My Date with the Vampire

When I was living in San Francisco, a newcomer showed up in church one Sunday: mid 30s, very tall and pale, with a long face, long hair, and a weird Satanic goatee.  He was wearing sunglasses, but otherwise dressed normally, not like a vampire.

He didn't join in the singing, but that wasn't unusual: many former Catholics and Lutherans didn't care for the rousing, evangelical-style hymns at MCC.

During the coffee hour after the service, he adopted the "stand and model" procedure of a cruise bar.  That wasn't unusual, either.  Lots of newcomers tried to cruise in church.

What was unusual was his approach: he walked up to me and said, without preliminaries, "I would like very much to f___ you."

My mouth dropped in shock.  "Um...but I don't even know you."

"My name is Kevin, and life is too short for trivial small talk.  I would like very much to f___ you."

I stared.

He took off his glasses.  His eyes were very dark blue, almost purple.  Creepy.  "You find me attractive, don't you?"

Not at all.  Tall, pale, long faced, with a potty mouth, definitely not my type --  but I found myself saying "Of course.  But shouldn't we have dinner first?"

He sighed.  "If you're intent on pursuing bourgeois courtship rituals, I suppose we can stop for a hamburger on the way."

No way was I going home with this guy!

But I found myself following him out the door.

Kevin took me way up to the Richmond District, 45 minutes from the Castro, to a place called Bazaar.  It served nouvelle cuisine Japanese-Italian synthesis sandwiches that left me hungry.

I admit that he was interesting to talk to.  We were both into the paranormal, and he had a wide repertoire of stories about ghosts, aliens, and the Illuminati, rumored to be controlling human history behind the scenes.

But he dismissed nearly everything else as "bourgeois" or "infantile," and when he kissed me, his mouth tasted of cigarettes and booze.  I nearly gagged.

After lunch we walked down to the Green Apple Bookstore on Clement, where Kevin bought Jung's Psychology and Anarchy and Ego and Archetype by Edward Edinger.  I had my eye on some gay comix, but I didn't want to look stupid, so I bought Robert Anton Wilson's Illuminatus trilogy.

Then he said, "Now that we've satisfied your infantile need for preliminary social activity, I believe we have an appointment to f____."

Kevin was unattractive, elitist, creepy, and vulgar.  No way was I going home with him!

But I did.

You're probably expecting a weird ghost house with walls panted black, but it was an ordinary apartment near the Green Apple, with a very bright dormer window and prints of French impressionist painters.

Kevin was impressive beneath the belt, but still, the f___ was unpleasant.  Lots of oils and weird-smelling incense and Tantric sex rituals (look it up).  And he smoked and drank throughout.  Kissing him was like kissing a bar at last call.

It was nearly dusk when I finally left Kevin's apartment: the unpleasant f___ and cuddling afterwards took three hours. No way was it going to happen again!

But it did.

Every three or four days, Kevin called out of nowhere and said "I would like very much to f___ you."  Then somehow I found myself at his apartment for three hours of oils, incense, Tantric sex rituals, and cigarette breath.  We sometimes went out to dinner or a movie first, "since you're so hung up on bourgeois dating rituals."

In retrospect, I could have easily said "No, thank you" or "I'm busy just now."  But instead, I dropped everything, cancelled plans, and went over.

Once he knocked on my door at three a.m.  I let him in.

It was like I was hypnotized.

Some other weird things about Kevin that I didn't think about until later:

1. I rarely saw him eat anything. When we went out to dinner, he ordered an appetizer and just picked at it.  His refrigerator contained nothing but soda and beer, seltzer, and cream for his coffee.

2. I rarely sleep, either.  When I spent the night, we cuddled for awhile, and then he turned on the light and picked up a book.  In the morning, he awakened me with a cup of coffee.

3. I've never needed an alarm clock.  I wake up at 6:00 every morning, regardless of when I go to bed or what I was doing the night before. But after spending the night with Kevin, I slept until 8:00, 9:00, or even later.

4.  He talked about his childhood, his coming out story, his family, and his job, but afterwards I didn't remember any of it.

5. People couldn't see him unless he wanted them to.  When he saw someone attractive approaching us, he stood perfectly still, and instead of walking around, the guy would slam right into him!  "It's a good way to sneak a grope in," Kevin said with a grin.

Unattractive, elitist, vulgar, and invisible!

If I couldn't break up with him, I could scare him away.  I tried the scariest thing I could think of: meeting the relatives.

"My parents are flying out for a visit.  I'd love for you to meet them."

"I'd be happy to," Kevin said.  "You'll introduce me as The Man I'm F__ing, of course."

Ok, then, how about commitment:  "Isn't it about time we moved in together?"

"Certainly, if you wish.  Perhaps that would assuage your bourgeois guilt over f___ing for its own sake."

Wait -- Kevin wanted me to move in with him?

Before I knew what was happening, we had been "dating" for six months.  I was being asked "How's the boyfriend?" about ten times a day, and anyone who invited me anywhere said "And Kevin, too, of course."

If I wasn't careful, we'd be attached for life!