Sex with a vampire? Don’t mind if I do.
Sex with vampires always seemed like a fun thing to do.
Dr Who and the ‘Green death’ had me hiding behind the sofa terrified, but I never hid from vampires, wore a crucifix or dabbed garlic behind my ears. I was always quite keen to get caught and ravished.
Having sex with vampires requires little effort on the part of the lady. You’re in bed asleep, awakened abruptly by the wafting of curtains and the smoke through the keyhole effect. All the foreplay that’s required is to look wide eyed; gasp put a delicate hand to your swan like neck, coquettishly protecting it, whilst falling back against the pillows to allow easy arterial access.
From what I understand vampires make good husbands. Keen on long lasting permanent relationships, they bring centuries of experience and amazing stamina. No fear of a beer belly on that slim line eternally youthful body. No need to cook, and no garlic breath. Like the British royal family, all vampires seem to have castles, coaches and horses (handy for wedding hire) and various staff. Unlike the royals, vampires prefer the swirling luxury of satin lined velvet than a sturdy Harris Tweed, making them far more pleasant to be molested by.
But my concerns start here. Firstly, I’m an experienced lady, and I know what I like. Nipping and nibbling will only get a girl so far. Do vampires have willies that work? Are vampires like disposable ice-cube bags? You have to fill them with liquid then seal the top to make them firm? Do they suck the blood in at one end, and then you need to wait what, 10 mins, for it to trickle down to their nether regions? Will you need to stop half way through to top up? As we know, mortal men do not have enough blood to work an erection and brain simultaneously. So will pillow talk be impossible whilst Dracula is busily sucking and fucking?
To be honest, I’d only want to be a Bridesmaid of Dracula never the bride. Immortality is just too much commitment for me in one lifetime. Vampires come into the ‘fat girls and mopeds’ category. Fun to ride, but you wouldn’t want your mates to see you with one.
And it’s worse these days. Things have changed in the vampire stakes. The Prince of Darkness will be spinning in his grave. Well, until sunset. Too much oestrogen in the blood maybe, but vampires seem to have become hooked on cosmetic surgery and personal development.
Just look at the proof. The traditional blood sucker of the 1920 looked like Graf Van Orlock in Nosferatu. Interesting for manicurists, but not oozing sex appeal and still a virgin at 743.
The evils of Hollywood were visited on the undead just as they were the barely alive, and by 1958 vampires were taller, leaner and far more confident with the ladies. Christopher Lee taught James Bond everything he knew in the rough, man-handling of starlets department. Lee, the original sexual predator showed ladies that it was ok to enjoy blood trickling into your cleavage and ruining your nightie.
The 1980’s was a tipping point for the sexiness of the body conscious immortals . Like Michael Jackson they just didn’t know when to stop. The Lost Boys and Near Dark were a sign of things to come. Sexy sophisticated harbingers’ of doom were metamorphosing into annoying bike riding teenagers with untidy hair.
Gary Oldman mooned around after Winona Ryder in a selection of groovy sunglasses throughout the 90’s, whilst Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise bitched and swooned like a pair of queens in Interview with a vampire. Blade was a cool / hot dude, but all that struggling with his conscience and self medicating with his liquid silver and garlic dip puts a girl right off.
Then just when I think my lust for vampires has reached an all-time low…. They turn into girls! Well, the one dressed in tin can lids in the Queen of the Damned. Please.
I feel myself reaching for my crucifix. No longer for protection, but all the real kinky sex is now going on in the Catholic Church. The time has come to change sides.
The future of debauched vampire sex has been brought to its knees, and one word sums up why. ‘Twilight’.
Not even ‘midnight’ or the ‘dead of night’ like it used to be, but ‘Twilight’. When it’s still safe for the under 10’s to ride a push bike to the shops. Just before the streetlights turn on.
The divine trinity must be on high having a right laugh. Eternity my arse. The vampires couldn’t keep up the wickedness for a century. After all the wooden stakes, holy water, silver and consecrated sprinkles, the evil of vampirism has been turned to ash by teenage girls and merchandising.
There is not one of the cast of Twilight I would get my veins out for. Not that they would be interested, preferring to play baseball and search for a wifi connection in the catacombs. Amoral and abstaining, a dull boy band whos’ acts of wanton wickedness are no worse than a dog stealing a sausage.
So, while I sit in church watching men in dresses chase small boys I pray hard for a return of the Prince of Darkness. I watch patiently from the cliffs for the arrival of the ghost ship, bringing the interred remains of the Master from Transylvania. But I fear I have missed my chance for sticky depraved vampire sex. All that is left for me is to open my browser and search for dating sites for the hairy and horned. Surly there must still be an American werewolf in London?
Madam Becky xxxx