Friday, 29 December 2017


I can't remember much
Except for the sudden lurch
Of that soggy organ in my chest

The one covered by my
Carefully revealed breasts
(not too much, just enough to entice)

It all tasted of smoke and beer
Nicotine-scented, horned
Like a steer, bristly as a hog.

I saw it all through a fog
Of mascara and horror
Felt the hook of the song

As chance would have it
Ironical sing-along
From the Good Book

Oh Lord Oh Lord
A stuttering song
And then I felt the bullet

It slapped right through it
And the heart thing mangled
And dangled and jangled

I thank thee, Lord I'm a country girl,
All for Birth and Gun Control
Into thy hands I commend my soul


Marching Song Of The Little Mermaid

Trudging along
Walking that mile.

And yep
You betcha
My feet hurt;
And the shards
Of my heart
Sticking out
Shish kebabed
On my ribs
Sure sting.

But I'm trudging along
Cause I promised.

And though
I'm weak,
My word
Is my bond,
My one legacy.
My word
Is strong
And I plod on.

I'm trudging along
And I fake that smile.

Cause I know
It will soak in
And lighten
My load.
The words
They spoke
That gift of hope
Makes it so.

I'm skipping along
Grunting a song

And that thin
Ruby trail
Will veil where
I ended and started,
Hide where
I faltered,
Traded my choice,
And gave up my voice.


Friday, 22 December 2017


i want
i want
he moans
and in my head
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

i stand
and cock my hip,
tits high and toned,
hair tousled
slightly stoned:

first customer
has purple lips
fat and shiny
with sequins
of spit.

i want
i want
he moans
and in my head
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

after he's done,
uncle var-var comes
takes my money
bites my cheek
fucks me
and hits me
when i weep

i want
i want
he moans
and in my head
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

it's all my fault
for being weak
for being afraid
to speak, to say
"no...i wont go"
when papa said:
"you go to work
it is far, but i spoke
to uncle var-var,
there's 6 of you
and i can't cope"

and so that night
when i felt him grope
i thought:
at least there
i will have hope;
it can't be worse
than this curse
of hearing
my father moan:

i want
i want
and in the next bed
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

Manuela Cardiga

Sunday, 10 December 2017


the thief of words
the lurking killer
of layered worlds

let us deny it
welcome the liar
make space for it
by that inner fire

come, my dear
pour that tea
let us set aspired
desired dreams aside,

dulled but free
we have no schemes
to shatter, no stars
that matter out of reach.

pour that tea, and look!
the tea-leaves scatter
porcelain slips and
heart's fragility will shatter


Saturday, 9 December 2017

And so is science servant to Art, a follower and not a leader;
because we crazies can see the curving shape of a galaxy as a lovely equation in blue, and when mathematics fails to define that hue, physicists kneel to poets.


i skipped the rain
slipped past
the teardrops
of heaven's pain

i fled again
under opened palms
of sheltering hands
of loving friends

i fled but met
that pain again
as memory was gain
again, again a mad refrain

come back oh rain
sweet sour rain and soak
that dead dry tongue
of loss that pain
made liquid lyric
song again


Tuesday, 31 October 2017


"Ding-dong the witch is dead..."
Now that song
Always confused
Me a bit:
Which ding
Or witch dong?

Did the witch
Ding the dong?
Or did the dong
Ding the witch?

Is it me or is it all
Vaguely obscene?
Like dignified Asians
Unfortunately named
Long Duck Wong?

Was the witch
the Dong?
Or being Donged
On the aforementioned

Let me however clarify
One little thing:
I have nothing against
Dings, or dongs
Prongs or wongs;
Be they shorts or longs.
Nothing! I swear!
I'm an equal
Opportunity dinger...

I fact ,one
Of the nicest things
A man ever said to me
Was: "I miss your ding"

(It's actually not
As exciting
As it may seem;
Or as thrilling
As it may sound
But it was sweet at the time
And quite profound.)

What can I say?
My life is actually
Quite limited;
Rather like
A Munchkin

Which brings us
Back to the story
Of the poor, poor witch
Lying dead in a ditch
Crushed like a louse
Under a huge house?

It just reeks
Of overcompensation
On the part of
Those little
Munchkin pricks
Mulling over their teeny
Weeny little prongs...
And singing
In a joyful throng...

Now that we are on the subject
Of uncomfortable truths?
I have serious doubts
About Dorothy too.

Come on!
Three guys in the woods?
And TOTO???
All you girls and boys
Into the whips
And other sick toys
Know that Ruby Slippers
Really means...

That's right!
Little Miss Dorothy
Wasn't quite
Miss Purity!

She was probably
With the Tin-Man
Denting the ding
And having a fling
With the Scarecrow
And how about the Lion?
That wasn't Aslan out there!

But back to our
Original analysis...
If the poor witch
Was dinged to death
By the dong...

The witch was dinged
To inglorious death
By the dong
Of Long Duck Wong!

So all along
They were detailing
In some obscure code
The last incursion
Of the American-Asian war?
And how they
Evened the score?

And here I was
Maliciously thinking
That they were hinting
That that Bitch
Of a Witch was just
Another cheap whore!

Manuela Cardiga

I'm stirring my cauldron tonight
For the magical witches' brew
That makes things right;
The perfect mix for Samhain-Night.

So if you are travelling,
Soaring high on the wings
Of the World's Wind
Or skipping through the dog-eared
Collection of regrets
In the back of your mind?

Watch out, because you see,
I'm stirring my cauldron tonight
For the magical witches' brew
That makes things right;

And whatever you wish for
May just come to life
And bite you
On your unready behind...

Manuela Cardiga

Friday, 29 September 2017


The wind
that whines
and twines
around the edges
of my mind
rises at twilight.

I hate that
hollow sound
that howl
an almost growl
I hate the constant
endless sound

I wish it would
die down
fade away
let me stay
in my silence,
my prayer.


Wednesday, 27 September 2017

Autumn is coming...

Today a sharp sour scent of chill and sadness blew in across the bay, defying the high blue sky. Autumn. Autumn comes. Strangest and saddest of all seasons. How I hate it.

Oh Spring smells dizzy and absinthe-green with drunken hope, bubbly with buds bursting into tremulous dances of desire; and Summer is ripe, rich spice and sultry heat - slow with languorous, swollen-lipped fertility...

Winter now, Winter is silence. Hushed whispers of rain, white silence, cleansing purity of cold, scourging that voluptuous sin from our skin, blanching us. Every Winter we are parchment patiently scoured for a new beginning. Each Winter is a season of prayerful fasting, waiting, waiting for the Sun to come again. Winter I can love.

But Autumn I loathe. Autumn is an overblown and blowzy whore, clad in scraps and rags of scarlet and gold - pretending to a lushness long gone. Autumn is a sad slattern, dropping colour, dripping wet putrescent leaves to be mangled by a million feet.

Autumn smells of death and decay. That frantic last dance of Indian Summer, that pretense of ripe apples and syrupy wine is a lie. Lean closer. Under that sweetness is the grey and bitter exhalation of decay.

So burn Autumn in a pyre, pile up high those slippery maggoty logs, the limp and viscous leaves. Burn it. Let fire devour that lie. Let Winter come and bring that grey and gentle mourning sky.
And so let us weep rain, and know that through that pain, we learn to hope again.

When things are at their very worse, is when God is preparing you to be blessed.


Tuesday, 26 September 2017


Senti esse teu beijo
De lingua bravia
Feiticeira enguia
despertar-me a paixão

Ofereces-me a obsessão
O desespero e a delicia
Duma relação illicita;
Ofereces-me o coração;

Mas digo-te que não:
Tenho filhos pra criar,
Marido pr'a amar,
Mundo pr'a enganar

Senti a seda
Dos teus seios
Na concha
Das minhas mãos

Não posso negar
O que sinto no corpo
Não vou recusar
Verdade mesmo torpe

Mas digo-te que não:
Tenho filhos pra criar,
Marido pr'a amar,
Mundo pr'a enganar

Não vou gemer mentiras
Pois ao teu toque travesso
Sou gelo no deserto
Da minha vida sem prazer

Não te posso oferecer
O que tens para me dar
Não quero sofrer
Nem mesmo p´ra te amar

Não chores, vê se entendes:
Tenho filhos pra criar,
Marido pr'a enganar,
Mundo pr'a enfrentar...


Sunday, 24 September 2017

Funny, so many claim they wish to help, but so few actually do. It seems that between the promise and the act is a leaping ocean of good intentions.Or self-deception. You choose.


Saturday, 23 September 2017


Sinos clamando
Palavras de amor,
Sinos quebrando,
Chorando de dor

Flores de metal
Mentiras de mel
Linguas do mal
Badalam fel

Sinos que chamam
Bocas amargas
Vozes travadas
Malvadas, mentiras de amor

Ouvi tua voz
Sino sonoro
Chamando por mim
Rezei que tu fosses
O fim e a cura
Dessa procura
Pela loucura
Achado de ternura
Verdadeiro amor

Flores de metal
Feridas com sal
Lingua bossal
Beijo brutal

Sinos proclamam
O fim do amor
Com vozes roucas
Palavras loucas, rasgadas de dor

Sinos rezando,
Desejos profanos
Sinos cantando
Em tons de pranto, desgostos de amor


Thursday, 21 September 2017


Punhos de renda
Para que a dor não ofenda
Coração de mulher

Levanta-lhe a mão
Atira-a para o chão
Ajoelha-se: "Perdão"

Enquanto ele grita,
Ela hesita,
Receia e agita
Asas para voar

Mas comovida
Por aquele pranto

Deixa-se enganar
Acaba por ficar

Já a mãe lhe diz
Torcendo o nariz
Ao seu lamentar:
"Minha filha acredita,
Antes essa dor maldita
Do que não ter quem te amar"

Punhos de renda
Para que a dor não ofenda
Para não marcar

Rosto tão lindo
Dadiva do Divino
Sua mulher, seu par

Ele tem desdém
Não permite quem
Os queira separar

Homem de bém
Só é alguém
Mestre do seu lar

Punhos de renda
Para que a dor não ofenda
Para não chorar

Ela não fala,
Quem consente cala,
Não pode reclamar

Punhos de renda
Flores escarlates de amor,
Salpicos de horror

A vizinha grita
"Silencio, olha a fita...
Parem de bulhar."

