A story I wrote based on a dream I had about 10 years ago. I hope you like it!

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My name is Stella and I'm a whore. Last week I could barely cover my rent, and I watched as my blonde friend Roxanne got picked up by a John in a shiny black expensive car. He looked at me and said, "I'd take you too honey, but I only do blondes."

So here I am, dying my dark brown hair blonde. I'm frying it to Hell because I'm sick of blondes getting all the money on the street. That's right, here I am now, a blond hooker in 1985. I like men, I like women, I like black leather, high heels, and I have a cock. Yes, that's right, I have a cock. 

The beginning of my first night blonde was going well, I had already turned so many tricks that I was wondering why I hadn't gone blonde before. I guess because I had hope that someone really rich out there fancied brunettes. I kept praying for that elusive John in the BMW or Mercedes. I'd see them sometimes, rolling past, checking out the goods, but they'd always pass me by. Maybe it was the fact that I was a little too skinny, or maybe it was the cock.

At about 4am on my first night as a blonde, right about when I was deciding to go home and call it a very successful night, one of those big black boxy expensive cars rolled up, and the window rolled down slowly. At that moment, I'm just praying I have enough eyeliner on, and that the little stubble I have is covered up with my cake makeup, either that, or that this John is into girls that are actually boys. If he wants me and pays enough, I might actually be able to afford those Versace heels in the window on 5th Avenue. Yes, that's right, I'm a whore for fashion. Quite literally.

I am surprised at the appearance of this man, he's incredibly beautiful, with long blond hair and a face that belongs on the cover of a magazine. I find his eyes to be strange, they are a little too light to be real, but they are gorgeous, and I have to take a swallow. I wonder what a rich man who looks like this wants with a ladyboy hooker like me. 

"Are you bisexual?" He says in a thick British accent, his teeth shiny and white on top of his pleasantly tanned skin. He has a British accent on top of everything? I am so fucking hard right now. I'm going to fall in love with this John if he takes me, I just know it. I'm already picturing the sort of wild sexual adventure he might want. My cock throbs in anticipation of sucking him off, or getting fucked so hard in the ass I can't see straight or walk well the next day.

"I'd be anything for you," I tell the truth, and in my eyes I know he can see that I'm feeling like 'Save me, save me from this life, please.'

"You are a boy, right?"

"Yes," I say, and I cross my fingers, hoping that was the answer he was looking for.

"Can I see your cock?"

I bite my lip, tasting my red lipstick, and making a frustrating humming noise. I want to show him, I really want to show him. He looks like a rock star with his leather gloves and his dangly dagger shaped earrings, his light green eyes subtly lined. He looks like a rock star except for his suit, which is amazing and most likely tailored for him, showing the cut of his toned body so nicely that I can imagine him completely nude. Oh please, I beg the god I never loved before this moment, let this tall, tanned, long haired blonde man want to fuck me, let him take me home and fall madly in love with me, because I want to be his little sex toy. I want to do anything for him, but it's a good rule as a streetwalker not to show anything free. You start doing that as a whore, and Johns will walk all over you, thinking you are cheap. "I'm sorry," I say despairingly, "I can't really do that, it's my policy not to do free shows."

"Of course not," He says, smiling politely. That strikes me, that he's very nice to me. But then again, he is British. He takes off his leather gloves, pulling something out of his wallet and he holds his hand out the window. With well manicured slightly long shiny nails he flashes me a folded hundred dollar bill, and my eyes grow wide.

I've fucked for much less, and this unbelievably gorgeous guy just wants to see my cock. I try to grab the bill but he takes it away. Instinctually I realize that I have to show him my package to get the money. I am so embarrassingly hard over how hot this guy is, that my dick is sticky with precum, stuck to my underwear, which it has thoroughly soaked with its lusting. I don't want to show him because I'm shy about being so turned on by him, something that isn't usual when it comes to me and Johns, but he's willing to pay me so I swallow any pride I might have. I hike up my black leather skirt and pull my wet hot pink panties aside and show him my glistening cock, although I am blushing so hard that I can feel it in my elbows. He nods with a sharp grin, and I take the money from him. 

"Get in," He says and the sound of that is so satisfying that I almost shed a tear as I obey him.

"Will you fuck me and my wife?" He asks me as I get in the car, "You said you'd do anything, I'm just making sure."

"Yes," I say, "I'll do you and your 'wife'."

"You got a name, pretty boy?"

"I go by Stella," I say, "What about you?"

"You can call me Victor," He says, and I get the impression that this might not be his real name either, because I certainly wasn't born a Stella. 

We drive awhile and he says, "You're quiet."

"Most people don't like their tricks to talk," I explain.

