A Vampire For Christmas

Author's note -

I received a comment from reader RexOna saying he liked the story but felt there needed to be more insight into why Katherine made the decision she did. Upon reflection, he is right. Fortunately, Literotica allows authors to edit their published works. While I was at it, I fixed a few typos and made some other tweaks to, hopefully, improve the reader's experience. I did not alter the substance of the story, just polished it a bit. If you have read the original and the other chapters in the tale, thank you for taking the time. The response has been overwhelming to me. I feel quite gratified and challenged to add to it. I hope to have the next chapter soon, maybe for Valentine's day. Please feel free to comment privately or publicly. As is evidenced by this edit, your thoughts matter to me.

This is the first story I have submitted. Over the years, I tried to write to no avail. The theme or the characters or their dialogue never came together for me. I read and reread and reread a story by Cold Comfort titled "A Taste of Night". It is the inspiration for this story. "A Taste of Night" is one of the best stories, vampire or not, I have read on this site. I have hopes that he will write spinoffs from that story, but it has been years.

The characters in that story are compelling to me. I feel I know them. I believe they have more to say. I attempted to contact Cold Comfort through Literotica asking that if he had no plans to revisit the characters, he would allow me to use his story as a starting point for some followup stories my mind had concocted. I had already begun several, but I will not publish them without his collaboration or permission. It was one of those efforts that formed the ideas for this story.

To Cold Comfort, thank you. To you, the reader, I hope you enjoy my tale. Seeing how much effort this has cost, I am in even more awe of those who submit stories for this site, especially those I consider elite authors. Without further ado, with trepidation, and hope, I offer:

A VAMPIRE FOR CHRISTMAS

"A YEAR, Michelle. A damn year. What the actual fuck?"

I don't know what I felt more, anger or relief. Either way, this phone call was a shock.

"I know, Kath," she sobbed. "It hasn't quite been a year, but I get it. I am so, so sorry. You deserve better."

Michelle and I had been best friends since 3rd grade, 20 years ago. We were always in close touch, even when we went to different colleges, worked in different towns. We used face time. We texted. We visited. I can't remember a worthwhile event in my life that did not involve Michelle in some way.

A little more than a year ago, she met Francois. She fell hard. He was all she talked about. There were elaborate parties. They traveled, almost constantly. Her last text said they were off to China. After that, I stopped hearing from her. My attempts to call and text failed. There was no email. Her online accounts disappeared. It was as if she never existed.

"I was so scared, Michelle. I was afraid Francois was involved in an international drug cartel or crime family. You said he was some rich finance guy. I searched the net and there was no sign of Francois. I was convinced you were dead."

There was a long pause. A really long pause.

"Kath," she said, "I want to see you. I've hated not talking to you. I don't know what to say to make you understand, except that I'm............ I guess 'changed' best describes things. I want to tell you about this past year so you'll know how good things are for me. You deserve an explanation for why I haven't contacted you. You know I would have if I could."

"I want you to come to a party Francois and his friends are having this holiday season. Please say you will. I don't know when we'll have another opportunity to be together. There is so much that you need to know and I can't tell you over the phone. I know you must hate me right now, but please, after all we've meant to one another, please come see me."

You had to know Michelle to understand that she NEVER begged. Anyone. For anything. She never had to. She is nearly 6 feet tall, long, thick blonde hair, icy blue eyes, with a face and figure that dominate any room. She's an independent model, having recently left the agency that signed her in college. She is a force of nature. In all of our adventures, she was the instigator. I was not hard to convince, if I'm honest.

I had thoughts of what she would be like in bed. We had kissed on occasion, a little fondling here and there, but stopped ourselves from going further. We said it was because we valued our friendship too much to risk it. It seemed, at times, that she wanted more. At times, I did too. The truth is that I was the one who held back. My Mother died when I was young. After that, I didn't trust that anyone would stay with me. So, I kept an emotional arms length away from anyone. Michelle was the closest I had come to letting myself be vulnerable.

What could I say?

"Give me the details, Michelle. Where? When? I can probably arrange my schedule. But, you know I have a budget."

"The party is in London a week before Christmas."

