As I mentioned on Twitter, last night (October 30th) I had the pleasure of joining some co-workers and a few of my close and personal friends at Dracula's Cabaret Restaurant for a night of pure indulgence.
First of all, upon entering the 'haunted house' us 'mere mortals' were shown to the Graveyard bar where we were invited for pre-dinner drinks and a look around at the horror shop. Inside they had a bust of Freddy Krueger complete with the actual mask and costume from A Nightmare On Elm Street Part 3. They had autographed photos of Vincent Price, Christina Ricci (from her Addams Family days) and even Tom Cruise as Lestat.
From there, we were escorted down into the Boiler Room where we boarded the ghost train which took us into the main dining hall. Once we were seated we selected our main meal (for the record, I had the Silence Of The Lambs which was so tender it simply melted in your mouth) and not too long after the entree appeared.
The food was exceptional, but the entertainment was sensational. The performance we saw was labelled 'Black Blood' which was a retro Goth comedy show, featuring vampyre themed variety acts that spring straight out of South London’s popular electro rock era of the 1980’s. The show oozes with gold spandex, black lace and wicked satire as it rips into modern culture with fangs bared and a healthy appetite for laughter
The two leading men, Vlad and Thorn, were absolutely brilliant and Thorn was a super hunk. Must admit, there were little puddles of drool on my table from staring at him all night.
For $93.00 we had first rate entertainment and a 3 course meal. Drinks were separate and our table ran up a bill of $347.50.
It was non-stop fun that is highly recommended. Got photos with the Drac-ettes, all the female wait staff and of course with Thorn and Vlad.
If you are ever on Australia's Gold Coast (or in Melbourne), spend a night at Dracula's. You won't regret it.
Bodies writhe and gyrate together. From the upper level, the dance floor seems a mass of people lost in the music, sharing the pulsating rhythm as their sweaty bodies push and move as one. Flesh touching flesh; rubbing, twisting, flexing. The pounding beat of the music soars and quickens in its intensity, lights project a rainbow of colours across the dance floor, and the dancers move with it in elated uniformity. Glittering gold, bare shoulders, heat, energy. Skin on skin.
He watches her from the balcony. She is alone, eyes closed and lips parted as she sways, letting the rhythm of the music wash over her body and take her over. His hand grips the rail as he watches her slide her hands over her full, firm breasts and slowly down her taut stomach. She presses her hands on to her thighs, rubbing slowly up and down, letting the silk of her black skirt rise and crumple. He begins to breathe harder, feeling the warmth in his groin and beads of sweat form on his upper lip. Tighter, tighter he fastens his fingers around the cold steel of the rail and presses himself against it. Her hips rise and fall with the throb of the music; moving in a controlled and steady rhythm. Her fingers dig into her fleshy thighs and she smiles, oblivious to the throng of those dancing together in ecstasy around her.
He descends the stairs. Feathers, silk, lace, sequins, latex and skin brush past. People smile curious, knowing smiles. He stares at her, watches her grow more excited with the frenzied pace of the beat, as she bites her lip and turns her back to him, her hands passing over the small of her back. She does not see him. He slips his hands under her skirt and feels the defined curve of her hips, pulling her into him. He lets his mouth close on the back of her neck, flickering his tongue over the delicate skin, biting her gently.
Head back, mouth open, she lets a slow moan escape from her lips. She begins to guide him into her rhythm, her hands firm against his buttocks, pushing him harder, harder. She can feel him, hear him. His hardness presses into her back, his chest heaves and falls, and she can hear his steady, heavy breathing escalate. His hands coil around her legs, stroke her burning inner thigh and she can feel her own wetness - hot, yearning.
The music throbs around them in a wild frenzy. She places her hand over his, leading it to her moist softness. He lets a finger slip into the silk of her panties, running his fingertips over her mound, smelling the musk of her neck as she digs her nails into the back of his thighs. Teasingly, he begins to stroke her clitoris, gently, rhythmically. She squeezes her thighs together and gasps; he licks and sucks her neck as she writhes, turning to face him. She takes his wrists and holds them together, pushing him against a wall. Her eyes, determined and intense with desire, look long and steadily into his. Her lips, swollen, wet and open, meet his. She bites and sucks his lower lip, then their tongues, moist and warm, move together, echoing the rhythm of their grinding hips. She begins to kiss his chest with her open, firm mouth. She lets her tongue spiral down, sucking his hard nipples and caressing his inner thigh with her hand. He lightly passes his fingertips over her breasts, circling her nipples, then cupping them in his hands.
She unzips his pants, biting the zip and tearing it downwards. He moans as she runs her tongue over his hardness which is smooth and hot to the touch. She envelopes it in her warm, soft mouth, sucking as she glides her tongue around it, harder and faster around the head. His hands run through her hair, massaging, stroking, gripping. She rises to her feet, and he bends to his knees, running his hands down the entire length and curve of her body. Every nerve is alive, tingling.
He pushes her legs apart, tearing at her panties with his teeth, until he probes inside her deeper and deeper, with his hot tongue. Her back moves against the wall to the throb of the music surrounding them, guiding them. His hands caress her stomach, sending flutters of excitement shooting though her groin. His tongue slides in and out of her slippery wetness, as he flickers it over her clitoris in a steady rhythm; she can feel the fire inside her beginning to rise up until it almost consumes her. He pulls away, and standing up to meet her glazed eyes, he licks and kisses her stomach, her breasts, letting his hands caress the curve of her firm hips and buttocks. He kisses her mouth - she can taste herself on his warm lips and tongue, smell the muskiness of her own scent.
