Vampire Stag Weekend

If you are new to my stories then they are somewhat of an acquired taste. I suggest read 'Betty' or 'October River Walk' before you start this one since it is a little bit longer and requires a little­ more investment. This one is hard, strictly adult only and quite frankly pretty horrific; enjoy.

1

I know it is supposed to be a joy-filled, happy, celebratory occasion but all I can remember is my stomach turning when Mark asked me to be his best man. Even though I love the guy dearly, we have known each other since kindergarten and his perfectly matched fiancee, Cath, since middle school, I simply detest public speaking, detailed planning and most of all bachelor parties.

It was obvious something was up last May when he invited a few of the old gang for a beer in the Port Street, a pretty upmarket pub in the middle of town. He sat us down with a round of pints and a couple of chasers to take the edge off. Then he dropped it.

"Lads, I've got some good news. Me and Cath's gonna get hitched."

"What's the good news then?" leant in Dom to a round of chuckles.

"The good news, my little furry friend, is that we are going drinking, and that Chris is going to organise it," finished Mark, looking up at me. "If you're up to it Chris then the job's yours."

I grinned, shook his hand and we all knocked back the drinks, all the while my heart doing loops at the thought of performing in front of Cath's forever moaning mum and Mark's humorless, steel spectacled step-father.

Well, over the next two weeks, I took the bull by the horns, started canvassing the happy couple for any jobs they wanted to hand off (happily not many) and quizzing the lads for ideas for a stag-do destination. There were the usual London, Blackpool, Scarborough lists as well as a few fantastical ones from a few of Mark's apparently pretty well-off Southern pals, Reykjavik, New York. The one that seemed to fit the best came from fuzzy little Dom.

He reminded me of a dirty little story from years back, back when we had all still been living at home with our parents. We had found Mark's porn stash and then hidden it all around his mum's house. At the top of the pile had been a VHS of Gothic porn, all spider's webs, eye shadow and draped black veils. We hid the dirty books behind the cereal bowls for his mum to find. The video we kept back, preferring to both protect her from the true banality of her teenage son but also to give Mark a few weeks to sweat and turn over the house looking for it. Dom's exact suggestion was that we should go to Transylvania to give Mark one last shot at 'Missis Dracula'.

It was sealed, I convened the local lads back to the Port Street exactly a fortnight after the last session and laid out the plans. There were direct flights from Manchester down to Sofia, Bulgaria which was about as close to Carpathia as the budget airlines flew. I had found a list of pubs, a guy who would take us out in a van to shoot Kalashnikovs in a field and even a pretty dirty looking gothic strip club for which I had printed out mock flyers. I presented it all to Mark over a pint, along with a quickly nailed together cross and a few bulbs of garlic. Despite the ribbing, he took it all in excellent humor.

It came round pretty quickly, one weekend in mid-July, the five of us found ourselves sitting at the giant pub in departures, waiting for the late afternoon flight down to Romania. It seemed a funny affliction of early middle age that half way through the second pint, the Rough Guides and the printed out wikis of the Balkan nations popped out all round the table. I think all of us could feel the excitement creeping up inside, it had probably been 10 years for most of us since we'd been on a proper lads weekend away. A few of the guys, Steve and Karl had families now, Mark was clearly well on his way and it was only Dom & I left to really settle down.

The flight was happily uneventful, only a few hours in the end. We didn't meet the two guys coming in from London, their flight was to land much later. Apparently their respective work schedules too flattering to be able to provide a few hours off early on a Friday afternoon. It was not long and the five of us found the car I had booked pretty easily just outside arrivals. We all sat solemnly in the back of an ancient Mercedes as it pulled out of the suburban sprawl where the Sofia airport is and headed towards what was clearly a more down-town area where we had booked a hotel. The main streets were nothing like that which I had imagined of some ex-Soviet, second-World war-torn city. Instead the pubs and clubs looked full, new and inviting. Lots of neon signs and black polished counter tops. The people looked anything but poor, the guys seemingly wearing summer suits and pretty much every girl tottering around in heels and a little thigh length figure hugging black number. To be honest, it was a hell of a lot nicer than the place from which we had just come.

