Ep. 03 A Desperate Caress

To Randy's pleasant surprise, the people on the dance floor continued dancing instead of forming a mosh pit, which was usually what happened when the song was played. Through the flash of the pulsing strobe light, he saw the towering form of the buxom redhead across the floor gyrating to the relentless beat. Soon, the song ended and Randy found his way back to the bar. He ordered a screwdriver and sat on the barstool, sighing heavily. A slower song came, next; one with a female vocalist droning about desperation. It hit a little too close for Randy's comfort, souring his mood almost immediately.

A strange, yet – somehow – familiar, presence next to him got his attention.

"Drinking to celebrate, or drinking to forget?" a sultry voice with a thick Boston accent asked him.

Randy turned and met the woman's gaze. Her black-coated lips curled in a seductive smile. Randy smiled back weakly, prompting the woman's next words.

"Ahh, drinking to forget . . . I see. So what was her name? Forget it, I don't wanna know." She extended her hand and said, "The name's Daria . . . Daria Fulci. And you are . . .?"

"Randy Cho," he said, kissing her hand politely.

"Well met, Son of Genghis," Daria said, with a smirk and a wink.

"Likewise, Daughter of Caesar . . . that is, if we're going to continue claiming the bloodlines of mighty conquerors," Randy said, returning the wink.

"I've never seen you around here . . . first time?"

Randy nodded, and Daria continued her pleasant interrogation.

"Where are you from, Randy?"

"Arkham, born and raised," he replied.

"Ahh, a Misky boy," she purred. "So is it true that Herbert West's ghost still roams the halls of Miskatonic Hospital?"

"Yep!" Randy said. "If you're real quiet late at night, you can hear his anguished moans, crying out for loose sorority girls and cheap booze," he said dramatically.

"I like you; you're fucking nuts, man," Daria said, slapping Randy's shoulder. "I live out in Beverly, but I was born in Boston . . . North End."

"I can kinda tell," Randy said with a smile, "a pretty Italian girl like you."

"You think I'm pretty?" After Randy nodded, Daria said, "You're not so bad yourself, hot stuff. So what's your plan after you leave? I saw you enter with a good sized group."

"Gonna crash at a hotel room with my friends to sleep off the liquor, then back home the following day."

"Would your friends be too disappointed if you don't leave with them? I wouldn't mind getting to know you a little better." Daria let the innuendo hang in the air with her last statement.

Randy looked over at his band mates still at their table. Mark looked back at him, then grinned like an idiot and flashed a 'thumbs-up' sign. Rick gave an approving look, and then gestured for Randy to go and have fun with his new acquaintance.

"I'm gonna take that as a 'no'," Randy said, nodding his head to lead Daria's gaze over to his band-mates and still see them grinning and leering at him, thumbs all raised high in the air. He laughed and continued, "In fact, I think they're trying to get rid of me."

"Well, I didn't come here with anyone, so I've got no reason to stay here, if you don't."

"I've never really been one for socializing," Randy admitted. "At least, not in places where you have to scream yourself hoarse to be heard over the P-A system. Let's take our leave. Just gimme a minute to say good-bye to my friends."

"Cool!" Daria said. "I'm gonna go to the ladies' room, and I'll meet you outside!"

Randy watched the woman as she left. He noticed that her walk had a definite slink to it, and he had to admit that he liked it. She had what could only be called 'ghetto booty', which was undoubtedly a result of the tight corset. Randy walked over to his friends and informed them that he was going to head out with Daria.

"Way to go, doom brother!" Rick said. "Not really my type, but I know you like 'em big. She looks like she can get kinky, too."

"Yeah," Krista said. "Goth chicks tend to be the kinky types."

"You know this from personal experience?" Rick said.

"Why yes, yes we do," Jon said, which earned a slap upside the head from Krista.

Mark clasped Randy's hand and gave him a hug. "Good luck, man," he said. "You're gonna be okay, brother."

"Thanks guys," Randy said. "I'll try and call you all tomorrow to let you know if it went okay."

Randy went to the men's room to wash the makeup from his face, and then left the club, saying good-bye to Jared on his way out.

"Leaving already?" he asked.

Daria stepped outside and put her arm around Randy, a 'cat-that-ate-the-canary' grin on her face..

"Ahhhh, gotcha," Jared said. "Well, have fun, man!"

"Thanks!" Randy said as he walked with Daria to her car.

* * * * * * *

"So what do you do with yourself when you're not dressed up like a guy in a Visual Kei band?" Daria asked as she sped her car up I-95.