Punhos de renda,
Morta com uma venda
De sangue no olhar

Negro luto, tanta dor
Diz o povo sem pudor
"Quem poderia sonhar..."

Manuela Cardiga

Wednesday, 20 September 2017


Naquela noite quente
Seguia eu em frente
Por aquela ruela
Com a roupa desfeita
Depois do amor

Seguia eu um homem
Sem nome, e sem rosto
Com gosto a suor

Vivia eu essa vida
Nessa senda vazia
De prazer sem Amor

Passava nessa viela
Que o povo enfeita
Com rendas e com flores

Ao longe se ouvia
Vozes em harmonia
Guitarra que fremia
De desejo, e de dor

Teus dedos corriam
Caricia pericia
Ardilosa malicia
Que me fez estremecer

Foi assim que te vi
Assim te senti
Querer sem pudor

Tocas-te-me a alma
Arrancas-te ás cordas
Do meu coração,

Meu corpo a guitarra
Desgarrada rasgada
Leviana canção

Tocas-te-me a alma
Destruiste-me a calma
Acordei para a Paixão

Manuela Cardiga

Tuesday, 19 September 2017


Com os olhos velados de lágrimas
E as faces queimadas
Do sal dessa dor

Tropecei na calçada
Fiquei ali sentada
Pranteando o amor

Não penses que choro
O fim do namoro
O fim de nós dois

Choro a verdade
Que achava tão linda
E descubri depois

Vivia a mentira
Com tanta alegria
Que a queria real

Mas essa magia
Era fantasia
Que eu invetei

Se me vês aqui sentada
Nessa calçada
Sapatos na mão

Os olhos inchados
Labios rasgados
De gritos de dor

Não penses que choro
O fim do namoro
O fim de nós dois

Choro a pobre menina
Que tanto te queria
Que tanto sonhou

Não penses que choro
O fim do namoro
O fim de nós dois

Choro aquela menina
Que nesta agonia
Renasceu mulher

Manuela Cardiga

Sei que tens na tua vida
Mulheres mais belas, mais garridas,
Sem as marcas e as feridas
Dos malogros do Amor

Sei que tens na tua vida
Mulheres mais jovens, e mais ricas
Sem os medos, e os karmas
Das tragédias e da dor

Mas não me desdenhes,
Deixa que te acompanhe
Pois o que tenho para te dar
É sincero, e é raro...

Vi-te nessa viela,
Que é o trilho do desgosto
Que me assombra o rosto
E desfigura o coração

Vi um sorriso claro e limpo,
Olhar terno sem ardil,
Sem o véu de feitos impios
A toldar tua visão

Eu com o meu corpo já gasto
P´r esse caminho nefasto
De descrenças e desastres
Desta vida, fado vil

Vi nesse teu rosto tão lindo
Anjo suave, voz gentil
A prometida salvação

Ai não me desdenhes,
Deixa que te acompanhe
Pois o que tenho para te dar
É sincero, e é raro:
É o Amor.

Sei que tens na tua vida
Já traçado um caminho
Que não passa pelo meu

Sei que tens na tua vida
A promessa de alegria
Sem tristeza, mar de mel

Mas não me desdenhes,
Nesta breve encruzilhada
Deixa-me ser a tua amada,
Dá-me um sorvo do teu Céu

Mas não me desdenhes,
Nesta breve encruzilhada
Abre os braços e recebe
O Amor que Deus nos deu..

Manuela Cardiga

"There are holes,
holes, holes on me!"
Cried the toe-nail
Seeking therapy

The shoe-shrink
tapped a speculative
heel and frowned
"You need to keep
to solid ground!"

"You take things
Much too seriously.
You feel too much,
Hold on too tight
Grind into the
Fabric of life."

"How else can we live
But with intensity?"
Cried the distraught nail
Under its disguising veil
Of varnish glitter-glamour.

"Do as the heel does:
Play the fool, choose
A low-slung mule,
Avoid stilettos
Or any semblance
Of sharp wit
Or embracing affection
For the lamentably
Frail or short-lived
Sock, stocking
Or prosaic panty-hose."

"Think of the nose,
Who rather than
The erstwhile lace
Silk and linen hanky,
Now blows at
What will cause
It no distress to

"I...I cannot live like that!"
I can't! I need that tight
Embrace, that kiss
Of fate and faith!"

The shrink shoe curled
A derisive upper lip
and stroked at its
Elegant laces
"Well then, my dear,
Keep yourself trimmed;
Your emotions blunt,
And be bare
As much as you dare."


Monday, 18 September 2017

Strange. So many always stand in line at my door to get comfort, kindness, support, a helping hand... Yet, when once in a life-time my world cracks and sways, my heart breaks and my pain brays unlovely sounds, there is absolutely no-one around.


A silver gull soared,
and I, unmoored,
saw no way clear
no leading light
to starboard;
to port, no welcome
shelter from
the nearing storm,
or writhing worm

A silver gull soared,
and I hoisted salted
veiling canvas, sails
much torn, frail-patched,
I waited for the shiver
but death becalmed
the world's wind and
left me marooned there.

A silver gull soared,
but no line beckoned
from the strange horizon,
no dividing sign between
the blurring sea and sky
seized my burning eye
"It was a gull," I cried
"Silver, no raven dark
croaking "Nevermore""

A silver gull soared,
forsworn from any
Stricken colors, and
widow's weeds
float and tangle
sinuous limbs
on my broken rudder

A silver gull soared,
and a disdainful
mermaid flipped a
diamond-scaled tail,
dolphined away from
my stricken deck -
no treachery this,
for all know the guilt
is all of the listing wreck.

A silver gull soared,
and I am unmoored:
So drift then, box that
dizzy compass
let in those salted
waves of tears but
remember the rich
and jeweled treasures
stored beneath

A silver gull soared,
but left a trove:
strings of gilded hours
a book of mysteries
no God answers and
no prayer asks; and
gallons of dark rum
in memory-jointed
sugar-scented casks

A silver gull soared,
My dirty canvas wings
may scuttle-limp
through thicker air,
but I learned that skill
from still-winged
silver-winged glory.
It is true I'll never soar,
but look! I float.


Sunday, 17 September 2017

There are choices that cannot be made by the intellect, but must follow the blind passions of the just heart.

Goddess of War


towers crash
and smash hope
dash belief
crack the whirling
scope of galaxies
to the deep
into something small
something vague
something like
a shallow paper cut
in shade and shape
that bleeds continuously

bleeds vapid violet ink
fake pain, false disdain
from a kick-started
once discarded heart


towers crash
and smash hope
dash belief
crack the whirling
scope of galaxies
to the deep

into something small
something vague
something like
a shallow paper cut
in shade and shape
that bleeds continuously

bleeds vapid violet ink
fake pain, false disdain
from a kick-started
once discarded heart


Is there no world
Or love enough to buy
A miracle this night?

Quiet then,
And let us not weep.

Pretend a smile
And let the skeletal
Hands sweep those
Last moments
From that face

Let there be
No display
Of tawdry rictus

Quiet then,
And let us not weep.

Draw the curtains
Let grief remain
The domain
Of the silken hands
Of famed and framed

Of the gawdy
Of Pain-

Quiet then
And let us not weep.

Let that silence creep
Upon us,
Curl on our

Quiet then.
Let there be silence
Let there be night.

Let the Prince of Cats
Shout delight in tears
Milk of human kindness
Lapped from
Pulsing grey
Electric substitutes
For the human brain


none for me
but pling
the cling
the peach
to teach
and preach
oh roll that
velvet suave

let the pope
of hell ordain
more pain

i laugh!
what can
claim more
or more swiftly
drain sweet joy
but pling the cling?

Oh drip-drop
time and then
desist decease disease
that peach?


Albert said
One moment follows
Hitching piggy-back
On another and
Another follows that

Albert said
Time and space
Are just the same
Different names
For this silly game

Albert said
Time is a circular dance,
Carousel prance,
Giving no chance
For a backward glance

Albert said
But he was a liar
Time suspends
One hitching breath
And does not allow another

Albert said
But he was wrong
Quantum particles sing
A different song
Slip and skip back and forth

Albert said
But the silly fool
Didn't see Time
Would flee the coop
Escape the loop

Albert said
But never saw the sentient
Flip of the light fantastic
And that one spastic surge
Of the demi-urge
(Malicious overturning
Of the apple-cart)
That rips our hearts apart


Sunday, 20 August 2017


Someone said:
How lovely
The mirrored lies
Those lips made 
For scarlet sighs

Oh, but I,
Having seen more dawns
And dawning regrets
Then most folks forgets
Denies them easy ingress.

For entry and success
First must some be blessed
With stubborned insight,
Or else be born
Hopelessly blind.


Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Chronicles of a Middle Aged Vampire - Part 35

So that is how I ended up sitting in one of the city's most distinguished and pricey restaurants with a neolithic dame, an amorous dwarf, and a gawky geek. All vampires, and all slurping up oysters on the half-shell which I personally abhor, and drinking pissy French wine; so I ordered Lobster Mornay...and champagne,

I must admit the conversation was fascinating! Especially through the haze of gilded bubbles from that bubbly ticking my nose...

