Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers Read Online Free PDF Page B

selecting the perfect ensemble for the evening. I am very glad that midriff-baring fashions have come back into vogue, because I have a spectacular waistline and I just don’t get enough chances to show it off. Not wanting to be subtle, I chose my favorite hip-hugging, tight jeans and a skin-caressing, low-cut lavender top, which accented the purple of my eyes. Plus, for extra ammunition, I added an amethyst drop necklace, which dangled seductively in my ample cleavage.
    So, after completing my shower and the requisite hours of primping in front of the mirror – guess which other vampire myth just went out the window? – and adorning myself in the pre-selected garments, I materialized outside so I could look down on the city from my lofty perch and allow myself to be compelled to the physical location of the new signal that I’d perceived earlier.
    It turns out the signal was beaming from the heart of the city.
    One more little aside about Boulder.
    Years ago the Pearl Street Mall – the trendy, downtown pedestrian shopping area – was filled with charming, funky boutiques, stores, and galleries. Now the Mall is populated with versions of The Gap, Starbucks, and other mundane cookie-cutter franchises. By the way, have you noticed that women’s clothing has been designed to make grown females look like little boys? When did that happen? Oh, well. Even so, I’m sure no one would ever mistake me for an adolescent male.
    So I closed my eyes and thought myself, still in pure energy form, to the source of the signal. And there he was.
    What is it about me and musicians?
    Think of the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen and then elevate him to god status. That’s close to being a good description of this delectable hunk of manhood.
    And, while I hesitate to burst your bubble if you’ve visualized someone with different characteristics than I’m about to describe, I will, of course, do it anyway. You’ll just have to trust that my vampire senses are able to truly appreciate the subtle and apparent shadings of human flesh in a way that is beyond your limited imaginations.
    Picture a funky rock and roll club. Well, perhaps that’s not fair because in most parts of the country a funky rock and roll club might bring to mind biker guys with Harley T-shirts, leather vests, and chains. But in Boulder where you can be arrested for not being young, slender, trendy and beautiful, rock and roll clubs have a completely unique ambiance. Rather bland, actually. But back to picturing the place. Just do the best you can.
    You couldn’t miss the stage. It took up the entire back wall of the establishment. Painted in what used to be called sparkling psychedelic colors, it was decked out with flashing lights of every hue, intensity, and type. Standing dead center stage was Himself. Later to be identified as Niven St. Clair. Even now, my canines elongate at the very mention of his name. He was a vision in tight jeans and a form-hugging shirt which showed off his impressive, well-toned upper chest and arms while it expressed a quote by Albert Einstein.
    Eye candy and a sense of the absurd, as well. Perfect.
    I walked in the door just in time to watch Niven strap on his electric guitar, step close to the microphone, and begin his performance. Standing around him on the stage were various other musicians, but I can’t seem to remember one detail about any of them. Niven simply took up all my attention.
    He was tall. 6’3”, maybe. His athletic-looking, lanky frame had a fluidity that belonged to a dancer or a gymnast – someone who was accustomed to moving. I was mesmerized by the sway of his hips as he lost himself in his music. The sound of his voice transported me directly to my damp-crotch version of vampire heaven. And then there was his hair. A-fucking-mazing. Rich, dark brown tresses that flowed down his back to his waist. Thick and shiny and healthy. Begging to be grabbed as it tumbled down onto me while we had passionate, sweaty