The Pin-Up Girl

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotic/horror if you are under the age of eighteen PLEASE LEAVE NOW!  This came to me after I read an article about the rise of “pin-up” style 50’s magazines.  Enjoy!

The Pin-Up Girl

There she was staring brazenly at him from the computer monitor.  Lounging on a chair backwards and wearing only a men’s collared shirt open just above her flat stomach the model gazed back.  Dark hair cascaded down and flowed over her alabaster skin making her look even paler.  Her deep eyes like pools of midnight, the coy grin and the thrusting out of her chest made Chester Marshall’s Adam’s apple dip downward in a jerky motion.  Her breasts strained at the white material, her black bra visible beneath it.  Long legs flowed out and ended into a pair of black feathered mules.  He could feel himself swallow several times while sweat dotted his forehead.  Marianne was printed along the side of the page, no last name given.  The words burned into his consciousness as if laser etched.  He clicked the arrow on the bottom of the page and his hot breath husked out as Chester waited for the next webpage to load.  He gasped when it did.  The next image was of the sultry vixen reaching behind her trying to free her snagged her gown’s hem from the closed doors of a bedroom’s closet.  The hiked up dress exposed the tops of her hose and the black garter belt she wore.  Marianne’s sexy legs, with their bunched up calve muscles and taut thighs made him rock hard and aroused.  The expression she wore that of surprised indignation and red-cheeked shame made his heart leap.  He felt himself swallow once again, sweat trickling into his eyes blurring the image momentarily.

“Damn she’s the one,” he heard himself say.  “I’ve been looking for someone to collect exactly like this.”

Leaning forward he read the words printed on the magazine’s page during the last century.  His eyes flicked across the brief sentence while his libido thundered through his mind like stampeding horses.

“Marianne is in a hurry,” he read aloud.

This obsession had gripped him only recently.  His interest in fifties pin-up girls had been sparked by an article in a men’s magazine about the rekindling of this style of photography.  Despite an age of easily accessed nudity and porn, a cornucopia of free sexual pictures filling the landscape of the Internet it had become fashionable once again.  The titillation factor, the displayed innocence of the models and the recollection of a more sophisticated time drew him into its web.  The veiled sexuality, hinted and vague was the main attraction for Chester.  In fact he had become totally immersed in the culture of the fifties.

After selling his wildly successful stock broker firm for a sum almost too disgustingly large even for his ego he started to amass collectibles, cars and memorabilia from that long distant era.   After buying a ’55 Cadillac Fleetwood 60 Special (just like Elvis’) he went on a purchasing tour de force.  Music, art, films became sought after, purchased and loved by him.  Now he found himself heavily into collecting pin-up girls.  It started with rare Time new-stand magazines but soon he found himself the owner of anything worth having.  From there it became pin-up girls from those veiled periodicals with names like Gala, Eye, Figure Studies, Wink and Charm.  This quickly led to others like Follies, Scamp Adam, The Dude Nugget, Frenchy, Escapade and Black Silk Stockings.   It was the models he longed to procure.  However owning people was illegal so he settled for just the original pictures.  Soon this too was complete with the exception of those photographs destroyed or lost.  This is where the Internet came in.

He had started with the most famous and worked his way down.  Gigabytes of files on Betty Grable, Bettie Page, Marilyn Monroe (as Norma Jean), Veronica Lake and the rest resided in cherished folders on his hard drive.  However his palette had become less refined and he searched and cruised the Web for less known girls.  Days became nights, nights became days and now his constant searching had paid off.  He found someone special, rare and uncommon.

“She’s perfect,” he gasped, “obscure, innocent and with the right amount of barely contained eroticism.  But there’s something else, something familiar…”

Marianne—last name unknown, the featured pin-up girl for Sir Magazine in the June ’56 issue.  His shaking hand moved the mouse over to open up another tab in his browser so he could scour other sites without moving away from this one.  He licked his jerky dry lips and typed in her name and that of the magazine.  Breath whistled out of his mouth, between the gaps in his clenched teeth while the search program scouted for places on the Web where Marianne was hiding.

“What?” he exclaimed.  “Only four sites found?”

The mockery of the results made him growl angrily.  He was already viewing one of the places she was located and it meant he only had three more to check.

“Well it could be worse; I suppose I could’ve gotten no results at all.”

He moved the arrow on the screen and clicked the first link.  The page loaded slowly making his anticipation duplicate exponentially like a dozen hares giving birth simultaneously.  Hopes and fears filled his mind like an overcrowded rabbit hutch.

The screen eventually flashed the message “Error 404, Page Cannot be Found” making Chester scream and pound his free hand against the computer desk.  Swearing under his breath he hit the Back button and activated the next link.  It too resulted in another agonizing defeat.

“Come on Marianne…you have to be out there somewhere,” he groused.

The internet browser flicked blank, a white page taunting him with its emptiness and lengthy loading time.  Eons passed and Chester tried to contain himself and his lust.