Randy gave the abridged version. "I play guitar for a death metal band called Bloody Solstice and when I'm not doing that, I help my grandfather out at his Tae Kwon Do school. Other than that, I'm on my second year at Miskatonic," he said.

"Right on," Daria said. "By the way, you look better without all that makeup. Normally, I like a guy who wears makeup well, but you look a little too pretty in it, even for me."

"The keyboardist did my makeup. Personally, I would've opted for something simpler, but hey, what do I know, right? My friends took me out to try and cheer me up."

"Woman troubles?" she asked, her voice dropping a bit in volume, and taking on a soft, understanding tone.

Randy nodded, then realized she probably couldn't see that gesture.

"Yeah," he said, leaving it at that. He didn't feel like going into all the details, unless she pressed him about them.

"Well, maybe I can help you feel better," she suggested, putting her hand on his thigh to emphasize her point.

Randy laid his hand on top of Daria's and smiled at her. He felt awkward about the situation, and had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he shouldn't be doing this, but couldn't have explained it to anyone if they'd asked. It wasn't guilt; there was no reason for him to feel guilty. It was Rachel who left him, and not the other way around. Still, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that – somehow – he was doing something wrong.

"You okay?" Daria asked. "You know, if you don't want anything to happen, just let me know. We can just sit around and talk, if that's what you want."

"Thank you," Randy told her sincerely, "but I'm alright. I should probably tell you that I've only been with one woman, so I'm just feeling kind of awkward."

"Only one? How old are you, anyway?" Daria asked him, trying not to make her question sound like an attack.

"I'm eighteen," he said, then chuckled and added, "That place would probably lose its liquor license if they knew how old I really was."

"Eh, I don't think so," Daria laughed heartily. "The fuzz rarely ever go there. Hell, I drank there when I was your age, and that was fourteen years ago!"

Randy looked at her in shock. Daria caught his surprised expression and laughed again.

"You didn't think I was that old, did you?" she chuckled. "It's okay, cutie, I appreciate the compliment."

"I'm glad," Randy laughed. "but, now I'm wondering if you'll find my experience . . . adequate."

"You strike me as a man who knows the basics of how to handle himself with a woman," Daria told him in a serious tone. "And life is a constant role-changing experience. We all have our times of being the student, and the times when we're the mentor."

"True enough," Randy had to agree.

"So don't worry," Daria told him, looking away from the road for long enough to flash him a smile. She squeezed his thigh harder and grinned evilly, "I'll be gentle . . . or rough, depending on what you like. And I have a hunch you'll be more than adequate!"

Randy had to admit that the thought of sharing a bed with this woman was not an unpleasant one. His cock twitched inside his leather pants at the prospect of slipping into something new. Still, the 'performance anxiety' persisted. It had been bad enough, when he'd thought that Daria was only three years his senior at the minimum. But, fourteen? The thought of how many lovers she could have had, all the things she might want that he didn't know how to do . . .

'Dammit, I need a cigarette,'Randy thought to himself.

He looked around and saw a half-empty pack of Newports sitting in the cup holder in the console between the seats. One of the cigarettes was between the fingers of Daria's left hand, already half consumed, and she was once again bringing it to her lips. He studied her intently as she took the drag, inhaled, and then exhaled through primly pursed lips. She looked rather like a heroine in an old 'noire' detective film – if Tim Burton had directed the film, that is.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his own, rolled down the window slightly, and lit up. The smoke, filling and escaping his lungs, helped ease his nerves.

"So, have you ever been to Beverly?" Daria asked.

"Not really," he answered. "The closest I've ever been was a gig in Salem on Halloween. That was a fun one. Probably the biggest draw we've ever gotten. I'm not too big on Salem, myself. Other than the Peabody/Essex Museum, most of the town is a witchcraft-oriented tourist trap, and a load of hyped-up bullshit. I'm just glad that Salem got all the press and not Arkham. If people knew half of the shit that supposedly went down in Arkham, we'd be under a constant deluge of tourists."

"So the stories aren't true? There was no 'witch house' . . . no Wilbur Whateley . . . no Necronomicon hidden in Miskatonic's vaults . . . no demon wolves prowling the surrounding woods?"

"There are no wolves in Massachusetts; everyone knows that. I mean, theremaybe some in a zoo, here and there, but they're locked in cages."

He paused, taking another drag from his cigarette, before continuing his explanation.