"But you must understand! I was the avatar of the Goddess! I dispensed justice, and justice was death. The fact that these necessary acts also benefited me is beside the point!"

"I just ask if you wouldn't have been so quick to hand down death-sentences if you DIDN'T benefit!"

"That is beneath you!" Mama Lema's monumental frame quivered with righteous indignation. "And insulting to me, as High Priestess of the Lady!"

Dr. Al dabbed at some oyster-juice on his chin. "I meant neither disrespect nor insult: It was a logical question, and a valid one, I think. Perhaps subconsciously..."

"Subconsciously? Subconsciously my left tit! In all my life I have never come across this mythological entity. The subconscious is just something you blame for shit you want to do, but don't have the fortitude to admit to!"

"Mama, as a doctor..." Al said, and was rudely interrupted.

"I'm telling you the truth. People these last century and a half have been waffling around spouting about "awareness" and "conscience" and "social awareness"? It's all crap! I've never seen such selfishness or self-absorption in 10.000 years."

"I don't agree! Look at the degree of poverty, hunger..."

"Hunger my fat twat! And poverty is relative. All things are relative, and if you look at it in a framework of 10.000 years, you will see that never before have so many people had so much to eat, and so many possessions."

I took another sip of that liquid icy gold, and let that delicious shivery sensation skitter up my spine. I was on my way to tipsy in one hell of a hurry.

Donny just served himself another half dozen oysters and calmly sucked up that salty snot as if it was ambrosia.

"Millions starve...Millions!"

"Of course. There are billions! Loss is always proportional. You need to update your stats, quick!"

"I must say," I slurred slightly, "You have a very modern and pragmatic view...I wouldn't have expected it of a lady of your...antiquity."

Mama Lema slammed her fist down on the table and bellowed a laugh, sending the rest of the well-bred patrician patrons of the restaurant into polite and very discreet hysterics. The Maitre'd wrung his elegant hands in despair, and stepped closer to our table, but did not dare by gesture or word to even imply censure of our majestic dinner companion.

"Antiquity!" She laughed and laughed, her massive shoulders quivering. "Antiquity!" She winked at Dr. Al. "This girl has sass! I like her! You'd better get a move on and nail that juicy tushie before someone else gets in ahead of you, Al!"

The Doctor, who had been taking a sip of his wine - some rare vintage from somewhere unpronounceable - choked and spouted a red gush through his nose and onto the pristine Irish linen table-cloth.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Maitre'd shudder and hold himself in place by sheer willpower. Mama Lema must spend extraordinary amounts of money here, and be one hell of a tipper...

I slapped the Doctor on the back. Under that worsted jacket, his body was rock hard. Under my hand muscle rippled across broad shoulders. He wiped at his nose with his serviette and dabbed at his watery eyes.

He turned to me apologetically: "Greta, I'm afraid Mama Lema is sometimes a little too free with her opinions. I assure you I will never...EVER..."

I leaned in and wiped at a drop of wine at the corner of his mouth. "Never, ever? Really?" I giggled and pouted my lips invitingly, even as I felt my eyes beginning to cross. "That is a pity...It really is...Gosh! Hics! I was rather looking forward to that..."

Shamefully I must admit: That was when my head nodded and a wave of irresistible sleep washed over me.

OK! I passed out. I passed out on that table under the gleam of the crystal chandelier, with my cheek pressed to the exquisite genuinely antique Victorian cutlery, still clutching my Bohemian crystal Champagne flute.

The last time I had passed out, as I recall, had been at the Bull-Balls & Bells pub, after a drunken binge on salted peanuts, pork-pie, and vinegar chips. I can still taste the smell of stale beer-puke on my hair.

I was definitely moving up in the world.


Saturday, 22 July 2017

Most music is ephemeral and forgettable - a polite handshake at an effete tea-party; jazz is visceral, sensual,violent. It dives in and performs open-heart surgery without an anesthetic.


Friday, 21 July 2017

Commiseration and sticky sympathy never helped anyone, a swift kick in the butt, however, is the best kind of wake-up call.


Thursday, 20 July 2017

The underprivileged always have time for ball-scratching.


Chronicles of a Middle Aged Vampire - Part 34

So it was with mixed feelings that I saw that my little tête-à-tête with Doctor Al was about to be interrupted...

Mama Lema and Donnie were approaching arm in arm, and a more curious sight was hard to imagine!

Palid Donnie, thin as a whistle and freakishly tall; Mama Lema with a lustrous amber complexion, five-foot-tall and quite as wide.

"Greta, Mama Lema," Donnie sketched a curious little bow in the ancient vampire's direction, "Wanted to meet you." Up close, Mama Lema had a massive presence - I had once met the Queen, and her regal dignity faded to childish posturing next to this woman's innate power and charisma.

Taking Donnie's cue, I curtsied awkwardly: not a graceful courtly curtsy; but rather like those gawky bobs parlor maids surely sketched to passing Duchesses in rustling silk, while their slack-lipped mouths gaped in awe.

"An honor..." I stopped myself from genuflecting, and pressed my hands together and nodded my head, smiling vapidly.

"Child," in conversation her voice was low, musical, and seductive. Mama Lema exuded a sensuality that was disturbing. I doubted that any would dare label her as obese - though by scale she surely was - she was a sculptured ode to fertility and sex in living flesh. There was nothing flabby or flaccid about her. Nothing.

She smiled, flashing just a hint of dainty fangs, and her face was transformed. The idol became a girl, with darkly twinkling mischievous eyes and deep dimples. She would surely not have been older than sixteen at the time of infection. Then I realised: 10.000 years ago life expectancy would probably not have been much more than 20 or 25. "Have dinner with me, I'm intrigued by you, and at my age, anything intriguing is worth exploring!" Her dark eyes swept over me speculatively. OMG!

"Mama Lema," I murmured, "Of course, it would be a pleasure and a privilege!"

She extended a tiny and astonishingly dainty and beautiful hand imperiously. "Come!" She turned to the Doctor. "Join us, Al! You seem as fascinated by our little newborn as I am."

The Doctor nodded. "Thank you, Mama, I accept. And yes, Greta is indeed a captivating lady..."

He raised my hand to his lips, but instead of just brushing the back of my hand with his beard, he turned it and pressed warm and disturbingly firm lips to the pale lilac vein on the inside of my wrist.

A shudder ran through me, and I gasped. The Doctor smiled and stared up at me. His eyes were dark with floating flecks of amber and gold. Where my delicious Ghoul's telegraphed frank and uncomplicated lust that set my body on fire, the Doctor's eyes were unfathomable molten pools that promised something more - something deeper that I might not be quite ready for.

So I was off to dinner with a 10.000-year-old woman and a man who attracted and disturbed me in equal measure. Both vampires. OMG! What if I ended up in some freaky ménage à trois in some alley enticed and compelled to acquiesce to their beastly lusts by the irresistible promise of virgin blood? Anxiety attack time! (Yes I know...too many Gothic novels in my teens)

Then I remembered Donnie! SAVED BY THE DOLT! I reached out and hooked his bony arm in mine. "And Donnie too, of course!" I giggled (yes, I know but I had to) "A girl can't do without her sponsor and adviser in such august company!" I admit I simpered and batted my eyelashes, but only slightly.

Mama Lema smiled graciously: "But Donnie too, of course! How rude of me...Thank you child."

I caught the Doctor looking at me with distinct amusement, as if he knew exactly what I had been thinking. There was a promise in that smile, a world of promises. I had a feeling my life was going to get very complicated by the end of this night.


Tuesday, 18 July 2017


I brought red wine
and walking home I stole
from an over hanging bough
limes dark and sultry
malachite green and
in the garden next door
branches heaved
in the fumbling breeze
heavy with velvet-skinned
apricot dreams.


Monday, 17 July 2017

Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - Part 33

The dismal little group disbanded after sipping bad coffee and nibbling at some really excellent doughnuts (the Vegan had decaff and no doughnuts cause they might have been sneezed on by a cow...)

Doctor Al hopped up to me and chatted amiably, asking how I was adapting, and making small-talk in the most charming way. And I am not being ironic or punning on his height - I was starting to find the Doctor very attractive. Wait...I was lusting after the Undertaker and now finding the Vampire Doc attractive? What kind of a cheap slut was I turning into?

Was I becoming a player? An image of the Undertaker's wriggling pussy-tickler sent a shiver up my spine, even as I pondered on the distinct advantages of a man whose elegant mouth and mobile lips were naturally ever so close to the business district. All one would have to do is flip a skirt... I felt a hot flush of embarrassment tint my cheeks deep violet.

What was this? From maudlin middle-aged celibacy to brazen trollop in two easy steps?

Ok...Let's just take a deep breath... I had to keep this runaway libido under control!
"Why?" The question just popped into my head, "Why?"
Why DID I have to keep my libido under control? That was a bloody good question.

It wasn't as if being "good" and "faithful" and "ladylike" had brought me great benefits, had it? On the contrary.

I thought about Sheila and her unashamed sensual sampling of the smorgasbord of available men - and some not so available. I had always disapproved, to be honest. I had felt she took after the lecherous, lascivious Valginsky side of the family. FRANK's side.

Could it be she took after ME?
Had I been secretly suppressing my inner slut all these years? Had the vampire virus erased my morals and my inhibitions? I was ready and very eager to find out!


Sunday, 16 July 2017

Convoluted Conundrum

In these confusing times of conflicting interests between what is supposedly healthy for the mind, and good for the soul where does the thinking person stand? "Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world"

Do we ponder God as superstition or as an intellectual possibility that brings us comfort on the cold dark nights of the soul?

