Her name was Mary Sue, but she went by Mer because it was French for "ocean" and she was a bohemian doing her own On the Road trip, but minus her own Dean Moriarty because she was and always had been a loner. She was on the American South leg of her trip. She had met very few vampires in her life, but having finished Interview with the Vampire a few states back, she had Louis's mournful ruminations on immortality on her mind. She knew Louisiana was a haven for vamps, and she was ready to be a tourist. So when she arrived in Shreveport, she parked her van in the shade, slept through the day, and in the evening she went to Fangtasia.

It was a Tuesday night, so the place was only moderately busy. The lugubrious 80's music playing reminded her of her college days. She was wearing a high-waisted pencil skirt, dainty little grey Oxford shoes, and a lilac sleeveless silk blouse. Her hair was long, curly and luxurious, and she kept it out of her eyes with a clip.

She had never been a drinker. The bartender was Asian and a vampire, though, so there was a large and eclectic menu. She drank kombucha and surveyed the scene. Lots of goths, young and aging. Some tourists gawping much less subtly than she was. And on the stage, on a fucking throne, the most gorgeous man - scratch that, he was clearly a vampire - she had ever seen. He must have been six foot five, lithe and muscled like a cyclist, and he had blond hair, penetrating blue eyes, and something in his face looked incredibly Scandinavian. Maybe it was his in the nose, or the perpetual note of mournfulness in his expression. She had to stop herself from staring. She noticed that periodically the drawling vixen who worked the door would go to whisper in his ear.

She couldn't sit still, so she danced. She twirled morosely during "Bela Lugosi's Dead", and smiled and mouthed the words to "The Killing Moon" to herself. She rocked out in a hipster jerky fashion to "Mirage" and "Ice Age". She danced until the back of her neck was damp with sweat. The dance floor became crowded as the night wore on. A tap on her shoulder brought her away from her nostalgic reverie, and she noticed that it was the door-vixen. She beckoned Mer away from the dance floor.

The gorgeous vampire had disappeared from the stage, and the vixen led Mer to him where he sat in the shadows on a black leather couch. His gaze was piercing, and her heart pounded. "Please sit," he said, and she sat next to him.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Vancouver. Canada."

He inhaled through his nose. "You smell delicious. Like forests, and the cold Pacific, and... psychedelic drugs," he ended, with surprise.

"Yeah," she said. "I, uh, did acid a few nights back, out under the stars. It was beautiful, actually."

He put his hand in her hair, moved it away from her neck, and brushed his lips very lightly against it. Her heart raced, and she felt incredibly warm.

"You don't get a lot of that in Shreveport, do you, Pam?" he remarked to the vixen, who was still standing there with one hand on her hip. She smirked. "It's been a few years, hasn't it?" She sashayed away.

The vampire's hands were enormous and when he cupped her cheek he practically cradled her skull in his hand. He stroked the tip of her ear. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked, and licked his lips.

She shivered, and nodded, and he took her hand and led her into a hallway, into a back room.

When the door was closed and locked, he brought his arms around her waist and bent down and kissed her. Slowly, smoothly, deliciously, thoroughly. Between kisses, he remarked, "you're so unlike most of those I meet here. You have an amazing aroma." And he kissed her again. His hands caressed and teased her body – sliding along her ribcage and to the sides of her breasts, and then to the small of her back, and cupping her ass. He led her to lean back against a wall, and engulfed her in his embrace with his massive frame. He kissed and licked her neck, and then she felt a sharp pain as he nicked her with his fangs, and he sucked at the trickle of blood that escaped. When he pulled away, his pupils were dilated. "It's beautiful," he said. He put his hand in her hair. "Your hair. It's like I never noticed each individual strand until now. And your pulse, your heartbeat, is like the beat of sensuous music. You're vibrating with vitality, with the rhythm of existence."