"The alleged witch house burned down, about thirty years ago. It was chalked up to electrical problems, but there are rumors that it was arson. Apparently, some local wanted the constant stream of tourist-traffic in the area to just go away. House burns down and, presto, no more cars full of tourists. The fire was never investigated, though, so I don't know if the authorities ever did manage to determine how it started.

"As for the Necronomicon, I don't know; I always thought that it was the invention of some old fart's overactive imagination, but the legend is still really strong. We're talking about things most commonly referred to in stories that were written about eighty years ago, you know. When the tales are that old, it gives the 'legends' plenty of time to dig in and get ingrained in the local psyche. I do remember an incident that happened about five years ago. The library was robbed and several old books were stolen. The cops never disclosed what the books were, but they did say that the volumes were apparently worth well over a million dollars. The big rumor was that one of the books that was stolen was the Necronomicon. Supposedly, the Book of Eibon and another called Von Asslicken Somethingorother, or something like that . . . apparently those were nabbed, too. Anyway, I think that's all bullshit, myself."

"You seem to know all about your town's urban legends," Daria said.

"Being born and raised in Arkham, it's impossible not to be fairly well-versed on the subject," Randy admitted, chuckling. "There is one interesting side-light to the story, though. When the witch house burned down, someone put up a franchise McDonald's. The place only lasted five years, before it went belly-up. And that never happens to a McDonald's. They've tried opening up several businesses on that lot, in the years since then, but none of them lasted more than a few years."

"That's something that doesn't submit itself to logical explanation," Daria suggested. "Maybe there was something to the old stories."

"Maybe," Randy shrugged. "My friends and I used to dare each other to go into the abandoned building, back when we were kids. I can't remember any of us actually having the balls to go through with the dare. To this day, something about that placestillgives me the creeps. Shit, there are some parts of the Misky campus that I'm reluctant to go to, and I'm not the only one, either."

"Well, most legends do have some basis in fact," Daria said.

"True enough. The witch house did exist, and Miskatonic did have a med student back in the '20s or so, named Herbert West, who went nuts. But then, every town has its weird tales and its crazies. One of my college professors spent a whole week lecturing on how famous authors can take a simple tragic local tale and blow it all out of proportion into some horrible, ghoulish legend."

"Yeah I know," Daria agreed. "Fuck, I can tell you some tales about Beverly. Hey, I'm gonna stop at Shaw's on the way to my place. Are you gonna need anything?"

"Actually, yeah," Randy said. "I'll come in with you."

Daria nodded and continued driving, occasionally quietly singing the words to whatever tune was playing on the car's stereo. They exchanged small talk, on the way to the store, each sharing humorous anecdotes about their lives. Randy was reluctant to share too much, particularly about his school experiences or his relationship with Rachel, but Daria didn't seem to make an issue of his reticence.

They finally arrived at the Shaw's supermarket in Beverly. Of course, their appearance - the clothes they wore, and the remnants of Daria's make-up – drew a few strange stares from the few shoppers who were there at that hour, much to their amusement. It was a quick stop, though; how long does it take to pick up cigarettes, snacks, and some condoms? Shaw's was followed immediately by a stop at a nearby liquor store, where Randy wisely waited in the car. Daria spent fifteen minutes inside the shop, emerging with a medium-sized paper bag and a twelve-pack of Icehouse.

They arrived at Daria's small apartment at about half past one in the morning. Though the floor in the apartment was cluttered with various objects, Randy still followed habit and removed his shoes. He helped Daria off with her coat, garnering a raised eyebrow and a smile from her for his action, and then shrugged out of his own coat, draping both garments over the back of a chair. Daria leaned toward him and gave him a brief kiss.

"I'll be right back, sweets," she told him. "I just wanna get out of this makeup. Besides, I feel like I'm gonna burst! My back teeth are floating!"

"No worries; I'll be here," Randy responded, already investigating her bookshelves.

* * * * * * *

Daria walked into her bathroom and removed her boots, taking a good two inches off her height. As she freshened up, she massaged her sore feet. She loved how her boots made her feet look, and enjoyed the additional height they offered her already-impressive 6'1" frame, but she always felt like she could barely walk, after a night of dancing and partying in them. Removing her wig, she pulled her auburn hair back into a ponytail to keep it from getting wet while she washed the layer of greasepaint from her face. After applying a few deft touches of 'normal' makeup, she let her hair down again and brushed the tangles out of it. The time she spent allowed her to think of the new friend who was patiently waiting for her in the living room.