The very core of every religion is free will: The right to ask exactly that question, just like Pink Floyd did: "Is there anybody out there?"

We can ask, and somewhere deep in our hearts we hope to hear a whisper of response.

Yet....Is not the very fact that we hunger for the answer answer enough?

No matter who or what we are, we all reach for the same comfort in the dark - and share the ultimate ambition of standing in the healing warmth of a Light that loves us.


Wednesday, 5 July 2017

Be happy alone, and when you do find the Real Thing, you will be even happier - but you will know you don't NEED him (or her)

You may want and love him, but your strength is in you.

Be happy alone, and when you do find the real thing, you will be even happier - but you will know you don't NEED him (or her)

You may want and love him, but your strength is in you.


Tuesday, 4 July 2017

Create your own bucket list. Not because you are dying, but because you are alive, and time is much too precious to waste.


Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - Part 32

The massive woman stared at me thoughtfully. "You must ban this killing fury from your heart, Greta, or it will devour you."

"I know killing is forbidden, Donnie told me about the VA rules... Vampires must feed without taking life."

The woman smiled quite sadly. "No Greta, I do not tell you this because it is a law among vampires; I tell you this because you will lose your humanity. I would tell you this even if you were not one of us."

"Yes, Mama Leme," I whispered, thinking of how easy it would have been to kill Rosa. How satisfying. "I think maybe I already have."

"Embrace it!" Shrieked the mustachioed fat man in Cuban heels next to the Vegan Vampirella. "Embrace the darkness and our Dark Lord will shower you with power!"

Dr Al sighed and exchanged an agonized look with Mama Leme.

"Eggbert," she called sharply. Her voice doubled in volume and authority. "In twelve thousand years of life, I have yet to come across any "Dark Lord", or any demonic forces, Satanic cults or anything similar in connection with true vampirism. 12.000 years, Eggbert´, I've been a vampire for 12.000 years."

The man's lower lip jutted out under the curled mustachios. "He does so exist! That is what I signed on for, see? Not to be some oversized fat greasy leach!" Tears started to slide down his very pink and rotund cheeks. "I wanted the Dark Mystery! Sinister power, meaning in my life. I was that tired of being the neighborhood joke!"

His fat shoulders shook, with choked sobs "Eggbert Valentine Hopwood the fag in the corner tea-shop. A joke in purple silk reading Tarot Cards for the local old biddies at five o'clock tea."

He raised a tormented face. "I can't even score at the Gothic vampire gay bars! We don't LOOK as good as the fakes! No-one believes that I'm the real deal! And I can't get thin, or have a hair implant, or shave off this stupid mustache and this goatee that makes me look like a massive wanker..."

Dr. Al hopped down and walked over to Eggbert and placed a consoling arm around him.

"I'm ridiculous, Al! Ridiculous! Just, please lemme be a dark and dreadful Satanist, please?"

Oh boy...What a collection of absolute winners! I just couldn't wait for the next meeting and all the titillating revelations yet to come!


Saturday, 1 July 2017

Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - Part 31

Whoppee!  Acne Through the Ages: A Social Study of Teenage Angst... So not!

I wobbled my head at volcano-face and allowed my gaze to drift around the semicircle of chairs. Gries, a sour-looking girl with long black hair, a shortish fattish man with a goatish beard and Mephisto eyebrows, my dearest friend Dr. Al, and in the place of honor facing the group, a gigantically obese woman with incongruously dainty ankles and tiny feet propped up on a foot-stool.

Eight of us in all. And with that inimitable aura of misfits. These were not the stylish and elegantly erudite, self-satisfied creatures that populated the Vermilion Club. These were the geek-vampires. And I was one of them.

Dr. Al smiled at me broadly and winked. "Greta!" He cried, "Welcome!"

The obese woman cleared her throat and all conversation ceased.

"We are here tonight in honor of the Ancient Law. We are here tonight in Brotherhood."

"Mama Leme!" The respectful murmur rose around me, I nodded awkwardly and mumbled under my breath.

"We who live on Life, are the ones who most revere it. We who drink from the Chalice are commanded to protect it."

More reverent murmurs. "So the Gods and the Spirit in the Blood command." The woman's head swiveled as she looked at each of the little group straight in the eye. She gazed at me a second longer, with a glimmer of a curious smile. "Will any Profess tonight?"

The thin girl lifted a thin, languid hand. The woman nodded at her. "Speak my child."

The girl flipped her hair and bit her narrow lips.
"My name is Sandra and I'm a Vampire. I was Converted in 1968."

"Hi" "Hello, Sandy" "Cheers.." Greetings drifted around the room.

"It has been a week since my last Infusion, and I am due in two day's time." She twisted her fingers together and sobbed. "I don't know how I can do this again...Each time it becomes harder and harder to...The taste, the smell...Can any of you understand?"

With Rosa's blood still echoing in my system, I most certainly could. "I do, yes I do!" I cried. They all turned to look at me in blank astonishment.

"We...Well..." I stammered in embarrassment, " I know how hard it is to stop - how enticing the taste and scent of it is...How irresistible...That rich, thick, salty taste.." The very thought of it brought a surge of saliva spilling into my starved mouth. I'm ashamed to say some may have dribbled out.

The girl gagged, pressed her hands against her mouth, and looked at me in undisguised horror and disgust. "How can you? Stop? I can hardly start! I'll have you know I am a Vegan!"

OMG! This must be the person Dr. Al had spoken about. I murmured a vague apology and sunk deeper in my chair. Next to me Gries stirred his bulk and rumbled.

"I don't get this Vegan shit. You hungry, you eat. If there's fruit, you eat; if there is meat, you eat - and if all there is is man-meat you better pray you are fast enough to eat, and not get eaten."

Personally, I agreed. Nothing was quite as satisfying as a delicious filet mignon covered in perfect pepper sauce, or a wall-to-wall T-bone sizzled on the griddle...Well, unless it was human blood, but that was a recently acquired taste.

Sandra's mouth pursed even more. "Please! Have you no conscience? We suck life from people, we are worse than carnivores! We, we..."

"Oh for the Lord's sake, get a life! Or give it up!" This from tomato-soup-face. "You were Converted when? 60 years ago?If your conscience so plagues, why don't you just find a wannabe serial killer on the Internet to chop off your head? It's quite the rage this season!"

Sandra looked furious. " I don't want to die, I just don't want to live like this!"

Dr Al interjected "We've been over this before, Sandra. It's your choice. Live or die, we must all make peace with our conscience - nothing in this world survives without taking life. In fact, the only true innocents are the very creatures you feel no qualms in devouring. So unless you too find a way to live from photosynthesis, I suggest you sit down and shut up."

Sandra did. Donnie stirred next to me. "My name is Donnie and I'm a Vampire. I was Converted in 1873."

Greetings wafted around us. "Through my incompetence, a woman was Converted without consent...And because of this one man is dead."

The huge woman in the center spoke. "Dead? Dead how?"

I hear myself cry out "It wasn't really his fault at all! It was mine!"

"My name is Mama Leme and I'm a Vampire. I was Converted before the Dawn of Time. Who are you, child?" Those dark unfathomable eyes drew me to my feet like a recalcitrant teen called to the carpet by a wise but stern schoolmistress.

""My name is Greta and I'm a Vampire. I was Converted three days ago." There was absolute silence.
"It is not Donnie's fault. I killed my husband." I took a deep breath. "It's not Donnie's fault because I did not kill him because I am a Vampire, I killed him because I wanted to. And I rather enjoyed it."


Thursday, 29 June 2017

Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - Part 30

"Nice to meet you Gries, " I smiled back, "But why is it shitty?"

He stared at me in astonishment. " Do I look like Brooks Brothers' material?" He raised those gigantic arms. "Have you seen my teeth? I look like shit. I get treated like scum." tears clouded those odd eyes with their vaguely psychotic gleam. " I had respect. Now I am despised. Feared and despised - but still despised." He wrung those ham sized hands together in a peculiarly feminine gesture of distress. "Despised!"

I extended a hesitant hand unsure of where it would be safe to deliver  a comforting pat. I opted for one huge shoulder bristling with wiry blond hair, rather like a hog's back. "There," I said in that tone that had so often irritated the shit out of me in other people's mouths. "It will all work out, you will see! Chin up, what!"

He cast me a baleful stare. "Listen lady, I been killing, raping and pillaging for centuries, commanding respect - I was a fucking thane! Now I have trouble renting a flea-bag hotel room!"

I was starting to regret this. A lot. On the meat-man's other side, a mushy red face popped out. Popped being the operative word. The poor creature's face was a swamp of red infection liberally studded with huge shiny pus-yellow boils quivering on the very edge of eruption.

"I've had acne for seven hundred years."

Shit. I needed a drink. Or a straight vodka intravenous drip.


Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Leper's Lament

Feverish dream
The shifting
Slithering shadow
The skin.


Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - Part 29

So after I completed my obligations towards my bitch of a sister - delicious, by the way - I was finally dragged off by Donnie to that damned meeting...

I was so not looking forward to this. Donnie was leaving me no choice. I will admit I slumped in the passenger seat of his tweety-bird yellow car and nursed a pout all the way there.

"There" turned out to be a lugubrious warehouse in the least reputable part of town. The dank and dreary exterior was a contrast to the irritatingly cheery decor of the meeting room: Bright yellow walls, with painted gigantic white daisies with pink centers, and checkered lime green and white linoleum on the floor. Nice...White lights blazed down, supposedly to banish the dark shadows of our vampiric nature.

There was a semicircle of chairs and on the side, a long table offered snacks and drinks. But no blood. Not a drop.