More kissing now, even more intense than before. This time he was feeling her breasts, working his hands up her shirt, and teasing her nipples through her bra. Then they decided at the same time to head toward a nearby black leather couch. He knelt between her legs, pushing her skirt up and stroking her bare thighs appreciatively. He pulled her blouse off over her head, and unfastened her bra. He took one breast in each hand, and stroked her nipples. She got her own hands under his tank top, feeling along his ribs, down his back, and then teasing along his waistband. She brushed nonchalantly against his hard-on through his jeans. His eyes slid shut, and she pulled him down to kiss her, continuing to stroke him through his pants. He moaned into her mouth in response, and ran a hand up her thigh, feeling her through her panties, and then slid his fingers in under the elastic. "So wet," he murmured, stroking her delicately with his long, soft fingers. She groaned and arched her back in response, and he stroked her clit faster, in just the right spot. "Oh – god," she cried out, and he leaned down and bit her, really bit down and sucked her this time, and she came on his hand, shuddering. He sucked the bite, taking a few more gulps, and then lapped up the remainder. He sat back on the couch and sighed. "Seriously, what do you eat?" he asked.

Eyes still closed, she smiled. "Well... vegetarian... and organic."

"Nobody tastes like you anymore. Not in Louisiana, anyway. You're so sweet, and clean. Refreshing. I need more West Coast hippies in my life."

"Fucking on hallucinogens is pretty great, too." And at that, she sat up and pushed him down, unbuttoning his pants – he was, of course, not wearing underwear. She looked his dick up and down, and then looked him in the eyes as she licked him from base to tip and sucked him into her mouth with no hands.

"Fuck," he groaned, and gripped the couch. She sucked hard, moving slowly, taking him in deep and then pulling back again and again. He continued to curse intermittently. It didn't take him long to come.

"You're good at that," he remarked, and showing his vampire speed for the first time, Mer suddenly found herself no longer wearing her panties and skirt, his with mouth on her pussy. Her legs were slung over his shoulders and he pinched and rolled her nipples in his fingers. She didn't quite know what he was doing with his tongue, with his mouth, because she had never had head this good in her life. It was simultaneously soft and hard, and again he seemed to find just the right spot. She came again, hard, collapsing back. She looked up at him. "Can you fuck me?"

Obligingly, he immediately whipped off his shirt and kicked off his pants, and beckoned her toward the bed in the room where they had not yet made it. She laid down, and he slid right in like nothing because she was still so wet, and he was huge and hard and felt fucking great and he was fucking her at an exquisite angle, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. She pulled him down for a rough kiss. Then he suddenly pulled out, turned her around, and fucked her from behind, on all fours. He groaned with each thrust, and pulled her up to bite her neck once more, and came. She could feel his dick pulsing inside her.

They laid there for a moment, and then he got up and came back with a washcloth and two bathrobes (with Fangtasia logos on the back). He had a little stereo, so she plugged her iPod in and they listened to trippy music and she smoked a joint. Their only conversation was about immediate sensation and stoned insights.

She woke enveloped in a duvet, with a note and a phone number. She found a room down the hall to take a shower, and left in search of organic groceries.

…...

She was sitting at the bar, drinking kombucha again, amused by the conversation the bartender was having on his mobile phone. It was darkwave slash industrial night tonight, but she was there pretty early so the volume wasn't fully cranked yet. There were only about 20 people there so far.

"He thinks just because he is the oldest thing in Louisiana, he can just find new staff whenever he wants. Like my hundred-plus years of serving drinks means nothing. So he won't let me take the New Year off. He doesn't give a fuck that it's total feast time for all of us back home. Everyone's on holiday, traveling and staying out late. We eat like kings, and we visit our makers. Just because we're vamps doesn't mean our ancestors aren't still important. He's such a bastard. All he cares about is profit margins..."

She chuckled. Obviously, Fangtasia's proprietor, Eric, and his right-hand lady, Pam, did not understand Chinese.

A voice was in her ear suddenly. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself." Mer jumped to discover Pam directly behind her, right in her personal space. If vamps breathed, she'd be breathing down Mer's neck. "You've been summoned," Pam said, and Mer followed her back to the same black leather couch at the back of the bar. There he was, same black jeans and tank top, looking more delectable than anyone else she'd ever met.

Mer had remembered how much fun wearing a skirt had afforded her during her last visit, so she had worn a dress for this occasion, a semi-retro looking number of the Joan Holloway variety. The kind of dress young urban women loved to wear these days to vamp it up. No pun intended.

He smiled, and stood and kissed her hand this time. Pam left them to it. They were seated. "And how was New Orleans," his question sounding like a statement.

