I got my boyfriend to go to this vampire party. I as a journalist, he as a cop. Just after sundown, we went to a house in the Silverlake neighborhood of Los Angeles - just northwest of downtown Los Angeles on the east side of the Hollywood Hills. It's an older, eclectic neighborhood of working class and artsy class - and weirdo class - it's not surprising that this party would take place here.
The hostess introduced herself as Alicia. I introduced myself and Ron and identified ourselves as journalist and detective, respectively. We asked to only observe, that we didn't wish to participate.
Alicia asked the others - no one had any objections - so we were allowed in. Alicia invited us to join in if we found their lifestyle interesting.
In the age of HIV, its hard to imagine something like this. They take precaution, but still very dangerous in my opinion. But they do have rules - each participant is one half of a couple - both of whom know each other. So, it's not like you are drinking a stranger's blood. But still. And why do it in a group setting - each of these couples can do it in the privacy of their own homes. I guess it's to justify their lifestyle.
Anyway, they prick their partner's fingers just so a little blood oozes out, kind of like when you get pricked to have your blood sugar levels tested, and the partners lick off the blood. It's not like they bite their partner's neck and start drawing out gallons of blood. All very tame, I was thinking, when one of the men actually attacked his partner by biting her on the neck. Blood started gushing out from the jugular.
He looked up at the rest of us, chin bloodied, mouth dripping with his ex-partner's blood. He had his fill and wanted to escape. Ron took out hs gun and aimed.
"No, that won't do any good," someone yelled.
"The hell it won't" Ron answered. The "vampire" charged, and Ron shot at him - emptying his magazine. The bullets hit, I know - but the vampire just ran through them; He knocked Ron over, and ran out the door.
Everybody was understandably shaken. "Sometimes, a real one infiltrates a group like ours," someone said, as is to educate us about their main concern regarding their lifestyle.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You don't think real one's don't exist, do you?"
I looked over at the dead body, neck shredded. If the dancer and prostitute were also a vampire's victim, this was not the same one. This one was too messy.
Ron was groaning and holding his head. He was recovering from the vampire's blow. "Gotta go through great grandpa's notes," I heard him mutter.
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