She couldn't help but like Randy. She had always had kind of a 'thing' for Asian guys, and the handsome young man was quite a catch. She had noticed him, early on, standing in the queue in front of the club, and studied the way he carried himself and the play of expressions on his face. Her appraisal of him was that he was rather troubled, most probably from a relationship ending recently and painfully. Having spent some time with him, she had found him to be quite mature and extremely intelligent, for someone so relatively young. She couldn't imagine how any woman in her right mind would set a sweet man like Randy free, and a part of her wished that she could be the one to help him mend. However, her own heart had been broken countless times, by both men and women, and the memory of those times made her reluctant to pursue any sort of serious relationship. She had a nagging feeling that this night probably wouldn't end very well, but she was determined to make the most of it, to make the most of whatever time with Randy fate would allow her.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Randy was doing his own thinking while looking at Daria's bookshelves. He'd always heard it said that you could learn a lot about a person's nature from the books they enjoyed, the music they listened to, and the films they viewed, and Daria's library was an eye-opener, to say the least. Most of the shelf space was occupied by horror and true crime books, as well as books on the topic of BDSM, fetish culture, and female dominance. Her DVD collection of slasher flicks and B-movies was impressive, even compared to his own sizable collection. He noticed several films from Troma Studios, including one of his favorites,The Toxic Avenger. He also noticed some triple-X rated films, including several films on bondage as well as women using dildoes on men.

"Uh-oh," he muttered to himself. "I wonder if she plans on doing anything like that to me . . ."

"Anything like what?" Daria's voice startled him.

He turned, quickly, and saw her standing in the doorway. His eyes widened and a smile played about his lips as he took in the change in her appearance. The fire-engine-red hair had vanished, replaced by auburn locks that cascaded over her shoulders, and the black leather corset and other trappings had been supplanted by a form-fitting thigh-length black dress and black fishnet stockings. The ever-present smirk, however, appeared to be permanently affixed to her lovely lips.

Randy knew he was busted, so he didn't bother trying to lie. Instead, he held up the DVD,Bend Over Boyfriend#3, that he had been examining when she'd caught him.

"Not if you don't want me to," she laughed heartily. "There aren't too many guys who would bend over, at least not for a girl."

Randy laughed, and then thought for a moment. He and Rachel had done some anal play with fingers and tongues, and he certainly liked being on the giving end of anal sex. He also loved it when Rachel took control, during sex. Although he had no attraction for men, he wondered what it would feel like to totally relinquish control, and to be on the receiving end. His experience with the kinkier side of sexual expression had been quite limited, and he'd never known that some women actually would strap on a dildo and fuck a man, until seeing images of that very thing on the DVD cover just now.

He put the DVD away and stood in front of Daria, at that moment feeling really, really short. He always thought he was fairly tall, at five feet nine inches and, now, here was this sexy woman towering over him in her bare feet. Daria ran her fingers through his long black hair and pulled him in hard, for a kiss, stealing his breath away. As the kiss deepened, he wrapped his arms around her ample waist, cupping her buttocks with his hands. Through the fabric of her dress, he could tell that she wasn't wearing panties underneath. Just her sexy fishnet stockings and a garter belt to help hold them up. His cock, already hard from the intensity of the kiss, throbbed upon receipt of that knowledge. Daria reached down and gently squeezed his crotch.

"Hmm, looks like someone needs some attention," she purred in his ear. "Come into my room and we can get comfortable."

Taking him gently by the hand, Daria led him back a short hallway and into her bedroom. She turned on a set of black lights, setting some of her wall posters, as well as Randy's shirt, aglow. As he took his shirt off and sat on her four-posted bed, Daria got on her hands and knees and reached under her bed, giving Randy a chance to ogle her the outline of her luscious ass-cheeks through the fabric of her thin dress. After a moment, she stood up, holding a small cigar box. Curling one leg beneath her body, she sat next to him on the bed and opened the box, revealing a ceramic pipe and a baggie filled with a dark olive-green mass that Randy recognized as being marijuana. He'd seen it often enough, backstage at clubs where he'd played, but had never tried the stuff; he'd heard it messed with coordination, and he valued his skill on the guitar. He wasn't in any hurry to experiment with the drug, even away from gigs, but he figured that it wouldn't hurt to try it just this once. Maybe it might help take his mind off of Rachel – keep her image from swimming in front of his eyes the way it always did, and let him totally enjoy the night, and the sexy woman next to him on the bed.