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I noticed her as soon as she came outside on the deck to smoke. She was tall and more than skinny — gaunt, almost — with pale skin and short hair that had clearly been dyed black. She had on tight black jeans and a glittery gray sleeveless shirt that made it clear she had no bra on. Not that she needed it; her tits were just barely large enough to push her shirt out. The whole vampire-goth thing isn't usually my type, but there was something about her...

I was already bored of the party, and when she headed for the far end of the deck, away from the other smokers, I followed. I saw her light up and then she took a drag, sizing me up over the glowing cherry, and asked, "You want some?" I saw then that instead of a cigarette she had a very thin joint in her hand.

"Why not?" I answered. She passed it over and I took a long drag, looking back at her. Good stuff. I passed it back and said, "I'm Eric."

"That's nice," she said with a bit of a sneer, and took another pull on the joint. "Do you want to **** right here, or should we go somewhere a bit quieter?"

I just stood there, dumbfounded. Never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined a woman so forward. The girl came closer, so that our bodies were practically touching. "You do want to ****, right? Or is there some other reason you invited yourself to come stand over here next to me?" She took another toke.

"Some— somewhere quieter," I managed to stammer. She smiled and pressed her lips against mine, blowing hot smoke into my mouth.

"I'm Carmilla," she said.

"Carmilla?" I managed to ask, coughing out the smoke.

"Go with it," she said, and handed me the joint. I inhaled what was left and tossed the roach off the side of the porch. Carmilla leaned in and kissed me again, this time straddling my thigh while her tongue probed my mouth. I could feel her heat through our jeans, and started to slide my hand up under her shirt. "Not here," she said, and led me back through the apartment and out onto the street.

Carmilla hailed a cab and gave him an address near the university. As we pulled up, her phone buzzed and Carmilla laughed. "My roommate just texted," she said.

"And?"

"We have this little arrangement — if one of us manages to score on a Friday night and the other one doesn't, we let the other watch. You wouldn't have a problem ****ing me with someone else in the room, would you?"

I thought I heard the cab driver choke. What was with this girl?

"I'm getting out here either way," she said impatiently, "So make up your mind already."

I handed the driver a twenty and climbed out of the taxi.

She showed me into what was clearly a student apartment — the walls were bare except for a somewhat tattered poster of The Cure, the sofa had seen better days, and the coffee table was covered with an assortment of empty beer bottles, half a bottle of Jack Daniel's, and various dirty glasses. There was a partly-filled ashtray, a bong, and a lighter right in the middle. Carmilla tossed a baggie of weed next to the bong and said, "Make yourself comfortable while I get ready." With that, she disappeared behind one of the closed doors.