The other members of the group were already sitting, brooding or slumping in the chairs according to their style or nature. Donnie steered me to a chair and parked me, folding his long frame into the seat next to me.

On the other side sat the Hulk, or his paler brother by another mother.

The guy was huge, ugly, and really built. He had long straggly not-too-clean blond hair and freaky eyes.

I smiled. "Hi" I'm Greta! I'm a vampire!"

He grinned and exposed gigantic teeth in a distressing state of decay and a pair of very nice sparkling fangs.

"Hi! I'm Gries. I'm a Viking berserker. I'm also a vampire."
His voice was nice and rumbling, soothing. He extended a giant hand and shook mine. "Welcome, Greta...To a fucking shitty immortal life."


Saturday, 24 June 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire - Part 28

Oh God it was delicious! At the first touch of my lips on her wrist, of my tongue greedily lapping up her blood, Rosa had gone quiet, wide-eyed and dazed - like the druggies you see in their heroin haze, slack-lipped on the metro steps. I slurped noisily, and she moaned.

Oh this was so GOOD! I was about to latch on and really suck up that juice, when a hand gripped the back of my neck and lifted me off Rosa, as easily as you'd lift a kitten from a bowl of milk.

I, however, am not a kitten. I turned hands crisped and extended into claws, mouth wide open, lips pulled back from my bloodied teeth...I caught a fleeting glimpse of myself in the mirror, swollen-eyed and raging in Donnie's hands. "NO!" I was screaming, the taut wiry tendons standing out like guy-ropes on my neck.

Donnie's voice was low and calm. "No, Greta, stop." He shook me gently. "Stop." Geeky, spindly Donnie had a remarkable strength in those thin hands. "This is not who you are. Stop."

I dangled from his hands limply. I raised my head and faced myself over his shoulder in that hall-mirror. The sassy, sexy woman who'd come down the stairs was gone. I looked like a harridan.

The blood was smeared down my cheeks and across my incisors like cheap lipstick, my eyes were bulgy and bloodshot, veiled by some monstrous lust. My hair straggled in a tangled sweaty dark veil, strands sticking to the blood drying on my cheeks. Thankfully, I noticed in passing, not a drop of blood spoiled my pristine white shirt. I had not spilled a drop. Waste not, want not, Mom always said.

Donnie saw the blood-madness recede and gently lowered me to my feet. "Donnie.." I whispered, but he had turned away, was leaning down to examine Rosa's wrists.

I saw his nostrils flare, and his lips tighten, but he spoke to her softly. "It's alright..." He looked over at me."What is her name?"


"Rosa, you will be alright." He spoke without turning his head."Get me some towels please, Greta. Then call an ambulance."

I nodded numbly and walked to the linen cupboard in the downstairs bathroom. Towels were stacked there, neat as you please. Mute evidence of my barren life. Who else had time to color code towels?

I hesitated a second. Top of the pile was this really delicious set of deep-pile Egyptian cotton towels that I had paid the earth for... I pulled three towels from further down. Discount-store stuff in a deep red that would not show the stains.

I hurried back and found Donnie French-kissing Rosa. KISSING?
"What are you doing," I screeched, "Are you some kind of perverted freak?" Donnie straightened up and stared at me coldly.

"I'm cleaning up your mess, Greta. Now she won't remember what happened here...What you were doing." He took the towels from my hands and gently guided Rosa towards the kitchen."Now, call 112 and go wash your face before they get here."

Suitably chastened I did so. I dialed the number and a calm female voice answered. "Please send an ambulance..." I rattled off my address.

"Tell me Ma'am, is someone hurt?"

"My sister, Rosa, tried to kill herself."

The calm voice asked for details, and told me "Help is on the way! We are also alerting the Police."

Police? Ah...A suicide attempt. Damn. A rape, a murder, and an attempted suicide at the same address in 78 hours. And if Rosa blabbed about Frank, the Police might take a second look at his death. I would now have MOTIVE, and I certainly had opportunity.

I went into the bathroom and carefully washed my face. I brushed my teeth and combed back my sweat-damp hair. My eyes were still odd in some way I couldn't define, but since I'd just had my baby-sister bleed all over my gardenias and my entrance, that was understandable.

I was composed, and silently composing a suitable greeting when I heard Donnie open the front door.

I came out and stood by as two men with a stretcher jogged into my kitchen. I heard one of them say to Rosa: "Whot now, luv? Whot yu go and do this for? Pretty thing like yu! Yu goin to be just fine, yu are!" The voice was kindly. cheerful. Rosa mumbled some unintelligible reply in a groggy voice.

"Yu take any pills, luv? Yu tell ol'Barney here, Dunna be ashamed. I know yu in pain."

Rosa sobbed something snottily, and the men emerged with her. Then the Police arrived. Double damn!

One of them had been present at Frank's murder scene as a first responder. Oh, this was just perfect...
Glancing down I noticed some blood I'd missed crusted deep in the creases of the knuckles of my right thumb. Unthinking I stuck it in my mouth and sucked at it. Yum.

Donnie started talking to the Police.
"I came to pick up Mrs. Valginsky - it was her husband's funeral today - and just as we were leaving this lady arrived...Mrs. Valginsky's sister."

The Policeman nodded and jotted things down. He looked up at me. "My condolences Ma'am." I nodded and tried to look as mournful as possible with my thumb stuck in my mouth.

"Who are you, sir?"

Donnie fished out his wallet and handed it over for the second officer to peruse.
"I'm Mrs. Valginsky's sponsor..." He nodded meaningfully, "Hard day, lots of stressors, I was escorting her to a meeting." The two men looked over at me again, then back at Donnie.

"All right then, we will take it up with Mrs...?" They looked expectantly at me.

I dragged that delicious thumb reluctantly out of my mouth. "Schultz, Rosa Schultz." I squeaked.

Wonderful. From ravening monster to a thumb-sucking alcoholic dweeb.
I was discovering I was a talented thespian indeed!
Except that I WAS a monster AND a thumb-sucking-dweeb...


Wednesday, 21 June 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire - Part 27

I ducked into a shower did the soap on a rope thing, then shimmied into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved crisp white cotton shirt. After a look in the mirror, I slashed on a defiant red lipstick, stepped back into my heels, and draped my gran's opera length pearls around my neck.

Out of habit I had tucked my hair back behind my ears, I tossed it free and tousled it. THERE!

Not cover-girl material, but not house-wife/mid-life drab either! A woman with experience, and a dash of classy sass... Yes! That was the new  Greta Schultz!

I was in the hall when the doorbell clanged. Donnie!

"Hi!" I cried eagerly...and found myself looking at Rosa. She was looking the worse for the wear. Weeping and dripping tears and snot in equal measure and exuding a most tantalizing scent!

"Greta!" She whined, "Save me!" And the stupid bitch extended her upraised wrists to me. Slashed wrists, dripping ruby-red aromatic blood.

A surge of heat blasted upwards from my stomach. I lunged at her, dragged her inside.

"I slept with him, with Frank...I...I..." She was crying hysterically, "I loved him! I loved him! I can't live without him!"

I smiled despite myself: "You may not have to!" I said and licked my lips.

Isn't life just wonderful? Who would have thought you could get vampire takeaway delivered right to your door just like Tele-Pizza?


Neglect or abuse do not exist in a vacuum: These start with small acts and escalate into tragedy.


Monday, 19 June 2017

How easily conflicting truths entangle in the dark and sticky mystery that is a human heart.


The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire - Part 26


The coffin containing the mortal remains of Frank Herbert Valginky trundled in eery silence through the velvet drapes and onto its mysterious disposal in the crematorium.

The mourners did a sad little shuffle dance called the "weep them and leave" and departed with astonishing speed.

Soon there was only me and Sheila. May had taken charge of her grieving mother, and Rosa had left,  having early on run into a possible source of consolation in the person of Frank's partner...

Once we were alone, Jonathan Stell stepped up and approached us looking sad, sober - and very sexy.

"Ms Schultz, Miss Valginsky, allow me to extend to you once again my sympathies. You will have heard a hundred comforting words today, but none will have been very consoling at all," he paused and took Sheila's hand, "The pain does lessen, my dear, and that dizzy sense of disbelief will fade."

Sheila nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. It struck me once again that we were living in two very different realities. Sheila had just tragically lost a doting and indulgent father whom she had adored; I had joyfully disposed of an abusive, cheating lying bastard who had ruined my life.

Both were true perceptions, grounded in palpable and concrete experiences. How easily conflicting truths entangled in the dark and sticky mystery that was a human heart.

Jonathan Stell turned to me and inclined his elegant head. He did not touch me, or take my hand. If he had the sizzling electric desire between us would have been enough to light up a Vegas neon sign.

Even tear-blind Sheila would have noticed that, and though my daughter was a permissive - not to say militantly promiscuous woman - watching her mother and a stranger groaning and groping at each other's groins in the aftermath of her father's funeral would have been a perverse betrayal...

"Ms. Schultz, I will call you for the arrangements with regards to Mr. Valginsky's remains and the...paperwork."


"You will need some additional documents to present to Mr. Valginsky's insurance broker and Social Security - I would presume Mr. Valginsky carried life insurance?"

"Yes...No...To be honest I have no idea." I hadn't thought of that. "Yes, please do call..."

We said our goodbyes and drove home in silence. "Want me to stay Mum?" Sheila asked.

"No sweetie. You go home and get some sleep. I will call you tomorrow." We did the usual mother/daughter hug and kiss, and the moment she was gone I was calling Donnie.

"I'm bloody starving! And not for fish and chips! Where are you? I need to feed!"

Donnie's voice was surprisingly calm; "You ate - glutted in fact - two days ago. You can't feed for the next two days."