"London! Have you lost your mind? I don't hear from you for a fucking year and you want me to come to London? You know I can't afford a trip like that, especially with holiday hotel and air rates. Can't you just come here?"

"You worry too much," she said. "I wouldn't ask you to come if I hadn't figured stuff like that out. I'll make hotel arrangements for you. We'll fly you over on Francois' jet. It won't cost you a cent for anything. One other thing. The party is kind of formal. I can set up an appointment with a designer his family uses, my treat. It'll be fun. Besides, you deserve a vacation. Say you'll come. Please."

"Of course he has a jet," I said. "AND, a designer. OK. You win. Yes, I'll come. Jesus, Michelle, just how rich IS this guy anyway?"

"You have no idea. We can talk about it when you get to London. I won't be available for the next several weeks. I have some commitments in Europe. But, I'll check before you leave to make sure there are no problems. One of his assistants will contact you with details and will clear any hurdles. Thank you, Kath."

"Michelle," I said. "I'm glad you're not dead."

There was another long pause. "I can't wait to see you, Kath."

I wondered if Francois had a friend.

Michelle is the only one who calls me Kath. Everyone else uses Katherine, which I prefer. I work at a publishing company editing books and articles about places I hope, probably in vain, to one day visit. Modest salary, great benefits, spare living arrangements to match. I realized I hadn't asked if I could bring a date. No matter. There was no one special in my life anyway. Not a dog or a cat. Not even a stupid goldfish. Too much trouble. Too much responsibility. Too much money.

So, London for the holidays. Who goes to London on a private jet to a formal party in designer clothing? I know who doesn't. ME. People dream of being that rich, but to actually BE that rich. It made my brain hurt.

Francois' assistant contacted me the next day. He stayed in touch over the next few weeks and kept me updated by phone and email on details of the visit. Michelle called a couple of days prior to departure to check on how things were shaking out. I guess this is how rich people travel. None of my authors described their trips like this.

On the day of the flight, a limo picked me up at my apartment and whisked me to the airport. The flight was ready to leave instantly. The plane, more luxurious than I imagined. So much so that, despite my nerves and sense of awe, after a glass of wine and a light dinner, I relaxed and promptly fell asleep. When we landed, a limo met us on the tarmac where a customs agent processed me in no time at all. Then, I was off to a suite in a beautiful hotel in central London. I was definitely 'not in Kansas anymore'.

The next day, the limo met me at the hotel and took me to a private fashion design studio to be dressed for the party. At 5'7", I appear a bit taller owing to good posture, the result of a lifetime of athletics. My first love is volleyball, which I play enough to keep in shape. I think of myself as pretty on my best days, cute most others. My figure is more that of a swimmer or soccer player, rather than a runway clothes horse, like Michelle.

I keep my hair sort of short, about chin length. I would call it soft curly. Longer, it's too much bother to maintain. Someone once described my hair color as tawny. I had to look it up. It fits. I think I approach being a blonde, most noticeably in summer, but in winter months I tend more toward light brown. My eyes are a medium shade of amber. I like how my hair color makes them stand out.

I was shown to a room where I was met by a very attactive, middle aged woman, who introduced herself as Anna, and a flamboyant young man, Kenneth. They fawned over how I looked in this dress or that pair of slacks, with this pair of shoes. I'm difficult to please, so I felt bad for them. I expected to end up with a dress I would never have occasion to wear again. Instead, I settled, rather THEY settled, on a light brown pair of fitted slacks, and a cream colored silk blouse, with a pair of brown, gem encrusted Louboutins. Underneath it all, a camisole and bikini set the same shade as the blouse and a matching pair of thigh highs. I was able to convince them I only needed a pair of small gold hoops, and a gold chain. I thought I looked good. Apparently, not good enough.

The limo drove me to a salon where a, probably famous, hair stylist and her makeup artist went to work on me. Looking in the mirror when they declared me fit to leave, I told myself, "I look good enough to eat." Little did I know.

Michelle had arranged to meet me at the hotel dining room. I got there just before she was due and was escorted to a table in the best part of the restaurant. As I was being seated, the hostess said that Michelle had ordered for me. I hoped she remembered what foods I hated. She was still not there when my meal arrived. No surprise.

