Nosferatu, Chapter 01
I’m so GLAAD to meet you, again
The English Kate. A modern-day anachronism. Beautiful tailoring on this otherwise drab vintage 1940s ladies suit. Medium weight 100% wool in a nice flecked gray tweed. No accents, whatsoever. Severe. Form fitting and figure flattering. Jacket features a nipped waist with princess seaming, oversized pockets at front, three-quarter-length sleeves, and a severe English cut [i.e., no daring plunging cleavage-baring neckline, in other words, no deep V-neck]. Original matched buttons at front, fully lined.
The matching pencil skirt, has a high fitting banded waist with metal side zipper. Slightly flared at the hem with panels at front and flat styled back. Hits a full four inches above-the-knee—a daring hemline that never fails to tease—that, not quite, but, almost legitimate miniskirt. Includes original matching belt.
In summation. Conservative, but not entirely un-fun.
It is afterhours. Very late at night.
Miss Greta Lucille Hart is interviewing for a librarian position at St. George’s. She sits stiff-backed in a hard wooden chair in the office of Ms. Barbara Elizabeth Covett, the library’s headmistress.
What isn’t public knowledge is that Babs, a published educator, is also the owner of the library.
In spite of being such a tightwad, and living a spare and Spartan life, Babs is quite wealthy—i.e., filthy rich. She has the financial means of getting what she wants. The fact that she is rich, is also not commonly known.
Babs is a sixty-something dowdy spinster and a doppelganger for actress Dame Judi Dench. She’s a real hardcase—i.e., unflinchingly bossy, stern, and rigorous, as well as haughty, distant, and aloof. In other words, a typical Aryan. She’s also an alpha female, of the overtly bulldyke persuasion.
Lucy, who just turned thirty-four, is a buxom leggy sexpot blonde, a double for English glamour model and actress June “The Bosom” Wilkinson (circa early 1970’s). Ms. Wilkinson did Playboy, back in the day. It was Hugh Hefner, the man himself, who christened her The Bosom.
Of special note. Lucy is two years younger than Marilyn Monroe when she died.
Both Babs and Lucy are busty—which is the only thing—besides their gender, their nationality, and their ethnicity—that the two women have in common.
Specifically. Babs is an F-cup, which is the same as a double-E. And, Lucy is a double-D.
The two women couldn’t be more different, yet they are dressed identically. Same make-up. Same hairdo. In word, the same get-up.
Creepy and obsessive-compulsive, Headmistress Covett is neither attractive nor is she very feminine-looking, in the conventional sense.
In appearance, the bulldyke represents the anti-feminine: heavy and squat, with thick legs and very strong calves for a woman. Her tight obscene bun and strictured skirt suit, complemented by women’s black ballet flats, contribute to create an overall impression of a grotesquely deviant femininity, sexual repression, and the devious overtones of a dominatrix.
A beguiling perfume. The same becoming, natural-looking “no makeup” makeup worn by Russian ballerinas in Moscow’s world class Bolshoi Theatre—i.e., Bolshoi-bare. Fancy, retro-1950, French-cut underwear. A pearl necklace. They all represent expressions of … The so-called “spinster’s prerogative” that all spinsters seem to invoke in one way or the other, juxtaposing … Coke-bottle eyeglasses, with plain glass in the place of prescription lenses, and clear plastic frames— unbecoming spectacles known as sternns. A frumpy outfit. An equally dowdy hairdo—her grey hair, liberally streaked with white, is parted down the center and yanked back and down into a bun which rests on the nape of her neck—i.e., the staple hairdo of the British librarian since the 1930’s, known as a sternka. Wrist-length formal white gloves—i.e., prudz. A white cotton pussy-bow blouse that has been pressed and starched within an inch of its life—coarse weave—i.e., a corsa. A flecked gray tweed skirt suit of a style made popular in the 1940’s thru the early-to-mid 1960’s—its nipped waist jacket has a very conservative English cut and three-quarter-length sleeves, and its matching pencil skirt is above-the-knee-length with a high waist and comes with a matching belt—it’s known as a Kate in the UK. And, underneath that no-nonsense business suit and that plain white blouse. A lacy white underwire bullet bra, with a daring cleavage-baring French cut, resulting in the highly artificial look of pointed projectile breasts—breasts are pushed up, together, and straight out, and greatly compressed to look a full cup smaller. A lacy heavily boned flesh-colored panty brief with metal stays and a French-cut. Brassiere and panty briefs have old-fashioned hook-n-eye closure.
Substitute golden platinum blonde hair for geriatric hair in the above description, and you have just described Lucy’s get-up, also. The way Lucy looks now, no straight man would give her a second look and no straight woman would be upstaged by her.
Of special note. The vintage panty briefs are tummy control briefs. Therefore they feature a high waist—riding just below the navel—for a smooth fit. Hidden easily by the complimentary high waist of a Kate’s tummy control pencil skirt.
This smooth 1950’s era panty brief, provides firm control to smooth the tummy, slim the hips, and shape and flatten the rear. With a second-skin fit, its breathable fabric lays flat for a sleeker, smoother silhouette—i.e., the panty briefs won’t show under the wearer’s clothes. The panty is cut higher on the leg so that the wearer can move freely, and has full rear coverage designed to prevent ride-up as it shapes, smooths, and flattens.