As we spilled out on to the cobbled street in front of our hotel, we were alive with chatter. None of us could wait to join what felt like a warm summer party evening in a young Mediterranean atmosphere. The hotel was 'quaint' in a nice way. It reminded me of an old Parisian bistro cum hotel I had stayed in as a student. The reception desk was a rounded wooden counter squashed into a corner that divided one way into a narrow rickety wooden staircase and the other way into an open plan bar stacked full (I think of Absinthes, but I'm not sure). The portly barman/owner/hotelier who glanced at our passports, handed over the keys and ushered us up to our rooms. He seemed jolly enough although there was clearly not an awful lot of meaningful communication save a few thumbs-ups and big tit mimes as Dom went through.

Dom and I had planned to share a room, as had Karl and Steve. Mark had been allocated his own room out of the kitty as the man of honour and the two yet-to-arrive Londoners Todd and John had both elected to pay for a room for themselves. We ran up to dump our bags in what was a very basic room, one window, two beds and an ancient porcelain sink. There was a mild complaint from Dom as I explained that I would hold the only key on account of him being a liability but in the end he did take the point.

Ten minutes later we were back into our spiritual home. There was something called the Red Rock pub not 30 meters from our hotel and despite a massive array of vaporous spirits and cocktails we were seated at a friendly round wooden table with five pints and five cheap whisky chasers 'to take the edge off'. We all raised our glasses to Mark and so the night began.

Ten minutes later and we were well into the second rounds. Karl and Steve had leant off to a corner of the table to discuss the virtues of fatherhood, Mark and I were happy to have arrived and were leaning back enjoying the drink and the plans for both dinner and the next day and Dom, ..well Dom had already sidled back to the bar where he had spotted a couple of really pretty dark haired girls. The girls I guess were younger than us, mid twenties maybe, both dressed for a night out. Both had seemingly quite thin pale faces, angular aquiline jaws and noses, jet black hair and brows. Both were very pretty indeed. They wore short, tight cut, figure hugging lycra black dresses, long svelte legs ending in tall Staccato heels. How Dom does it, I don't know, he is a great guy to watch, happy to be known for and happy to play up to his reputation of being an utter liability.

Shortly he stumbled back over, girls in tow, one of them carrying a new tray of drinks. He pointed towards Mark and the first one sauntered over and sat on his thigh facing him, a delicate arm looping around his shoulders and brushing against my arm. I smiled a hello across at her. Her friend placed the drinks on the table, this time some clear shot, one each for everyone as well as either one for each of the girls or otherwise three for Mark. The second girl then took the other one of Mark's thighs, next to me, leaning with an arm on my shoulder. Her musky scent and cool soft skin drifted on to me as she sat down and leant back.

Mark was flushed a little with embarrassment at having a girl on each knee. The girls picked up their drinks in a salute. We all did likewise, one of them proposed a toast in heavily accented English. "We wish you good wedding." Everyone murmured agreement editing the ending to a happy marriage. Then she added, "and good fuck always," which drew a little cheer as she downed her drink with a little Slavic screech. I couldn't help but look up at her long porcelain neck as she tilted her head back and downed it in one gulp. It finished in her deep v-cut black dress, which in turn just covered her beautifully, rounded deep cleavage. She did have wonderful boobs, nipples jutting upwards against the sheer fabric.

I lingered a little bit too long and she caught me staring at her chest as she put her glass down. I looked away but too slowly and she put out her hand to catch my chin in it. Strong wiry fingers gripped my cheeks, burning olive green eyes trapped mine. "You bad man. You buy drink now."

I laughed with relief as she let me off. I got up and went over to the bar and she followed me. The barman looked up and she shot something in quick guttural Bulgarian at him. Another seven drinks quickly appeared. She hopped up on the bar stool next to me. "Now you good man," brushing my cheek with the soft back of her hand and leaning in close enough that I could feel her warm breath across my face tinged with her thick perfume.

Quickly and deliberately she drew my gaze down as her hands dropped to grip the front of her skirt. She pulled it up just for an instant. I got a flash of the rest of her gorgeous thighs leading up to a beautifully bald pussy between her legs, her inner lips just poking out and resting on the leather of the stool. Maybe some sort of piercing, tattoo or similar but it was a bit too quick to tell. I choked back a startled gasp. She pulled the hem of her skirt back down she rested the flat of her cool hand on my cheek again and said softly, "Now you bad man again." With that she picked up the tray and strutted back over to the table, glancing back to make sure I was watching her deliberately swaying behind as she went.

