Witchin' on a Vamp

He was long and lean, smooth and sexy. He was a swimmer, and Wray had locked eyes with him across the pool earlier that afternoon. He had come to clean the pool, and when he was finished, he stripped off his clothes and jumped right in. Lap after lap, Wray watched him as he swam from one end of the pool to the other. When he finally noticed her, the attraction was immediate and mutual.

Wray ran her fingers through his short, black hair. Dedicated to his sport, he wore his hair nearly to his scalp. It was as sexy as hell on him, and Wray let her fingers ooze out over the back of his head. Their time together was only beginning when she suddenly realized that she had not checked the time. She saw the red numbers 7:02 glaring at her from the clock radio on the bed stand. The last thing she wanted to do was leave this fine specimen, but she didn't dare be late. "I’m really running late.”

“If you’re hungry and want some food,” she added, “there are plenty of leftovers and perhaps a hunk of meatloaf in the refrigerator.”

“I’ll call you!” she promised, as she skidded out into the hallway, cursing herself again for not paying more attention to the time.

Running down the long hallway, Wray slowed her steps as she reached the doorway to the little room. She entered and was silent as she walked toward the casket. The oblong, silver capsule looked like something out of a science fiction movie, but Wray knew it was the real deal. She tried to be somber in her approach to the tomb, but it wasn’t easy considering that she was still a bit flushed from her time with the swimmer.

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