"Are you KIDDING me?" I screeched in fury, and realised that this strange almost-emotion of desperate hunger was not quite my own. My symbiont was demanding supper.

"I'm picking you up in half an hour. We are going to a meeting."

"A meeting?"

"Yes, at the VA - Vampires Anonymous. You have to learn to control that craving, Greta. You must master your affliction, or it will master you and you will become a murderous monster."


Sunday, 18 June 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire - Part 25

Frank's funeral service had been as expected: long and awkward, with old friends from the old neighbourhood - rendered unrecognisable by time - paying their respects in a long shambling line, laying a thick mantle of multicoloured blossoms over the casket.

Thank God it was closed, for Frank's grotesque grimace would surely have haunted the mourners for life. As skilled as the morticians were, they had been unable to smooth the outraged horror from his face, as they had washed away the garish gore from his gaping throat.

As the recent widow I did my bit, holding tight to my daughter's hand on one side, and propping up my inconsolable mother-in-law on the other.

It saddened me to see their pain and to know that I was to blame.

If only I hadn't been such a recent and immature convert to vampirism, if only I hadn't been in such an unstable emotional state, if only Frank hadn't deserved it so much...

I nodded soberly and inhaled the scents of a hundred grieving cheeks, murmured nonsense gabble when being patted awkwardly on the back and shoulders - and groped once or twice tits and rump by rheumy eyed old dorks who thought a funeral was a great place to "score" and considered that a recent widow was bound to be insane with life-affirming lust.

Wise old codgers. I most certainly was. I caught a glimpse of my ghoulish beau in his sober black and a shiver of desire unlocked my knees and loosened my thighs.

Mistaking my momentary stumble, my Sheila whispered: "Just a little longer Mum, just be brave a little longer..." I cannot properly express my shame at the sound of compassion and muffled tears in my girl's voice.

Where was my empathy? Where was my own pain? Was this a peculiar side effect of my vampiric infection? And yet I felt guilt, shame, and pity...Was my complete indifference due to the fact that Frank was prey? Yes. It might just be an adaptation to my new predatory nature.

After all, it wouldn't do to have a natural-born killer blubber heartfelt apologies as he or she drained a victim of every last drop of yummy, salty, luscious blood!

As I thought of THAT, saliva flooded my mouth. I was hungry, I realised, very hungry. I ran my tongue over the fascinating ups and downs of my teeth and confirmed that my incisors were indeed shaping up and sharpening nicely.

My stomach rumbled loudly. I raise my handkerchief to my mouth and coughed to disguise that eager sound.
As soon as the funeral was over, I was going to have to ditch my grief-stricken daughter and call Donnie and see about dinner. Meanwhile, I smiled wanly at one more old acquaintance whose avid eyes ran over my undisguisedly healthy complexion.

This was going to be a long, long afternoon.


Thursday, 15 June 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - PART 24

Just as I walked down the stairs in my new black heels and silky black stockings (was it sinful to feel this sexy dressed for my husband's funeral?) my daughter arrived and let herself in.

Behind her snivelled my hateful younger sister, Rosa- the TRUE widow, if I were to be 100% honest. She had been the one sharing his bed and his life for the past dozen years and more, whereas I had been a glorified housekeeper and child-minder. The very best kind too, one that worked for free!

She looked dreadful. Her pretty, vapid face was pinched, her doll eyes swollen and red, and her blond locks lusterless. Grief was really devastating...I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror behind her and could not bite back a smile.

The sober black slip dress flattered my admittedly full figure, and suited my pale complexion and dark hair. A rich burgundy colour (all natural and with no aid from Maybelline!) tinted my full lips. Oh I looked really good! My eyes sparkled, my breasts enhanced by the push-up bra Sheila had selected for me placed my wounded heart on alluring display.

I took a deep breath, and the woman in the mirror parted her lips seductively, even as those perky breasts heaved invitingly. I liked this, I like me...

"Mom?" Sheila stepped forward to embrace me. "Poor mom...You look devastated..." She paused when she realised I didn't. I looked fabulous, but she had expected me to look a mess. She hesitated then extended a bag from an expensive accessory shop.

I opened it. Inside was a delicious black velvet and lace-veiled fascinator, and large black rimmed sunglasses presumably to disguise my tear-stained and grief-ravaged visage.

I stepped past Rosa's lamentably dripping red nose and placed the fascinator on my head at a decidedly alluring angle. The thin dark veil added a mysterious glamour to my glowing face.

I didn't look like a widow at all. I looked 10 years younger, like a woman tricked out for seduction.
Widowhood had revitalised and rejuvenated me. As had my newly awakened libido.

As we walked out the door to go to my late and unlamented husband's funereal rites, I couldn't help but rejoice in the sway of my hips, and gloat over imagined glitter of lust in a certain Funeral Director's dark eyes...


Tuesday, 25 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - PART 23

The next day dawned as drizzly and as miserable as you could wish for a funeral. It was 7:00 am and my sister-in-law May was tapping sharply on my door. I heaved myself out of bed, grabbed a robe and stumbled down.

I opened the front door and was immediately drowned in soft scented flesh and stiffly lacquered hair.

"Greta!" May snuffled against my cheek, "Oh darl...How are you copin'?" I hugged May tight for just a moment longer, then I stepped away.

She looked devastated - like I was supposed to feel but didn't. Her heavy cheeks sagged, and the crusted eyeliner seemed to drag down at the corners of her eyes. The red lipstick had bled up into the deep vertical lines on her upper lip, and the skin under her chin looked loose and wrinkly. A bit like a giant scrotum.

The harsh morning light was not being kind to May, and I shuddered to think what it was doing to ME. We were not the girls we used to be, that's for sure, and a crueler trick Nature or the unkind gods had never played on humans. I didn't FEEL any older than the slim girl who'd strode down the steps determined to be seduced by Frank, and I know May didn't either. And the truth be told: neither of us was any wiser.

I stepped back and led May to the kitchen, put the kettle on and took down two mugs. What a comforting ritual tea was! Surely if the end of the world was announced, I would be doing the same. Anything can be faced with tranquillity with a nice cuppa and a sweet biscuit in front of you.

May sighed and fell into the kitchen chair. "Oh Greta, what an awful tragedy! And you already so traumatized, finding poor Frank like that!"

"Yes...It was...Very...Shocking, very," I stumbled for sincerity. "I feel it's all my fault, May. I killed him. I brought this horror down on him."

"NO!" May's cry was from the heart, and made me feel an even deeper shame, "Never think that! You were the victim of a monster, a predator! And poor Frank died defending you." She mopped at the tears slowly percolating down her cheeks through the thick layers of face powder. "He died a hero."

"A hero," I echoed, remembering the vicious smirk rolling back his upper lip in that split second before my mind had gone blank. "Yes, Frank was that..."

I leaned over and placed a comforting hand over hers, and patted her plump shoulder while she sobbed.

Much later, I went upstairs to change into one of the black dresses I had purchased the day before, complete with sheer black tights and decorous black heels. Sheila was meeting us, and together we would drive to Silverman & Stell's together.

On the way, we would stop off and pick up her old ruin of a mother (whom I quite loathed and who perversely quite adored me).

Life is full of such ironies, isn't it? Unrequited loves of every kind, ricocheting affection, wasted understanding, soured passions.

No more, I vowed to myself. From now on I would not endure anything less than what I deserved - good or bad - for a single second. Life was precious, and to be lived intensely or not at all.


Saturday, 22 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle Aged Vampire - PART 22

I spent the rest of the evening nursing a dazed vampire through regeneration. Basically, it just entailed sitting next to him, pouring lots of tea down his gullet and patting his spindly hands when he moaned. Which he did.  A lot!

Apparently, immortality did not change the basic male propensity for high drama when in the least bit discomfited. Ok, so a herniated brain is not a paper-cut - but really! I thought Donnie did overdo the whining and the squirming around.

I cleaned up the blood and brain matter off the kitchen floor and made myself a hot corned-beef on rye sandwich with lots of mustard. I was positively starving. I offered Donnie some too, but he looked nauseous, so I just topped up his teacup.

I sat next to him and took a bite. Damn, but the food tasted better than ever!

"So, Donnie," I said, more to distract him than out of any desire for the sordid details on his personal habits, "What's your favorite feeding spot?" I giggled. This was funny! Goes to show what the word "normal" really means - I'd used the exact same tone dozens of times to ask for references to coffee shops, or hairdressers...

Donnie blushed violently - nearly purple. "Well...Ah-Ah-I...Go to the docks, you know...The Ladies...I pay of course!"

"Of course!"

"I do-don't have SEX with them, I just...You know..."

"Yes, I see...You feed?"

He nodded emphatically. Curiously enough, Donnie felt it was quite alright to suck blood from the nubile thighs of the hookers on Canal Street, but quite immoral to enjoy the services they were actually selling...

"Yes. But I tip, you know...To make up for..." He ducked his head and I saw that the skull was closing nicely over his pinkly pulsing brain. This was really cool! as Sheila would have exclaimed.

"Don't they notice?" I asked curiously. "That you're...doing THAT?"

"Well, no! Our saliva contains a narcotic and a mildly euphoric hallucinogenic? So I kiss them first." he added a helpful tip: "I used to volunteer at an old age home? So I always spat in the tea of the old dears. Made them so happy!" He smiled seraphically. "It is addictive, so be careful who you kiss!"

"GROOVY!" I exclaimed, "That should make me a hit at the next Church Fund Raiser! I'll pucker up at the kissing booth and make myself a packet!"

Manuela Cardiga

Thursday, 6 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 21

It was all settled. All the sad details of burial, the discarding of the fleshy casing - the remnants of a forgettable life...