The barman shouted over the hubbub at me some price, I didn't get it really so he wrote it on a beer mat. Thirty? ..that seemed quite a lot more than I had been expecting, but to be honest I hadn't really got the hang of the money yet and I wanted to follow back over to the table as quickly as possible so I just gave him the notes and whirled about.

As I got back over to the table, the rest were waiting for me, shots primed in front of each of them. Dom popped out a little bag from his pocket that I recognized straight away. He popped out little blue tablets and put them next to each of the drinks.

"Ah no way, you are a fucking idiot Dom," I started. As I did, he picked up his pill and swallowed it, following with the shot. "Seriously, come on," I tried to continue as both Karl and Steve picked theirs up, "don't be daft, you guys are married."

"To old times", toasted Karl as he swallowed his down and finished the shot.

"Yeh, one last night," Steve copied him.

I couldn't believe what was happening, as a group we used to do this sort of stuff but it had been more than ten years. As best man, it was pretty clear the whole thing was about to unravel so I leant over and flicked the little pills in front of Mark and I across the room. "Ah fuck off," shouted Dom as he scooted away on to hand and knees under the next table in pursuit. Mark tipped his shot glass as me and winked a thanks of having dug him out of it.

I saw out of the corner of my eye one of the girls pick up the last two little pills and stick them down her bra before toasting with the other one and drinking the shot. Smart girl, she would either sell it later or at the very least watch what was going to happen to us before she swallowed it.

What did happen to be honest wasn't very pretty. The shots turned into longer drinks for the next few rounds. The girls got up and left us, more interested by another fresh group of tourists who were in the process of getting conned into exorbitantly priced shots and we slowly watched Dom, Kyle and Steve depart the current realm of consciousness. At some point, the barman refused to serve us any more which was probably reasonable since at least one of us had been sick under the table.

We staggered out in to the cold night air, half carrying Kyle and Steve. Both opted for an early bed, Mark and I helping them to the hotel entrance way and depositing them on the step outside. As we did so, we lost sight of Dom who had wandered off. Supposedly to find a club. True to form, he had indeed been a liability. Given that he had derailed the night so succinctly, I decided that I couldn't be bothered to go and make sure he was ok. To put it more accurately, I felt he could go f**k himself.

So this is how it ended up, with Mark and I looking at each other, shaking our heads and agreeing to get a last drink over a bar across the road, one at least in which we had not yet shown our faces.

The next bar was a much more low-key one, a heavy velvet curtain ran behind the door as we pushed our way in, keeping the night air out. Inside it was pretty dark, a few little tables were occupied by couples chatting, a few were free. We opted to sit on a couple of stools at the bar, greeting the barman who looked up from his glass polishing and seemed happy to have some interaction. We got a couple of small beers, this time only paying a few Levs and settled propped down against the varnished wood.

We toasted each other again and agreed to revive the night. Mark's best suggestion was that we should go back to the first bar and try to pick up the two girls. It sounded as though he had had a similar flash experience to me with the one who had stayed on his knee. I was a little bit unsure about the two of them and so I countered with the idea of finding somewhere new with new, better girls.

It was then that I remembered the folded up flyer in my back pocket. I pulled it out and unfolded it in front of Mark. "That's it! Vampire strip club young man", I clapped him on the back. He laughed and re-read the Gothic text which dripped blood over a grave stone around which kinked a slinky leg. Mark waved the barman over and asked what he thought of the place.

"Ah this is for tourists," he laughed back. "Lose all money and get nothing. I write down address good club for girls."

"We want vampire girls," I shouted over the bar as he wandered off to find a pen and a beer mat. He shot me an angry glance and shook his head.

When he came back, he poured two more beers for us and one for himself and then leant in close. He passed us a beer mat with the name of a club and I guess a street written on it and then he gestured me in closer with a beckoning finger and spoke in a hushed voice. "In Sofia, vampire no joke," he whispered. "Is real thing, but not what you think." The two of us politely sipped at our beers and humoured him.