I think rich people's idea of a salad is much different from the rest of us. This one was a mix of fresh, unusual vegetables, fruits and nuts, many of which I didn't recognize. It was incredible, drizzled with a vinaigrette dressing that I would have been happy to eat by itself. There was also a bottle of, probably expensive, champagne.

A few minutes after I had begun eating, the restaurant fell completely silent. The reason was obvious. Everyone was looking at the woman walking toward my table. She was a gorgeous blonde in a dark blue, curve hugging cocktail dress, one shoulder bare. She was adorned with a tasteful array of silver bracelets and a sapphire on a delicate silver chain resting on her forehead. Silver Louboutins completed the look. I had never seen Michelle look more exquisite. If anything she was prettier than last I saw her. As usual, she owned the room.

She glided to my table with a feline grace. "That's new," I thought. I didn't know she could slink like that. She oozed sex. I'll be honest. I was getting wet just watching her. I stood and we hugged. Really hugged. She kissed me full on the lips. That did nothing to relieve my wetness. We stepped back and looked at each other a moment. Her skin was more flawless than ever. A bit more pale. And, surprisingly, cool to the touch.

"You are a Goddess," I said. "An absolute sent down from Olympus example of what beauty was intented to be. I am so jealous."

She smiled. "Goddess is not in any way a word I would use. But, thank you. I guess my new diet deserves some of the credit. That, and my state of mind. For that, I credit Francois."

"Diet?" I asked. "What's your secret? No carbs, vegan, Paleo?"

"No. Nothing like that. Definitely NOT vegan. I am on kind of an international diet these days. Different tastings from different countries, shall we say. But, enough about me. YOU are absolutely beautiful. I can see our people have gone all out for you. I am tempted to just take you upstairs and cross the barrier we've never allowed ourselves."

I blushed and returned to my seat. Michelle sat opposite me. "Are you going to order?" I asked.

"No," she said and looked away for a moment. "I plan on eating later at the party." When she looked back I noticed that her eyes had a soft glow to them. Contacts? I didn't ask. Her eyes, which had always drawn me in, now seemed to, in addition, calm me and make me forget some of what I wanted to ask her.

We talked about her past year. The extent to which she had travelled was astonishing. She described life with Francois. It sounded like a fairy tale. Expensive everything. Fabulous houses. Experiences with famous people.

We talked about my year. No. I wasn't dating anyone. Yes. I was still more drawn to a person rather than a gender. Yes. My job was still between mundane and mildly exciting, depending on which author I was assisting. No. I had not been anywhere of note.

Her phone buzzed. She looked at it and said, "that was Francois. It's time for us to go." She motioned for the server and told her to make sure the meal was charged to my room, which was on Francois' account. She instructed the server to add the equivalent of the meal price to the check as her tip, thanked her, rose, held out her hand, and we were off.

"Holy shit, she's not a goddess. She's the fucking Queen of England," I thought.

After a short limo drive out of the city, we arrived at the house where Michelle said the party was being held. I had to laugh. House? It was the quintessential English mansion. Every BBC show I ever watched had someone living in THIS house. I was speechless.

The house was decorated in festive lights, ribbons, tinsel, the whole Christmas vibe. We entered into a three story foyer with a gigantic spiral staircase. A member of the household staff took our coats, my new designer purse AND my cellphone. Michelle explained that some attendees were very guarded about pictures.

We were shown to a huge ballroom with a large dance area surrounded by tables that had dividers to ensure privacy and intimacy. A small band was playing. Some people were sitting talking, others were mingling, drinking. The mood was festive. A few people were dancing. There were well dressed men dancing with equally well dressed women. One couple was two men. Another was two women. Everything I saw screamed wealth, and, in my mind, excess.

I suddenly felt extremely self concious and began to wish I had declined Michelle's invitation. Just as I was going to express my concerns, Michelle, brightened, held out a hand and said, "Hello, Love."

There stood a tall man with dark hair slightly graying around the temples. Michelle had said Francois was much older than her. But, I would have guessed this man's age as early forties. He had a close trimmed beard. His dark eyes, like Michelle's, had a light glow to them. The effect was made more prominent due to his pale skin. He was leading man handsome. Accompanying him was a beautiful woman who seemed near my age.