The music pulsates, beginning its ascent into the final climax. A sharp gasp - he hoists her up onto the wall, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He enters her - the consuming wetness of her, the tightness of her. He is so hard now. He drives himself into her again and again, she moans and pushes herself against the hardness of him, deeper and deeper. The sweat and heat between them escalates as they rock back and forth; insane, hot, wet, the music climbs higher. She is burning up, the fire twists and spreads inside her. The heat is almost too much to bear, he bites and sucks her neck, she claws his back with her nails. The music climaxes as they do - an explosion of sweat, heat, lust, animal passion.
Sweet relief, exhaustion.
All is quiet.
I hate this drive, the long stretches of straight road. I have been here a dozen times - the road from my family in Adelaide to my life in Sydney. Two days of highway and a night lying awake in a musty caravan with a set of double lines running endlessly behind my eyelids. It is hot. Despite my short cotton skirt and singlet, I feel uncomfortable, my thighs sticking to the leather. I switch Cd's and start to sing. The rhythm propels me forward through the miles. Soon I must stop for the night.
There's an object up ahead. Not moving. There is usually nothing on this section of road, except perhaps the occasional cockatoo, feeding of grass seeds at it's bitumen edges. The object is closer now. I can see its outline. It's a man. A man with a head of dark curly hair and eyes so brown I can tell their colour as I pass by. Did he have his thumb out? I think he did. He's a hitchhiker. I hit the breaks.
I can see him running now, the straps of his backpack swinging out across his shoulders. I wonder what he's doing out here, if he is dangerous. He smiles at me and I shiver, his teeth shine between his full lips in the afternoon sun. He has smooth dark skin, a build that suggests fitness and an outdoor life. He opens the rear door and throws his pack onto the back seat. Before I know it he's sitting beside me, his shorts wrinkled around his groin, the hairs on his thigh tickling my forearm.
I release the handbrake and move my hand back to the steering wheel. He smells faintly of soap and although I am concentrating on the road, I can tell that he's watching me. My nipples are hardening beneath the damp material of my singlet.
It is night now and he has agreed, in his exotic accent (Italian I think) to rest till morning. We take a detour on a dirt road and he has pitched a tent on the river bank. We are sitting by a fire on a blanket, and he smiles provocatively at me over his dinner.
"I have some wine," he says. "Want to share?"
I nod. He looks gorgeous, the firelight playing on his handsome face. His torso left bare after a wash in the river. I can see a slight smattering of hair on his chest and a line that runs down beneath the waistband of his jeans. I have an urge to trace the line with my fingers, to slip them down across his flat belly and inside his pants.
As if he can tell what I'm thinking, his lifts the corner of his mouth in a sexy smile and turns away, his back muscles moving beneath his dark skin as he searches in his pack for the bottle.
He snuggles close now, pours some wine into a paper cup and hands it to me, gazing into my eyes, running his fingers though my long hair. He makes me feel sexy and alive. I should be tired from the drive but after a wash, a change of clothes and time alone with his erotic stranger, I am energised.
I take a sip. He watches my lips, and before I have swallowed, he's tracing them with his tongue. Sensing that I like this, he moves this mouth down, licking at my neck, my collarbone. He's sucking at my hardened nipple, biting it through my cotton t-shirt.
"Do you feel good?" he asks me.
"Mmmm" is all I can say as I spread my hands against the warmth of his chest.
His hand is under my skirt now. He traces patterns across my inner thighs with his fingers. I move my hands up to his strong jaw, then further, through his dark curls. His lips are soft and slightly moist against mine. I slip my tongue between his them and run it across his teeth. He shifts his hips. His cock is hard, so hard that it hurts as he pushes it into my leg. I undo his fly, releasing him to the cool air, moving my thumb across his smooth length and squeezing. He is breathing heavily, running his teeth across my lips.
I gasp as his fingers reach the heat between my thighs and move the material aside to slip gently into my wetness. He groans then and I feel his fingers sliding upwards, thrusting inside me.
He stops, smiling shyly at me as he slips my t-shirt over my head and unbuttons my skirt. I am naked except for a tiny g-string. He looks at my breasts, taking one in his hand and the other in his mouth. I can feel his tongue circling my nipple.
My vagina is hot, aching and so very wet. I can't wait for him to touch it. I grab the hand that is kneading my breast and move it, very slowly down my stomach and under the elastic of my thong. I make deep noises from the back of my throat. He rubs all four fingers between my labia, then moves his index finger, now slippery with my desire, to my clitoris.
His slow circling movements cause an intense tingling in my stomach. I'm moaning with pleasure. In a split second he has removed my thong and replaced his fingers with his lips. His tongue darts inside me before tracing a path back up to my clitoris.
While licking, then sucking me hard, he pushes a thumb inside rubbing till it hits a point - a point of unbearable pleasure that merges in sensation with the part of me he is sucking. I throw my head back and let out a throaty cry as he catapults me into a shuttering orgasm.
Before I have recovered, he has put on a condom and is entering my swollen flesh with a gentleness I had not expected. His head is buried in my neck, nuzzling. I can feel his delicious warmth pressing at my breasts, his cock moving in a sensuous rhythm, threatening to send me over once more.
"Can we do this again tomorrow?" he whispers.
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand.
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean.
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother.
