whilst Melinda thought of her answer, she also thought,

‘Why is it always the rich ones who feel it necessary to be rude and make her feel like scum?’

“For you sweetheart, only £50.00.”

“Sounds like a deal, hop in.”