"Katherine, THIS is Francois," Michelle said with obvious pride. Gesturing to the woman, she continued, "and this is Colleen, my closest friend other than you. It's her party and it was she who insisted I call and invite you."

Francois took my hand, bowed slightly, turned my hand over and kissed my wrist. His cool lips against the vein in my wrist had an immediate effect. I thought Michelle made me wet just looking at her, but this gesture, his eyes and the power of his bearing was much worse. Part of me wanted him. There. Now.

"Katherine, you are even more lovely than Michelle described. I am honored and delighted to meet you. I trust your trip has been pleasant. I would not have anything be amiss."

It took me a moment to gather myself enough to speak.

"It's good to meet you, Francois. Thank you, for everything. Any expectations I had have been far exceeded. I can see why Michelle is smitten. Though, she described you as much older." I had a moment of panic that I had crossed a line with that comment. But, Michelle simply smiled and winked at Colleen who just shook her head. Clearly, I was not in on the joke.

Colleen's auburn hair fell in waves to her shoulders. It was all I could do not to run my hands through it. She had grey eyes that shone slightly. Like many redheads, she had a creamy white complexion. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. She held me at arms length and said, "It is good to actually meet you, Katherine."

We stood in silence like that for a moment. I was starting to feel a bit twitchy when, in a voice just above a whisper, she said, "Beautiful".

Hah. She was one to talk. She was about my height, wearing a simple LBD with spaghetti straps. Her dress was between knee and mid thigh length, emphasizing shapely legs encased in black stockings with a seam down the back and, of course, black Louboutins. Did these people own stock or something? Her figure was much like mine. Her lips were a shade of red nearly matching her hair color. I was, again, to my mind, the lesser beauty.

She led us to a table. On the way, she whispered to me, "Michelle is not wrong. Francois is much older."

We sat and made small talk, mostly about my trip, the designer and stylist. Michelle and Francois got up to get drinks. She promised she was not abandoning me. I said, "You better not, or I swear, I will kick your ass in front of your friends." Fortunately, everyone laughed, but I was not completely joking.

When they left, Colleen moved a bit closer to me and began asking about my life, in particular my hopes and plans for the future. Her questions were very detailed. It almost felt like an interview. The entire time, I couldn't take my eyes from hers. Neither could I hold anything back. I felt as if I had fallen under a spell. Her Irish accent made every word seem perfect to my ears.

Michelle and Francois returned with wine. We four chatted a bit. Then, they headed for the dance floor. Watching them dance was like watching a scene from every Prince Charming movie. Colleen poured two glasses, offered me a toast and we got back to our conversation.

"Are you to be my date for tonight?" I asked.

"Would you like me to be?" she replied, smiling.

"I don't know. I AM enjoying your compay," Trying to, at least, seem coy, I added, "let's see how the evening progresses. I admit to being a bit intimidated by how beautiful you are."

"So says the hottest woman I have seen in some time," she said with a smile. "Tell you what. Dance with me. We can talk while doing so. I enjoy a slow dance. If it turns out you're a total klutz, maybe the question will answer itself." She let out a soft laugh, took my hand and led me to the dance floor.

"Are you cold?" I asked.

"No. Why?" She replied.

"It's just that your hands feel cool. Michelle's skin seemed cool too, but she said nothing, so I figured it was simply me feeling flushed."

"It's not you, Dear," she said.

She held me close enough that our breasts and hips lightly touched, but far enough away that we could look each other in the eye and continue our conversation.

"Your powers of observation are quite good," she offered. "Michelle and I are a lot more alike than you know. And, as she said, we have become rather close. Not as close as you two, yet more in some ways."

I didn't know how to respond to that. So, I asked, "Do you think Michelle and Francois will get married?"

She laughed and smiled warmly. "Oh, there is no need for that. They have a much stronger bond than marriage could ever approach. None of us in our group marry, yet some couples have been together longer than you can imagine."

Colleen's style of speech reminded me of someone a bit older, a teacher, someone's Aunt maybe. She also seemed to speak with an air of authority. Who in my age group calls another woman 'Dear'? I put that down to the differences between the States and Europe.