"Where you think vampire legend come from? Piotre tell you. It said that there peoples who live in Romanian mountains who drink blood to make strong. There no magic, it just tradition. You know how Romanian mountain girl like take blood?"

He looked up at us. I have to admit that by now we were creasing a little bit, trying to cover the giggles so as not to offend him. He seemed deadly serious.

"Hungry girl best way to take blood, she take man, have love to him. She make hard him in mouth and then just as he most happy she bite." Piotre snapped his hand shut in demonstration. "She have very sharp teeth, it like blood sausage."

At this point the two of us exploded with laughter, my stool fell out from underneath me and Mark was holding on to the bar. "Stupid American," chided Piotre, muttering in Slavic as he picked up his towel and marched down to the other end of the bar.

The two of us regained our places at the bar, steadied ourselves, tried to settle our breathing and then clinked glasses again. Life was indeed looking up.

"Forgive him," came a female voice from the very end of the bar. "There are many very old men in this part of the World who cling to old tales." We both turned to a woman that we had not previously noticed sitting just a few places away. To say she was stunning is an understatement. She had the full dark Mediterranean-green eyes of the local Romany, a dark tanned-olive complexion, with thick red painted lips. Her face was framed by glossy, slightly curly black hair that fell down over her bare shoulders and framed her ample bust.

The two of us sat silent, slightly shocked as she held us in her gaze. She lifted a drink with a black straw jutting out of it to her black-red lips. We both watched, spellbound as she received it in to her beautiful mouth, deliberately twisting her tongue around it as she did. She broke into a smile, sensing her temporary hold over us and then stoop up, clutching her drink and sauntered over. As she swayed towards us we were captivated by a vision of seduction. Her long dark hair cascaded down over her tanned shoulders, bare save for thin straps holding up a deep maroon velvet dress. The bust was cut low and was tight enough that her smooth boobs seemed to lead as she came, hard nipples jutted, brushing the rim of her glass as she came. The dress split at her toned waist, and parted to allow her long legs to stride out in their high heels towards us.

The woman commanded such an air that the two of us stood up from our stools as she approached, almost involuntarily. I remember her heady perfume hitting me and being locked into her deep-green eyes as she stopped in front of us. "Lonela," she purred in an almost Italian accent, holding out her hand to Mark who took it without looking away from her face, just as fixed as I was.

"Mark," he stammered.

"Chris," I volunteered. She broke the tension, leaning her head back and emitting a silvery laugh as she let go of my hand.

"You British are always so formal, relax, welcome to Sofia." She pulled up one of the stools and leant against it, asking us about why we had come here and congratulating Mark on his impending nuptials.

A round or two of wine or beer followed and we relaxed in the company of Lonela, who, despite a slight clip to her accent, had near perfect English and proved an excellent hostess. She was extremely well travelled but also patient enough to explain local interests. As she talked, I think we both fell for her a little bit. I could not help but watch the way her full red lips moved, beautifully forming English words with foreign vowels, often pinning her straw in the corner of her mouth mid-sentence without interruption. I sensed she knew I was fixed, every now and then smiling slightly wider as she talked to Mark but flicking a glance to me out of the corner of her green eyes.

At last she put down an empty glass and then asked us if we were ready to go. We were both slightly caught aback, not knowing where she meant. "Well to watch beautiful girls dance of course," she purred. We both stopped, caught and embarrassed like naughty school boys. "I know a place that you will both very much enjoy," she finished as she stroked Mark's cheek. We both watched her as she strode off to get her coat. A quick little hi-five passed between the two of us behind her back, we were indeed naughty school boys and this was going to be great.

As she disappeared round the corner, Piotre ,the barman who had been in a huff made a line for us down the bar, ushering us in close to him. "I serious, Piotre tell you. Must not be love by beautiful womens tonight and if you do then you must to put dick in correct hole, it not have teeth." I held back a snort of laughter seeing that he looked deathly earnest as he spat it out, his hands shaking, eyes watering. Then he jumped back, Lonela had some how got her coat on and was behind us. She shouted something quick and guttural and Slavic at him, the hard edge of Russian banning any hint of the beautiful Mediterranean accent in her native tongue. Piotre winced and skipped back, retreating quickly down the bar looking at the floor as he went.