I was suddenly overcome with a wave of affection and gratitude for Donnie and his myopia. His "mistake" had gifted me with a new life - bizarre, complicated, but filled with promise. Frank's death had shown me a glimpse of the ending of a mediocre life, and I was relieved that such a trivial existence had been ripped away from me.

I was now immortal - whatever that meant - and if I wasn't exactly in the first flush of youth, I was still a vibrant sexual being. The last hours had proved that to me. That woman who I had thought neutered by years of sublimation and submission to emotional starvation was now resurrected by my timely undeath.

Sheila dropped me off at home. She had wanted to stay for the night, but I had dissuaded her. I wanted to try on my new threads, and give the Doctor and Donnie a call.

I walked in and kicked off my shoes, and was about to carry them and my shopping bags upstairs when a strange noise stopped me dead.

There was someone in my kitchen! Someone was moving around, and then the merry whistle of the kettle drowned out the human sounds. Anger suffused me. Someone was in MY kitchen touching my kettle, helping him or herself to my property.

I'd had enough of home-invasions, and violations of my privacy and physical and emotional integrity. NO MORE!

I moved silently on my stockinged feet and picked up a large stone obelisk one of Frank's nieces had brought us from Egypt. A tasteless monstrosity I now appreciated for the very first time as capable of causing substantial "blunt force trauma".

I hefted it into a more comfortable grip and stepped into the kitchen, swinging it in a vicious arc, and feeling it connect with bone-crunching force. I had not reckoned with the new strength coursing through my veins! Wham!

I heard a scream before I even saw the intruder, and had lifted the obelisk high over my head for a second blow when I realised that the person sprawled at my feet bleeding messily was Donnie.

The anger and the adrenaline made me scream. "What the fuck are you doing here? Are you mad?"

Then I fell to my knees and dropped the stupid obelisk. Some part of me noticed there was blood and hair and little globules of yellowy-grey fatty stuff stuck to it. I felt my gorge rise.

I'd killed him. I'd killed poor stupid klutzy Donnie.
Shit. One rape and two murders in two days...

My house was now Crime Central. I could just imagine what the Police would say. This was going to ruin my evening.

Then he groaned and stirred. There were bits of his brain on my kitchen floor, and some things that might have been shards of bone too, but Donnie stirred and struggled to sit up.

"Donnie!" I screamed, "You stupid FUCK! I should KILL you!" And then I started crying in relief.
This immortality shit had its uses after all.


Wednesday, 5 April 2017

Tuesday, 4 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 20

I just started laughing, I couldn't help it! This man had brass!
"Is this a standard pick-up line at the undead-bar, Mr. Stell?"

He flashed those devastating dimples at me again. "Yep!" his grin broadened. "Are you falling for it?"

"Hook, line, and sinker!"

"Well, I'm falling for you, Ms. Schultz."

My lips were suddenly dry, and I ran my tongue over them. "Jonathan..."

"Saturday night we will talk..."

"Saturday..." I giggled again, "We can boogaloo to "Stayin' Alive!" And there we were, laughing over Frank's grotesque corpse, and eyeing each other lustfully.

Not how I'd imagined my first day as a grieving widow. But then again, I hadn't imagined my first day as a vampire would be like this either.

I had never been one for horror movies or the supernatural at all. I had always been practical, pragmatic, and prosaic. Goodness! I suddenly realised I'd probably been quite a prissy little prig!

Jonathan and I walked back to the showroom, and I was acutely aware of the short distance separating our bodies - the heat of his shoulder inches from mine.

In the showroom, I deliberately moved away from him and walked over to a large silvery monstrosity that gaped open, showing the lavishly ruched white satin lining. Awful.

I was peering intently down into those cushiony depths when Sheila and Maeve returned with the leather-bound catalog.

"I think this, Mom," my daughter pointed out a surprisingly tasteful casket in a dark wood, "I think this would be nice."

I nodded my agreement and turned to Jonathan - Mr. Stell. "When?" I asked, "When can my husband be laid to rest?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, Ms. Schultz? At four?"

I nodded. "Yes, most of his family arrives tonight, and some of his nephews are flying in from Canada, I believe."

"We can have the eulogy first so the mourners can pay their respects, then move along to the funeral ceremony... Was Mr. Valginsky Church of England or Catholic? Or...?" Mr. Stell raised his eyebrows to indicate multi-cultural sensitivity to whatever obscure cult or religion Frank might have belonged to.

Of course, Frank had worshipped nothing and no-one. His only object of unswerving devotion in all the years I'd known him having been his prick.


Monday, 3 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 19

This was too much! How dare he? I was completely enraged!

"Even for a man who lives on hang-nails and toe-cheese that is a low blow, don't you think?" I asked, baring my baby fangs in a snarl.

"At least I don't suckle on crab-infested groins," The hitherto charming Mr. Stell snapped back.

"The groins I suckle consider themselves VERY fortunate!" I screeched, "And rather crabs that pick maggots out of my tonsils!"

Mr. Stell's eyes were on fire, his breath whooshed out and he growled, "By God, Mrs. Schultz, you are offensive!" And suddenly he was pulling me against him, his mouth was covering mine in a furious, devouring kiss...

Mr. Stell pushed me back and his hands were tugging at the hem of my dress, even as mine tore at the buttons of his suit jacket, eager to worm my fingers under that silk shirt and feel the crisp curl of his chest hair prickle my fingers. He smelled like wood and leather and hot metal. I moaned against his teeth, nipped at that generous lower lip, and heard his encouraging groan of lust.

I slid my hands down to cup his muscular buttocks...Since when had I been this ardent, this daring?
Mr. Stell pressed his desire into me and I leaned back, arching my back, offering my throat to his questing mouth...And it was then that I inadvertently leaned on Frank's corpse, and his icy hand popped over the edge of the steel drawer.

I came to my senses, my desire evaporated. I had been about to play hide-the-salami with a stranger with the body of my deceased husband as a makeshift mattress. Not only was this unethical it was decidedly uncomfortable.

"Stop!" I cried, "STOP IT!"

Mr. Stell stopped and stepped back raising those elegant hands and spreading them far apart. He was panting and looked as dazed and out of control as I did.

He drew in two or three panting breaths. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Schultz. Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me."

I tugged the hem of my skirt over my thighs with a shiver of regret. "This...This is...I don't know what to say, Mr. Stell."

"I can tell you I've never behaved in such an inappropriate manner before. Never!"

"Neither have I, Mr. Stell." We stood there looking at each other in an awkward silence for an eternity, then he cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and said calmly: "We will address this issue at a later date after Mr. Valginsky has been decently put to rest."

"Oh yes," I agreed eagerly, "After an appropriate period of bereavement..."

"Are you free on Saturday, Ms. Schultz? Say around 8?"

"I will be, Mr. Stell."

"Wonderful. Your coffin or mine?"


Sunday, 2 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 18

I gaped at the man in silent astonishment. "A GHOUL?" I finally managed to gasp. "GHOUL?"

He grinned at my astonishment. "Is that anymore outlandish than being a Vampire?"

"No, no...I just thought..."Well Vampires and the virus...I didn't think...Doctor said the condition was as infection by a symbiont, I really didn't think...Things that go bump in the night?"

He let out a spontaneous guffaw. "The only things that go "bump" in the night is the Succubus and Incubus Swingers Club...And it's another kind of bump altogether."

"Succubus, incubus too!"

"Oh yes. And lycanthropes, poor things. They spend a fortune on hair removal, But no zombies, thank God, and the faeries are the ones trolling the park in spiked heels feeding on pheromones from all the hookers and the johns..."

I was dizzied by revelation. "Wait, all these are caused by microbes, viruses?"

"Oh yes. We think of humans as the top of the food chain. We've managed to eradicate every predator we've ever had, but we are subject to predation by extremely able and well-adapted micro-predators. Look at HIV, Ebola, Marburg, Rabies. Deadly and thank God, not very efficient or successful."

I stared at him. "Those are deadly! I'd say they were VERY efficient!"

"Those viruses kill the host, and so have to find another. OUR viruses cleverly evolved into an "I scratch your back you scratch mine" symbiont, They keep the hosts alive indefinitely, so the colony not only survives, it thrives, and in the fullness  of time, creates a daughter colony of micro-predators."

"You keep calling them micro-predators."

"Yes. These viruses require human cells, human hormones, human blood - depending on the virus - to reproduce. But they have turned the host into a "seeker" of what they need. Brilliant evolutionary leap."

"Brilliant..." I murmured faintly.

"So the host craves what the symbiont requires, and reaps equal benefit from that harvest."

"So vampires need blood, you said faeries need hormones? What else?"

He smiled. "Lycanthropes - poor things!- need a cocktail of blood, fear, and adrenaline, which is why they frighten their prey before they feed. They are luckily quite rare. Succubus and Incubus harvest human DNA from sperm..,"

"They all get infected by the bite of a "Host"."

"Yes, as I was. I, unfortunately, surprised a Ghoul at his feeding and the poor bugger bit me." He extended a well shaped-hand and showed me a silvery crescent scar at the base of his thumb. "He infected me and fled. I was left alone with no idea of what was happening to me, or why I started having those cravings. I actually checked myself into a psychiatric center where I was lucky enough to meet a Nurse who was a Succubus. She enlightened me, and put me in touch with the Ghoul Support Group." He smiled nostalgically. "She was very sweet and nurturing..."

"What do Ghouls crave?"

"Human flesh. Fresh. Which is where I am lucky. I get daily deliveries of the finest quality. I don't have to break into morgues or funeral parlours. Besides the modern penchant for wholesale embalming has made untainted human flesh a precious commodity. Digging in cemeteries - the traditional Ghoul feeding-ground - is no longer an option." he smiled modestly. "I must admit I do very well indeed by dabbling in the delicatessen supply biz."