"I'm not most people, I guess," Victor says, grinning wide and I notice a flash of white teeth, "I almost didn't pick you up, you know, because I prefer brunettes."

I just about die laughing. "That's really hilarious," I say, "This is my first night as a blonde. I wasn't getting much work with my natural hair color."

He chuckled, "Satan loves a blond streetwalker, eh?"

"I guess," I say unsure how to feel about his offbeat comment, "Are you in a band or something, because you look like a rock star."

"I am in the music industry, yes, but I am not in a band," He muses.

Feeling awkward, I don't talk for the rest of the drive, which is thankfully short. I find myself walking behind him nervously into the entryway of a very expensive apartment in a part of New York I've never even been to. I'm picking at my thigh high leather boots, their six inch stiletto heels clacking against the marble floor of this man's entryway. I hear a female singing voice in the distance. Up until now I assumed this man's 'wife' was a male lover. Color me surprised. 

"Are you hungry?" This gorgeous and incredibly tall man asks me, "Are you thirsty? I think you should drink some water."

"If you insist," I say, following him to the kitchen, where he pours me a large glass of water. I take the glass and begin to drink it.

"I'm going to go get my wife to come look at you, she can be kind of picky. Oh and can you wipe off your makeup? She'll want to be able to tell you are a boy. You can keep on the eyeliner," And he hands me a rag that he takes from within the drawer and he motions to the sink.

I obey his orders and I hear the two of them, Victor and his 'wife' talking from afar. They aren't talking in English though. It sounds like German or Russian. After wiping off my makeup, I turn around to see a gorgeous woman who almost looks underage. She has a small chest and black hair, her eyes are unbelievably dark as well, and her skin deathly pale. Her small red lips smile as she looks at me, and she begins to approach, her red chiffon dress billowing around her like she's some surreal dream. She holds out her hand and I see she has long pointed red fingernails, which look very fashionable and are beautifully manicured.

"Hello, my name is Anna, what's your name?" She has an accent too, but it's not British, I can't place it. I suppose that she is German or Russian from the language I heard her speaking with her sexy husband a few minutes before. 

I shake her hand and I say, "Nice to meet you, I'm Stella."

"Stella is a beautiful name, but what's your real name?" Her eyes are intense then, it's like I see a red light shining under the blackness and I feel compelled to answer her. I can't resist the urge to tell her the truth and this irks me a little.

"Christian is my real name, but please call me Stella," I say, and I hear my voice feather and echo. I wonder if my beautiful John and his beautiful wife have stealthily dropped some drug into my water. Perhaps the source of the water is drugged.

I see Victor emerge behind Anna then, "Pour yourself another glass of water and drink it, Stella, you're going to need it," He says, chuckling, and then he rounds the corner away from us.

I am beginning to wonder what these two are into, because suddenly it seems strange that I'm even here in this beautiful place around these stunning, young, and fashionable people. What do they want a ladyboy whore for? Sensing my confusion, Anna comes over and fills my glass of water for me and hands it back to me, making a motion like I should drink. I could fall into her eyes, they're like an abyss. A warm, dark place, like a womb. I am drinking the water as I think this, it's filling me up, but I can't look away from her strangely comforting eyes. Black as night, black as a raven's wing, black as a coffin. I start to feel fear creeping up my spine, or maybe I've drunk too much water. The tendrils of peculiar terror must begin to show on my face because instantly Anna speaks to me again, her voice shocking me out of my reverie.

"Don't mind Victor, he's a little strange," She says, her smile like liquid oxygen. I stare at her mouth, those ultra white glistening teeth between her cherry red lips. It's then that I realize their teeth are strange. Both of them, Victor and Anna have strange teeth, strange pointed fanglike teeth.

"Are you a vampire?" I ask, I can't stop myself, due to my strange delirious state and my intoxication with everything that is going on.

She laughs musically and takes my water away from me, "I think maybe you need to come with me to the bedroom!" When she laughs her teeth look normal again, and I shiver, shaking my head rapidly, wondering what I was imagining and why I was imagining it.

Anna takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen. I watch her pale and perfect bare feet with long red toenails lead the way, her elegant dress curling around her slender ankles magically as she walks. I hear the click click click of my boots behind her and it strikes me as odd that I can't quite hear the sound that her feet should be making against the white marble floor. I hear another sound, like lips smacking, her lips smacking, like she's chewing on them or something. "Are you thirsty?" I ask her, curiously. I don't know why I ask this, it just comes out.

As she pulls me by both hands into a dark and romantic candlelit bedroom,Victor closes the door behind us, and Anna says, "Oh I'm very thirsty."

It's then that I notice her teeth ARE fangs. ALL of them are fangs.