Grigore's sexual frustration had become so intense he had to find someone to relieve it. Male, female, he didn't care which, as long as he could screw them until they begged for release, thwart their needs, and reach his own peak of pleasure—a euphoria second only to that found with a successful hunt.
He had once considered combining the two, but after trying it, he had found that instead of doubling the intensity, it muted both the joy of the kill and the ultimate sexual satisfaction.
He wouldn't go into New Orleans to find somebody. He kept that for selecting prey for the hunt. To the west, however, were small towns with bars. And where there were bars, there were people looking for a hookup—a term that disgusted him, even if it was apt.
An hour after making his decision, he was strolling into an establishment where the music was loud and the odor of whisky, sweaty bodies, and cheap perfume permeated the air. He found a spot at the end of the bar, ordered a beer—which he wouldn't drink—and surveyed the scene. Several women, and a few men, seemed to be likely candidates. One, however, caught his eye. She was obviously on the prowl but didn't look as cheap as most of the other women. He did have his standards, no matter how needy he was.
He waited until she looked at him, smiled, and he beckoned for her to join him.
"Aren't you the handsome one," she said, settling on the barstool next to his.
He bowed slightly in acknowledgement. "I could say the same to you."
"I'm handsome?" She laughed.
"No, my dear, you are quite pretty."
She blushed, and for the next few minutes they chatted, telling lies about themselves as most people will when they're not looking for anything more than casual sex. Then, without much subtleness, he suggested they might find a place that was more private. She instantly agreed, telling him she had an apartment not too far from the bar.
Once they were there, with the door locked and bolted, he enthralled her. Then, he forced her do what most would consider unspeakable acts, making certain that she knew exactly what was happening but not allowing her to resist or to make a sound, despite her obvious horror at what he was doing to her and her to him.
Finally sated, he wiped her mind of any memories of him, but not of what had happened. As one final, despicable act, he left her unfulfilled.
"You will not come until morning, no matter what you do to attempt to make it happen." He suggested a few items in the apartment she could use to try to gain relief and watched with great amusement as she did just that. He finally departed, but not until he had used her body one more time.
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