Although opaque black stockings and a midi-length skirt would be more age-appropriate for Babs. She prefers going barelegged and wearing a skirt that’s a full four inches above the knees. It’s why she wears a Kate, instead of the stodgier Kaye which has a knee-length skirt.
Being a supernatural female, Babs’ legs are flawless and she has no unsightly body hair—i.e., no need to shave her armpits or legs, or trim her bush. Her body hair consists of scalp hair, a limited pubic bush, eyelashes, and eyebrows. All of which is textbook for a supernatural female.
In her normal guise, Lucy is an absolute cock tease and cunt tickler—i.e., straight men and bent women crave her upon first laying eyes on her. With that hard, pretty face of hers—a “come hither, and worship me” 1950’s movie starlet face. A ravishing face with a large ugly mouth that looks like it could deep throat a massive cock and balls with ease. A mouth that bespeaks of loathing and disdain even when that’s not the wearer’s intent—that frown of a mouth—a Bass eating bait mouth. Those deep, clear, blue eyes. Thick, sexy, raspy, New Jersey accent. Long, board-straight blonde hair that’s the color of raw wheat. Long perfect legs. A flawless, lily-white complexion. The titillating way she normally dresses that ripe body of hers. She’s a legit traffic stopper. She’s also charming and smart. Beauty and brains, always a deadly combination for a woman. Ravishing beauty in the eye candy tradition of Rachel Zoe, Miss Debra Gale Marshall, and, most especially, June Wilkinson.
Voluptuous would be an understatement when describing the incredibly-endowed June Wilkinson whose va-va-voom 43-22-37 contours filled out a 5’ 9” frame that rivaled Jayne Mansfield and Mamie Van Doren during the heyday of the pneumatic blonde bombshell.
“An illicit affair with a student that cost you everything—your husband, your stepchildren, your career, and your reputation. You were a military history teacher, and a very good one, at an elite Oxford boarding school—well-respected by the faculty, and very popular with the students and the parents, until your fall from grace. You have a PhD, got it at Cambridge just after you turned twenty-five. You are a very clever girl, and, a very beautiful one, I might add.”
In a clearly predatory move, designed to provoke. Babs sits on the edge of her desk in front of Lucy. Her legs are gaped, teasingly—flashing inner thighs and a glimpse of panties. She’s looking covetously at Lucy in the same “unhealthy” way that lecherous old men usually do.
Lucy bites her tongue. It takes all her self-restraint to keep from lashing out at the old hag. She desperately needs this job. And, Babs, ever the opportunist—fully aware of Lucy’s plight—is taking full advantage of the girl’s situation.
It’s painfully obvious that Lucy finds Babs totally repulsive. And. It’s equally obvious that the butch could care less about how Lucy feels about her. She’s hankering for a pound of flesh and a piece of ass. The casting couch “Harvey Weinstein” style.
“I was exonerated of all charges. The teenager recanted.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. In a suicide note. But. By, then the damage was done. You had been convicted of statutory rape and had served six months of a two year sentence. A lot of people still believe you’re guilty, that somehow you found a way to manipulate the boy from your jail cell and convinced him to commit suicide after recanting his accusations against you in a suicide note.”
Finally, Lucy loses control.
“I’m innocent! I never touched him! I’ve never acted improper or inappropriate with any student!
Angry. Sobbing. Lucy starts to lunge out of her chair.
“Your reputation is in ruins. No decent educational institution will have you. Now sit back down or get out. You’re wasting my time.”
Babs’ voice is hard and stern. Deep for a woman. Raspy. Her manner and mannerisms are masculine, too.
Lucy swallows hard, sucks in her pride, and sits back down. She slumps in the chair, finally defeated.
“Please forgive me for my outburst. I was being ungrateful for the kind opportunity you are offering me.”
Lucy nearly chokes on her own words. Babs disgusts her, and that disgust grows exponentially with the passing of every minute.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Lucy is out of options. She and her older husband separated after her six-month stint in prison for statutory rape. The student she was convicted of having an affair with was only fifteen at the time of their torrid trysts, trysts that never happened. She’s broke. Bills are mounting. She’s two months in the rears for the rent on her flat, and she can only charm her elderly married landlord for so long. She spent the last of her money on this get-up, a get-up per Babs’ dictate.
“Please forgive me for my outburst, headmistress. I was being ungrateful for the kind opportunity you are offering me.”
“Excellent. Now sit up straight.”
Lucy adjusts her posture and now again sits stiff-backed in the chair.
“Good. Very good. Now … When does your divorce become final?”
“Next month, headmistress.”
“And will you get custody of the kids?”
“No, headmistress. Nor will I get visitation.”
“Excellent. And don’t look so surprised. I know quite a bit about you. I’ve kept tabs on you since we first met, you cock tease.”
Babs slaps Lucy hard across the face. Bringing more tears to her eyes. But. What Lucy doesn’t do is to defend herself, which is totally out of character. Lucy should be fighting back—mere moments ago, she would have, for such an affront. This is about more than just her with her back to the wall and needing to eat crow. The butch hit her.
