A Vampire In Paris

She had come away to Paris to get away from everything. From the boss who wanted her to sign her life away, from the management consultancy that was slowly shrivelling her soul, from the work-mate who just wouldn't get out of her head, and yet hardly knew she existed.

She'd spent hours on the Internet composing her own itinerary. Not for her the Eiffel Tower and the queues at the Louvre. Instead she researched the oldest, most respected antiquarian bookshops, the most exclusive chocolateries and the most haunting Gothic cemeteries Paris had to offer. It would be her personal tour of Paris.

She had left the hotel early in the morning, spurning the jostling of the Metro for a long leisurely stroll about the streets of the capital. Now, mid-afternoon, her feet were aching and her neck sore from carrying all the trinkets and gifts to herself that she had picked up along her way. She was relieved when the lingerie shop came into view.

She had almost missed this in her research, at first putting down one of the famous big name stores in the shopping district. But on one last web search she had across a blog that mentioned this little place, just a small homage to a treasured find in Paris, and she knew this was a place she had to visit.

A bell rang as she opened the door; a delicate tinkle that seemed to go un-noticed. The shop was small and there weren't any windows that she could see, giving it an eerie other worldly type of feel. But she gasped as soon as she laid eyes on its wares: boned corsets of every colour, flimsy baby-doll negligees that left nothing to the imagination, feather-trimmed nightdresses in a rainbow of silk, sexy satin pyjamas that looked like something Louise Brooks or Marlene Dietrich would wear to meet gentlemen callers.

Nervously, she reached out to touch the different fabrics. Her senses were going to go into overdrive. She felt as though she wanted to hide in one of the racks as she used to do when shopping with her mother, retreating into a world of texture and only venturing out when she heard her name being called out in annoyance.

Absentmindedly she played with a feather boa, its baby-hair softness causing tiny pricks of tears to form in her eyes.

And then she noticed the floor.

A Rioja-red deep pile carpet that seem to call to her to remove her shoes. She laughed to herself, wondering what the shop assistant, wherever they might be, would say if they wandered back and saw a strange English woman clomping around in her bare feet. But they ached so much and the carpet did look so inviting.

"Take them off," she spun around as she heard a voice from her right.
"Take them off, we won't mind." The voice belonged to a tall man who stood in the shadows of the changing room curtain. She noticed that his French accent was tinged with a Louisiana drawl. This was no huffy Parisian.

"Pardon?"
"Your shoes, please do take them off."

She slipped them off and picked them up, wondering how he knew what she was thinking. The man moved out of the shadows. He was taller than she had thought, dressed in black, with eyes that conjured up the green sparks of fireworks with the thoughtfulness of a cat about to make its move. There was something about him that seemed familiar, as if he was someone she had met once before; someone she had deliberately decided to forget. A small shiver crossed her back. What did they call it: someone walking over your grave? She wondered if they had a similar phrase in French.

"Allow me," he took the shoes from her and laid them on the counter. Their skin had touched briefly and she felt his hands, cold and almost marble-like.

"Please, follow me.." he took her gently by the arm and led her through a waterfall of beads that opened out into another room. This one was much warmer in comparison, sultry even. As soon as she saw the array of sex toys that lined its walls she felt herself start to back out.

"No?" the man raised one eyebrow at her, surprised by her reaction. She shook her head quickly.
"A pity," he murmured. "It's where most of our visitors would like to be taken. Are you sure?"

Was she sure? No, she was not sure. She was almost exploding with curiosity, and yet shyness held her back.
"I prefer to use my mind," she said firmly.
"Your mind? In that case...."

It was then that she realised he was looking at her, peering deep into her eyes as if he was tyring to see into her very soul. He seemed lost in a trance for a moment, as if he was far away, in another land, or another time. He must have been thinking something through as he gently shook himself to and, almost forcefully, led her to the changing room.

"Sit, he ordered. "I will be back."

Slightly dismayed at how she had so quickly followed his barked order, she sat on an armchair and waited.

Despite the apparent lack of windows, there must have been a breeze somewhere, as the delicate scent of patchouli and denim started to wash over her, bringing on a wave of nostalgia that made her sigh.

"Here," the man had appeared with a corset in rich red silk, trimmed with black lace. She gasped, it looked beautiful, and very, very expensive.

"At least try it on," he said, seemingly reading her thoughts again.

