The Mystic Communal Dildo and the Charm of a Vampire

Working Class Woman

It was 1941, a year to be alive.. but not really.

       The war's been raging in Europe for quite some time now. Wartime going on in other regions of the world is always worrisome for us Americans. What can I say? We love to stick our noses where they don't belong. It was only a short few years before we eventually did get involved. However this is my story, so it'll be told in order.

My name is Emma Rose, some call me Rosey, especially a friend. So if you're willing to stick around to hear my yappin', then I suppose you could call me Rosey ;)

I was born on April 7, 1922, amidst the random inventions of our time and the rebuilding of civilization after the First World War had come to an end. Today that would make me over a hundred years old. I'll hit the inevitable casket once I'm finished with this. Nobody's gonna write any biographies for me once I finally croak. So I best get it done with now.
The 20's and 30's were truly a dear to be growing up in. I was carefree as any, however, my parents taught me good. I knew right from wrong by the time I was sayin' "mama". Still rememberin' how to have a little fun here and there.
I got my first job in the city of Columbus, just an earshot away of my hometown in Indiana. When I was just 11 years old. Working evenings at a classy restaurant washing dishes. It was hard work, but what's a little dirt on your knees to make you a respectable person in the world? My mama taught me young how a woman should be treated. You could call her a feminist of her time. Not many liked her morals, especially the men, but she sure didn't care.

By the time I was 18 years old, my folks home had passed. Leaving me their old country house and the family heirlooms I'd later find nobody would take any money for. Still working everyday, after all those years I had saved some money that could take me somewhere. I dreamed of leaving the Midwest, going to see the big fancy cities, maybe even dancing on a stage one day. I knew with the war only becoming more vicious all around me those dreams were better left in the back of my mind. I spent my last teen years waiting on something new to come my way. A change worth taking a risk for.

Couple months go by, a year, yada yada. I moved up in the world, Now a server and making more money than before. Im working myself to the bone keeping the taxman off my back and food on the table for me and my sweet kitty Dutchess. Picked her up along the way home one night. Attached at the hip to this day.

One day, while I was working as a waitress on a particularly busy night in summer 1941, a handsome stranger waltzed in. Tall, fit, interesting physique. He acted like he came from money. Us poor folk can spot it a mile away, just in the way the upper class carry themselves. He spoke like he'd been to school. However, he looked a pure mess. His hair in a rat's tangle, clothes more than worn, he must've just come from work. Despite this, he somehow still smelled clean. He sat down abruptly before me, a charm in his eye that could make a girl simply crumble.
"Good evening, Sir, could I fancy you a drink tonight?" I spoke loud enough to reach above the bustle in the room.
"So long as you have one with me yourself, miss."
He winked as he reached for my hand to kiss it. I couldn't help myself but to turn bright red and laugh.
"How's about you ask me in an hour, I'm off soon."
I left him wondering more about me. Letting him fill in the blanks based on our moments long conversation.
By the time the restaurant had began to empty and my closing tasks were dwindling, I peeked out from the kitchen doors to see if he was still lingering.
There he sat, sipping a dry martini and now sitting at the bar. I zoned back in to notice him waving at me.

He caught me staring. Back to work.