As I stepped out of Dr. Johannson’s office, a blond woman brushed by me. She was a babe wearing what most babes wore; brief tank top with bra straps and the tops of her breasts exposed, too tight jeans and really high heels. Even from the side I could see that she had big breasts. I wanted to latch my teeth around one of them. I wanted to suck on it until the life-blood flowed, and at that thought the erection arrived pushing at my belt buckle and wanting out. “It’s a break-through,” I thought wryly; “my first post-death hard-on.”

“Like always,” ‘the story of my life,’ a small voice in my head muttered, “she don’t even notice I exist. I’m no more than a piece of hall décor to her, a potted plant standing between her and where she wants to get. Well, I ain’t no plant no more!” Turning I flowed effortlessly down the hall after her. My response was beyond thought and into the primal. I could smell the blood -- even while it was still inside her veins -- and it was an elixir with my name on it; my cure in it; mine for the taking.

Her steps got faster as though some primal part of her responded to the danger closing soundlessly on her from behind. She moved quickly, but I move quicker. The predator in me knew that she couldn’t reach the relative safety of the elevator before I reached her. She was mine for the taking and, I laughed to myself, I would take her like she’d never been taken before -- and never would be again.

As I approached her she spun in place holding a can of pepper-spray in her right hand, looking desperately around for the danger she could sense but not see. At the same moment, mimicking her movement, I slowed to a mortal speed, a nonchalant stroll. I knew that looking fully human, even now, endangered as she was, she wouldn’t really see me.

But God, her breasts were rising and falling from the deep breaths she was taking, and her blood was pounding an accompaniment in her veins. With the piquant scent of fear added to her musk-based perfume and the scent of her blood, it was all I could do to not take her right there in the hall where anyone coming out could disturb me. My instincts said the elevator or stairwell would be better, lonelier, safer. My penis said, “now!”

Instinct won, and as the elevator door opened and another of Dr. Johannson’s clients emerged into the hallway and nodded at me, I was glad my instincts had won.

The woman hurried onto the now empty elevator, hurriedly pounding the door-close button, as though I, approaching the elevator in the hall right behind her, didn’t matter. Or her psyche felt the danger I posed. For the first time in a very long time, ‘be honest, ever,’ I told myself, I felt powerful and in control of my own destiny.

But I scurried into the elevator as though I were the insignificant person I used to be, and moved to the opposite corner as the doors closed. I savored the mingled scents of fear, perfume, and blood, and enjoyed the view. For the first time in a long time, pre-death and post, I knew I would get what I wanted tonight.

“Think, you have to think,” I told himself. “I don’t want to be suspected….” Then I answered himself, “who would suspect you? And you want her. God! You want her, take her.” Then the door dinged open and another woman got on the elevator.

When we finally reached the ground-floor after three more stops and four more people, “who would have thought so many people were out at night in this building,” I said to myself, my erection could almost talk to itself it was so hard, and my fangs were cutting my tongue from the mingled scents of potential prey.

The elevator emptied far too slowly, and I had to force my way by two men glad-handing each other over some business deal in order to follow my victim. She hadn’t seemed to know any of the others in the elevator nor had they taken any more note of her than the normal note men and other women took of a hot woman. And none of them had taken any real note of me. I was non-memorable; I was safe.

The woman headed down Tenth towards Eleventh – towards the subway stop I figured, and I knew there was a narrow alley cutting down one side of the street. The perfect place for dining. I kept my distance, so she wouldn’t run, shout, or grab a cab before I could grab her. I felt confident, ‘Imagine you feeling confident!’ that I could easily catch her at the right moment.

She sped up as she approached the alley, and I moved into hyper-gear, legs blurring like fast-forward X 8 on a video-player and I easily grabbed her from behind and lifted her over my shoulder, moving into the shadows of the alley. As she opened her mouth to scream, I covered her mouth with one hand before knocking her head into a handy dumpster – ‘which does shut her up,’ I reflected. My other hand busily freed her breasts from confinement and ripped the waistband of her jeans to push them down.

I paused only long enough to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants before I was on her, in her. My mouth quickly found the hard nipple and my teeth pierced the skin to find the life offered there. Bliss. Unheard of bliss. For one long moment nothing existed for me but the bliss. Then my penis was in her and I began moving in time to my suckling, slower, faster, slower, faster as I teased himself, playing with my food like my mother had never allowed me to do. Then, reaching climax I abandoned her breast and ripped into her throat, opening the jugular so she could fill him while I filled her.

Sated, I looked at the body lolling at my feet before picking it up and tossing it in a dumpster. I felt different… full.

Checking my watch I noted I still had time to get to Dr.Johannson’s office before Johannson left for the night. I had unfinished business there, and time to finish it before meeting my mother at the club and going to work in the office.

Soon I knocked on the psychiatrist’s door, opening it before a reply could come I walked into the office. Dr. Johannsoon was sitting at a corner desk making notes in some charts, one of which I knew was my own.

“Did you want something, Myron?” Johannson asked with just a smidgeon of irritation. “Your appointment isn’t until next week, and I am afraid I am fully booked until then. I’m sure you can see yourself out…”

Hearing the voice I felt myself losing myself; heard myself stammering an excuse for my presence, just like always. Even with fresh blood pounding though my veins, I felt myself drying up into the husk I had been while alive. Not quite cured yet of my Post-Traumatic-Death-Disorder.