I was horrified. "You not only eat, you SELL human flesh?"

He looked defensively. "Only toes! Nothing the bereaved will notice, or the deceased will miss. I keep to the highest standards!" He drew himself to his considerable height. "And I have NEVER killed to feed. All my donors are decently dead!"


Saturday, 1 April 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 17

Maeve spirited my daughter away to consult catalogues and choose a casket with the same elan she would have displayed while picking a pair of Manolo Blahnik sandals, and with as little regard for the cost.

That left me all alone with the suave and very sexy Mr. Jonathan Stell. He waited until the door closed behind the two young women, then he turned to me and beckoned me to follow him.

At the end of a hall-way, he ushered me into a large cold room with huge steel drawers covering one wall, and a very complex set up in the middle which I presume was where the dead were embalmed and made presentable. A post-mortem photoshopping that gave the bereaved a much better looking corpse to regret and grieve over.

As he walked to the drawers and started pulling one out, Mr Stell commented casually over his shoulder. "We haven't met before, Ms Schultz! You weren't at the last mixer. I would have remembered those eyes..."

I was confounded. "Mixer? I'm sorry...Well, I've been a bit of a recluse for many years - socializing hasn't been part of my life."

He smiled. "Ah...That explains it! I presume your husband...a little slip in the dining room, an accident?"

I stared at him perplexed. "My husband died in the bedroom. He was murdered. Are you sure you have the right body?"

He slid out the drawer, and there was Frank, decorously covered with a sheet draped over his gaping throat and exposing only his face. I winced. Frank's eyes bulged out of his sockets and maintained a frightening glassy sheen. His jaw hung open in a horrified silent gape, his cheeks contracted in a death rictus.

"Oh yes, in fact I was going to suggest a closed-casket wake and funeral service. Though we can disguise the death-wound, there isn't much we can do for his expression, as you can see. It's quite startling."

"He was surprised by the killer..."

Mr Stell grinned knowingly. "VERY surprised I'm sure, and not a little afraid, judging by his face."

"I have no idea. I was unconscious at the time."

Mr Stell winked at me. "Of course you were! So do you agree to the closed-casket service?"

"Yes please!" I would be saving May and Frank's other siblings the sight of those bulgy eyes and gaping jaws.

"Usually, we can smooth away the expression after rigor mortis fades, but the neurotoxins of a vampire's bite tend to prolong that state for many days, until they break down. At least it saves on the cost of embalming."

Dark spots danced before my eyes. "A vamp-va-vampire's bite?" I drew myself up to my full height. "Are you mocking me in my time of grief, Mr Stell?"

"Not at all. But you seem to think ME a fool, Ms Schultz. I recognized a vampiric kill as soon as Mr Valginsky was brought in, and when I saw the signs in you, I knew."

I felt faint. "Please...I...You see, I didn't know. I blacked out and just...found him like this."

"You didn't know? Your maker, he didn't explain?"

An unaccountable surge of loyalty had me exclaim: "It wasn't Donnie's fault! He made a mistake, I started screaming and called the Police...He had no chance to explain."

Jonathan Stell chuckled. A rumbling sexy sound that sent a frisson of desire down my back. "No wonder! Donnie is a nice boy, but a total klutz!"

"You KNOW Donnie?"

"Of course I know Donnie, I sit on the board of the International Society for the Protection of  Supernatural Species. The ISPSS."

I giggled. "Seriously? So you're a vampire too?"

It was Stell's turn to laugh: "Goodness, no! I'm a Ghoul."


Friday, 31 March 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 16

Four hours later we were parking my beat-up old Datsun in front of an impeccably maintained somber-looking building from the '50s. In the trunk were several shopping bags stuffed full of brand new garments (not all of them black) shoes, stockings, lingerie.

Sheila hadn't blinked an eye at her newly-widowed mother buying a black satin and lace corset. Apparently, for my daughter, such things were as necessary as toothpaste, as commonplace as high-neckline granny underpants at a Lawn Bowls Club

We stepped out and approached a tall carved door sporting a bronze hand-knocker. The polished door-plaque discreetly announced: Silverman& Stell - Undertakers

Undertakers, not the more usual "Funeral Home"... Undertakers had a dark Dickensian charm I found enormously appealing at this particular point in my life! It was redolent of pale mourners in dense black and Resurrection men with rusty hands. It went beautifully with the new sinister sensuality that was awakening in my changing body

I knocked, and the door was opened by a young woman with a small mousy face and the most splendidly exuberant red hair I had ever seen. The serious-looking girl greeted us in a low and sad tone - very professional - and had I not been desperately containing a surge of joyous energy and biting my lips so as not to let my mouth expand into a happy smile, I would have been both comforted and impressed

I grasped Sheila's arm firmly and responded appropriately: "Good afternoon - the Valginsky party, for Mr. Francis Valginsky, deceased. We have an appointment with Mr. Stell"

Of course, please come this way. The girl lead us into a large room where several imposing and rather beautiful caskets reposed. Lovely! To a new vampire, raised on Bram Stoker and all those Hollywood movies of lusty and lecherous toothy seducers, these objects assumed an oddly erotic luster

I wonder if I could get one for myself? I had to bite savagely at my lips not to giggle. A tall man moved forward out of the gloom. Tall and slim, with a smoothly shaved head and large velvety dark eyes. He wore a beautifully tailored pinstripe suit with a narrow black tie - the very image of a man you could rely on in your time of grief.

The only clear indication of what I was to know as his true nature was a well shaped and frankly sensuous lower lip, overshadowed by a small rakish moustache with curled tips that would have done a musketeer proud - what raunchy May would have identified as a "pussy tickler

"Mrs Valginsky?" His voice was warm chocolate, "Jonathan Stell" He extended his hands and gripped my right hand firmly. "I am so sorry for your loss," said the future love of my undead life, looking deep into my eyes, "We at Silverman & Stell will do our very best to honour you loved one and put him to rest with dignity and discretion."

What a charming man! Next to me Sheila perked right up. The girl had inherited Frank's irrepressibly flirty and sadly promiscuous nature. She sobbed and extended her own hand.

Mr Stell let go of my hand with gratifying reluctance to give her a brisk handshake. His head swivelled to renew our dizzying eye-contact. "Mrs Valginsky..."

I interrupted him: "Ms Schultz, Greta..." The ends of his moustache curled a little more, and a little dancing flame seemed to ignite in his pitch-black eyes. I was assaulted by a vision of myself in my new corset being bent over the silky honey-wood of one of those luxurious caskets...

I felt the blood flood my cheeks. And poor Frank not cold yet! Then I remembered Frank's night at the morgue in a freezer drawer. Frank was as cold as a leg of lamb, and a cheating, hard-hearted bastard besides.

Mr Stell's expression changed dramatically, and Sheila cried out in alarm. "Mom, are you alright? You turned the strangest colour! I swear you turned blue." She was frantic with fear. "Mom, I am taking you back to Hospital, you may be on the verge of a heart attack..."

I recalled poor Donnie's blue blush. Oh,oh! Yet something else to deal with. Lust turned me the lovely pale azure shade of Tim Burton's Corpse Bride.

Then Mr Stell smiled, and two deep dimples (my perdition) punctuated his cheeks. "Ms Schultz, I see we have much to discuss, perhaps it would be best if we spoke alone? There are details of a delicate nature in you...husband's...situation that might distress your daughter." He turned to Sheila, even as he gestured the little red-head forward. "Maeve will show you our range, Miss Valginsky, and advise you on the best choice, while I speak with your mother..."

Ooooh...All alone with Mr Stell and his pussy tickler in the midst of all those inviting caskets? My heart lurched, my undead soul twitched, my uplifted chest heaved. Being dead had certainly done wonders for my love life. First the Doctor, now the charming Mr Jonathan Stell!

"Lead on, Mr Stell," I said, lowering my eyelids to hide my excitement, "I'm all ears.." And all yours...


Thursday, 30 March 2017

The Chronicles Of A Middle-Aged Vampire- Part 15

So I went upstairs and put on the darkest dress I owned - a blá-brown shirtwaister and some sensible chocolate pumps. I pulled back my hair and stared into the accusing mirror. Had I really aged that much, or was it my neglect of myself as a woman I was seeing?

My face was rounder, my features softened, but there were no harsh lines marring my forehead, no deep fissures of discontent bracketing my mouth, no crackling crow's feet at the corner of my still blue eyes.

I was still myself. What I needed was a good healthy dose of vanity, confidence, and flirtation...

I turned side-ways and winced. My boobs were definitely migrating south and would be forever arrested on that descent.

I was at that interesting point when I was too old to be young, and too young to be old. So I belonged to neither group, would be regarded with suspicion by the first, and with spiteful envy by the second.

I would be in that sex-less limbo forever - stripped of sexual allure without being imbued with the dignity of elderly wisdom.

I took an old lipstick from the seldom opened make-up box. I opened it and looked at that sticky bar.
Pale pink, like a minute anemic penis... I looked myself in the eye and raised my chin a notch.
I delved back into the drawer and found a gilded cylinder - an old present from May in a shade I'd nicknamed "Shameless Slut". It was a deep matt red, and I applied it to my pursed lips.

There! I pulled my hair back and clipped it up high, opened four buttons at the neckline of that shirtwaist giving myself a cleavage. On the dresser was a long string of tiger's eye stones - a birthday present from Frank - and I looped it around my neck.

Better, much better! Now I could go shopping without getting steered to the Grandma section!
I gave the mirror one juicy blood red kiss...

"The Kiss Of The Vampire..." I husked in a mock-sexy voice, and I winked at Greta Schultz - woman reborn.