Lucy’s totally inappropriate response, i.e., the girl’s lack of response, brings a broad smile to Babs’ face. It’s as if Babs has finally gained some purchase on Lucy, through the earlier surreptitious administration of a mind control drug that has taken effect in a delayed fashion.
The old woman’s lecherous gaze intensifies. Her stare bores right through the girl.
“Beg pardon, on your knees!”
Lucy does as she is told.
“Forgive me, headmistress.”
“Hands behind your back!”
Again. Lucy does as she is told. Babs gets off the desk and rips open the girl’s blouse. The butch lesbian squeezes the bulging cups of the girl’s rocket bra. Lucy’s stomach turns. Babs’ large powerful hands look like they belong to a man.
“Please, headmistress. Not this!” Lucy pleads.
And again. Babs slaps her hard across the face.
And again. Lucy reacts inappropriately—i.e., acting submissive, instead of retaliating in kind.
“You don’t recognize me let alone even remember me, do you, from when we first met at a teacher’s convention, years ago? You and your stuck-up, prick tease friends making fun of the dowdy butch spinster, knowing full well that the spinster was Nosferatu. That spinster was me. Oh how I have craved you from afar so much over all these years. Now, the tables are turned.”
Then. As if Babs had slipped Lucy a mickey-finn much earlier and it had finally taken full effect. Lucy swoons. Passing out on the floor. Mouth open slackly, drooling. Babs didn’t dose Lucy with chloral hydrate. The butch used something much more insidious and potent than that on the girl.
Before the beginning of the interview, Babs offered Lucy some tea. The girl accepted. Both woman are British and Aryan. Together, they ended up emptying a kettle.
Babs had doused the tea in the kettle with her own taken. Taken is the “special” saliva Nosferatu secrete when they are feeding upon someone that they are trying to enslave.
For good measure, to reduce the girl a complete catatonic, Babs jabs Lucy in the neck with a hypo filled with a Thorazine/Lithium/Prozac cocktail. She empties the syringe’s mix of mind-scrambling drugs into the girl’s jugular vein. When she was much younger, Babs was a nurse in an insane asylum.
Babs feels the girl up, letting her hands roam freely over the drugged girl’s ripe body. And. Then. The moment she has waited so long for. She yanks Lucy’s skirt down, undoes her intended’s panty briefs, and sodomizes the girl. Afterwards, she completely loses control, repeatedly striking the girl in the face and kicking the girl in the ribs and abdomen. In her twisted mind such vengeance is necessary, the girl must be disciplined, humiliated, and degraded. In other words, break the girl down completely and then rebuild the girl from the ground up in her exact image.
The butch has plans for the girl. Lucy will move in with her. In time, she will turn the girl, and then they will marry. No longer will Babs live alone with her cats, scribbling in her diary.
Of course, being a diehard conservative, by Babs’ traditionalist way of thinking, marriage is the perfect end game.
Babs is much too strident in her beliefs to marry food [i.e., a human being]. Hence, the reason why the girl must be turned, before they can marry.
And the alternatives?
Living together in sin. The option of taking up with food and shacking up. In lieu of marriage, Babs craves a “friends with fringe benefits” relationship with a deranged, depraved, sexual-twisted version of the girl.
And then there’s the final option. Push comes to shove. Worst case scenario. Babs can turn Lucy into a mindless insatiable sex toy by killing the girl and then resurrecting her as Dead using a reanimation reagent. The ultimate expression of sexual objectification.
Unlike in the movies and in those insipid Gothic novels, making someone is dicey, at best. Further complicating things is that it’s been almost a century since she’s made anyone. She will definitely need assistance with this monumental undertaking.
First things first, though. Babs must extend and maintain her “influence” over the girl. And. At this critical juncture, Babs can’t risk feeding upon the girl to accomplish that. Feeding would leave those telltale marks. So, again. She makes the same conventional choice, a human counterpart of her ilk would make.
Rohypnol. The date rape drug of choice for sexual predators. A small 2-milligram dose can put a person into an excited, agitated, and disinhibited state, leaving only amnesia. When its effects begin to become manifest, the victim becomes highly suggestable, and, unlike with hypnosis, they will do things they normally wouldn’t do. In much larger does its mind controlling effects are analogous to those of a Nosferatu’s taken.
A 9-milligram dose of the date rape drug and some judicious use of electroshock, and the girl won’t remember what really happened to her this evening including Babs brutally and violently assaulting her. Babs will reset the girl’s memories of the evening, and rewrite them. Lucy will remember an uneventful interview, getting the job, and being mugged by a man on her way back home to her flat.
But. There’s more. On the off chance that the girl should start to remember and experience flashbacks of the true events of the evening, she will suffer debilitating migraines which will sweep those real memories back into her subconscious. That’ll also be due to what Babs will do to the girl chemically. It’s called a chemical lobotomy, also known as an ice pick lobotomy, or simply an ice pick. Additionally, the ice pick will have an “interesting” effect on the girl’s libido—i.e., a side effect most desired by Babs.