around and walked out the door. I didn't think I'd ever see him again. Mom said that was the night my guardian angel saved my life, but I knew better. Michael was no angel.

I thought about him practically every day, but never told a single soul what I'd seen. It was our secret, and I liked it that way. As I grew older, I read everything I could get my hands on about vampires, because I was sure that's what he was. Most of it was just your basic Dracula type stuff, and the rest, well, who knew what to believe. I only knew what I'd seen.

It was eleven years before I saw him again, and then it was only briefly. I'd had a dream about him, a very erotic dream (and not the first one, I might add). Being a normal, 16 year old girl having an erotic dream was nothing new. But this one was different. When I woke up, I was sure he was there.

I bolted up in my bed, my heart still pounding and my body slick with sweat. The room was dark, but I could see every corner of it. No Michael.

I jumped up and ran to the window. And saw him. He was there. Standing in front of the hedges at the back of the yard. Looking at me. I was dreaming about you, I whispered, still I was pretty sure he would be able to hear me. He cocked his head slightly. He did! He heard me! You were making love to me, I went on. Were you here? Was it real?

He shook his head. And vanished. Just like that. Gone. Again.

No! I said louder than I meant to. Please, come back! He didn't.

Back in bed I pulled the sheets up to my chin but sleep was gone for the night as I relived every detail, both of my dream and what had happened next.

It wasn't a coincidence, I just knew it. And that's what thrilled me the most. If it wasn't a coincidence, then it was only a matter of time till he would be back.

I was 18 when I next saw him. I was even happier to see him then than I was the last time.

It was the summer before I was to leave for college. I was out with a guy I'd been dating for a while, in a parked car in the deserted parking lot of a playground. Things were getting hot and heavy and, I realized, going much too fast.

No, stop, I said, putting my hands on his chest and pushing him away.

What? What do you mean 'stop'? I thought you were into it?

I was. But, we're going too fast. Randy, I'm sorry. Please, just take me home.

Oh no, you can't just kiss me like that and touch me like that and then say 'no, stop, I want to go home.' It don't work that way, baby!

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