She took it from him and waited, politely, for him to leave. He didn't move.

"Umm.."
"You will need my help. It's not something you can put on by yourself."

Cursing the French and their lack of respect for privacy, she turned away from him and removed her top and bra before quickly wrapping the corset around her. She didn't murmur as he took the black velvet ribbons at her back and tied them tight, all the time his breath on her shoulders and neck.

His fingers were strong, like a pianist's fingers, she thought.

Enclosed the corset's binding wire she felt different: more feminine, more alluring.
"What do you see in the mirror?" he whispered in her ear. She looked and giggled.
"Me in something I can't afford."

She jumped when she heard him growl.

"Look again," he said. She looked once more, vaguely aware that she couldn't quite see him behind her. But then something happened, her mind seemed to be overtaken by a sweet smelling fog that cleared to bring with it a delirious vision of decadence: claret coloured velvets, the giggles of other women, the low groans of men, a featherlight touch along the top of her corset, just gently brushing her breasts, the taste of wine mingled with something else she couldn't quite place. It was all just out of focus but made her body sway with desire. And then...and then.. it started to fade. Her dismay was palpable. She wanted it back.

She turned to him and realised that as he looked into her eyes, he knew exactly what she had seen.

"I have something else you might like, excuse me a moment."

He was back seconds later, a thick amber-shaded kimono in his arms. She had a kimono at home, a red satin thigh length kimono that was one of her favourite pieces of clothing. This, however, she could tell was the real thing. The silk was so thick and heavy she could hardly lift it; the embroidered Japanese scenes elaborate, delicate and inviting to the touch.

Without removing the basque, he slipped the Kimono over her shoulders. It smelt like lemongrass and elderflower, deliciously ecovative.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

As her eyes closed she felt herself sway to her knees, where she sat, Geisha-like at his feet. A blissful feeling of happiness overcame her, and though she couldn't explain why, she saw sunflowers and the hazy glare of a summer sun reflected in water, heard the gentle hum of bees and smelt fresh cut grass. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to stay there, close to him.

And then she felt him grasp her hair and pull her up towards him. It sent waves of orgasms, or perhaps it was just one long orgasm, thrilling through her body. She had to hold onto him to stop herself falling to the floor again.

And then the telephone rang and he was gone, leaving her panting.

She dressed slowly, disappointed that she would never be able to buy the beautiful clothes he had shown her; made all the more beautiful by the glimpses into something else entirely they had afforded her.

He was waiting for her. Silently he took the corset and kimono from her arms. She had meant for him to put them back on the hangers but he started wrapping them in almost transparent baby-blue tissue paper. She opened her mouth to explain that no, she wasn't going to take them, but he motioned for her to be quiet.

"You can easily afford these," he said.
Dazed she held out her credit card. Perhaps, if she saved, she could pay it off in six months, This was meant to be a trip of a lifetime after all. She would need something to help her remember it.

But, instead of taking the card, he came out from behind the counter, leant over and moved his lips to her shoulder. Almost woozy with desire she closed her eyes. He must have felt too; that electricity in the changing room. She hadn't been imagining it. The touch of his mouth on her shoulder was like both fire and ice at the same time. She closed her eyes and waited for his lips to move upwards towards her mouth, but all she felt was a slight snake-like touch of his tongue before he delved his teeth into her neck with a growl.For the second time that day she was weak at the knees, clawing at him to stop and yet dreading that he would.

And then everything went black.

When she came to she was back on the armchair, a glass of champagne and a plate of macaroons at her elbow.
"Shopping it is so tiring isn't it?" she heard him say.

She stared at him.
"Drink up, you need it," he murmured. She did as she was told, sipping the Champagne as she watched him tidy the shop.

When she finally got up to leave, holding her bag of new purchases to her chest, he walked over and handed her a piece of card. She looked at it.
"Our loyalty scheme," he explained.
"But I don't live here. I won't be coming back..."

He smiled at her then, a full grin that showed all his teeth and made her heart start to beat faster.
"Oh, I think you will...."

She left the shop, dazed and wobbly.

At the corner, she shivered and glanced down the road towards the shop. And, as she looked, the lights went out.

She was relieved when she saw a small cafe and decided to stop for some Pastis and water. As she waited for her drink she looked down and realised she had been playing with the loyalty card he had given her. She turned it over. There on the back was a small drop of what looked like blood, dried into the shape of a tiny heart.