She had enjoyed herself immensely, and met a myriad of interesting characters and experienced some crazy things. The Big Easy was not so easy, but it was a hell of a lot of fun. But that is not for this story.

"So, I found out your name's Eric," she said, and he laughed.

"And apparently you're kind of a big deal," she continued.

"Now, that depends on who you ask."

"Well, maybe if you honored certain Lunar New Year holidays and allowed people time off for blood orgies and maker-meeting..."

His eyebrows shot up. "How...?"

"You're a thousand years old and you haven't bothered to learn Chinese?"

He laughed again. "My languages, many of which are now dead, do not extend much beyond Europe."

She replied in Swedish, "You are Swedish, correct? Your accent in English sounds Swedish."

He grinned. "Your accent in Swedish sounds English. And you're, what, thirty, and you know Chinese and Swedish?"

"And a few others."

"I will remember that."

He moved closer to her, his arm on the back of the couch. She had her hair up this time, revealing her neck, and she put her hand on the back of his neck. "My name is Mer, by the way, like the -"

"The sea," he said, and then in French, "French is a language I know well. And that name suits you. The Pacific Ocean still lingers on you. … No LSD this time, though."

"In New Orleans? Didn't need to make my experience any more surreal."

He planted little kisses on her neck, behind her ear, on her temple. "Our blood is like a drug, you know," he said.

"I have heard talk of that," she replied.

"Come," he said, and they went to the same back room as before.

He shut the door behind them, and pushed her up against it and kissed her intently. As he devoured her with kisses, she realized, given some thought, it was unsurprising that he had a phenomenal talent for it, but that made it no less mind-melting. His hands roamed all over her, hitching up her skirt, and he stopped at her thighs. "Garters!" he exclaimed with pleasure. "I missed these. I am glad they are becoming popular again."

He reached back and unzipped her dress, pulling it down, where it pooled on the floor at her feet. Taking her in, he hissed, "Yesss," and kissed her all the more thoroughly. He slid down her bra straps, pulling down the cups to expose her nipples, teasing one and then the other. "Mmmm," she moaned through his kiss. He pulled back, and took her hand, leading her to a table, facing her toward it where she rested her hands. He pulled down her panties, leaving the garters and stockings on. She bent forward a little and he ran his hands over her ass, fondling her inner thighs, and then slid his fingers up toward her pussy. He played with her like that, from behind, kissing her neck and feeling her tits while he stroked her clit with those long, soft fingers of his. She panted and moaned as he worked faster and faster until she came. He licked her juices off his fingers like it was ice cream. Or, she supposed, blood. Her face was totally flushed, and sweat glistened off her breasts. "No biting?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, definitely biting. This time I would like you to bite me," he said.

"Really?"

He nodded and pulled her toward him. She pressed her body full against him and they kissed. Then she pulled his shirt up over his head, and unbuckled his pants and pulled them down. She took his erection in her hand and he sighed with pleasure as she delicately stroked him.

She led him to the bed this time, encouraging him to lay down, his head propped up against some pillows against the wall. She took off the garters and stockings, and climbed up on him, straddling him, sliding her wet pussy against his dick. She kissed his neck. "Where do you like to be bitten?" she asked.

He gave her his wrist. "This way I can see you," he said. "You won't need much. And look me in the eye when you do it."

She held his wrist up to her mouth and bit unhesitatingly, hard, watching him, and sucked. His face contorted with pleasure.

It was as though suddenly somebody had changed the channel on reality, but reality also exploded, became hyper-real. Every sensation was multiplied. She felt very alive and very strong.

His eyes were full of lust, and he pulled her down roughly and fucked her hard, unrelenting. She couldn't tell if time had slowed or sped up. His fangs cut her tongue as they kissed, and the pain felt fantastic. She was yelling, babbling, commanding him to keep fucking her like that, and he did. He rode her, pounded her into the bed. When his dick hardened like steel and he bit her neck, the pain was exquisitely pleasurable. They collapsed. She clung to him, high on his blood. "Thank you," she breathed, and laid back, looking at the ceiling, which had suddenly become intricately beautiful. He hissed her. "Thank you," he said. He put on some amazing ambient Viking music and she blissed out while he returned to tend to his serfdom. She had amazing dreams, but she couldn't quite remember any of them.