It loaded up and he felt his jaw drop.

Marianne’s image spread across the screen in multiple boxes, most in black-and-white but a treasured few in full color.  Across the top of the page the marquee shouted “Original Marianne’s Home Page; Images of a Pin-up Girl”.  Chester’s heart froze like it had been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

“I-I can’t believe it,” he stammered, “It’s an entire site dedicated to her and other models of that era.”

He clicked the Images tab and began picking and saving the pictures he found.


An hour later with his newly created computer folder bulging with Marianne’s digital photos, Chester went back to the main page of the site.  He was pondering about emailing the site’s owner to ask if these images where scanned from the original photos.  Clicking the word contact he was shocked to see the email address,

“It can’t be,” he muttered.  “She’d be at least seventy-two years old if she was eighteen in these pictures.  I suppose it’s possible but I bet it’s a clever gimmick by the owner of the website instead.”

Clicking the contact he began composing the email to request the existence and purchase price of the glossy photos of the stunning ‘50s beauty.  His stomach reminded him he had been sitting too long without eating.


Chester tooled down the road in his ’55 Cadillac after dining.  Elvis was crooning from the CD player, the device was the only addition to the vintage car he had allowed.  He burped in a ragged fashion and savored the aftertaste of his meal.  The moon was full and was perched high in the night sky like some cosmic child’s ball.  He reached the outskirts of Hollywood and pulled into the mansion once owned by George Reeves, the original Superman.  Pulling into the multi-car garage he mused on the night’s pursuits.  Strolling into the mansion he hoped, like he always did to encounter the ghostly specter of the deceased actor.  Once more he was disappointed.

I should check my email just in case, he thought.

Chester went into the chamber he had set aside for his computer room and fired up the electronic machine.  After several impatient minutes of waiting he double clicked the browser icon and sat back.  Shocked he leaned forward when discovering he had a reply.

Dear Mr. Marshall,

I am both pleased and honored by your interest in acquiring my old photos.  It has been a long time since I’ve posed for them and I’m not sure I want to part with them   You see they are near and dear to me.  I cannot possibly sell the originals but must admit I’m intrigued by your offer to buy the duplicates.  Please reply to this email so we can discuss what you would be willing to pay for the doubles I do have.  Additionally I have recent shots never before seen so I await your correspondence.  I have attached one just to whet your appetite.



Chester read and then re-read the message, his heart pounding.  However it was the line about recent photos which made him laugh.  Was the attached photo never published before in the fifties?  Surely they weren’t current ones.  He tried to picture the aged crone sitting at the computer typing with arthritic fingers in response to his email and sending him a digital picture of the varicose veined ruination of the legs he had so admired.

“Now I know this is a gimmick because who’d want pin-ups of a woman nearly in her eighties?” he laughed aloud.

He downloaded the picture sent along with the electronic letter and sat while the virus protection software checked them out.  After the security program finished up he opened them just to have another chuckle at the old woman’s expense.

What came up on the screen stunned him.

It was Marianne, there was no doubt about it.  She hadn’t changed in all those years prior to his contacting of her.  She was lying half-in and half-out of a brand new Lexus, her skintight silver gown raised up well past thigh level.  Her long legs hanging out and softly encased in black hose and disappearing into a pair of very expensive Chanel high heels he knew for a fact had to go for at least three grand in price.  The double C logo was clearly visible on the front of the footwear.  Her breasts, untouched by age bulged sensuously out of the silvery Marilyn Monroe replica gown worn by the actress for the birthday party for then President John F. Kennedy.  His well trained eye told him it wasn’t some J. C. Penney’s knock-off but a very pricey imitation of the famous gown.

“This has to be Photoshopped!” he accused angrily.  “She’s taken an old pose and put it onto a new background.”

But if it was the case she was an expert with the imaging software.  He couldn’t tell if it was really her or not.  The clothing, car and shoes in the picture were current but was the woman?

“Well before I rise to your bait, Marianne,” he said, “I’m going to send this to Peter to have it analyzed.”


Three long and exhaustingly boring days later he found a reply to his request to his computer specialist.  Peter’s email was a happy release from all the agonizing and waiting he had done for half a week.  Clicking the message he began to read with earnest.

Mr. Marshall,

I received the image and per your request have examined it with all the software and expertise I possess.  I don’t know why you wanted this checked out but I can tell you with 99.99% accuracy it is genuine and not altered by any imaging software.  I await the monetary electronic transaction in payment for my usual fee.


Peter J. Schlott

“It can’t be… can it?” he said to himself.  “This could mean only one of two things.  First she was never in any magazines of the fifties and this is all an elaborate ruse.  Or second she has a granddaughter who resembles her.”

A third option fleetingly rushed through his mind, he dismissed it entirely.    Chester clicked the message from three days ago from and began the task of negotiating a purchase price for the duplicates she had.  All the while he secretly looked forward to turning the con artist in for forgery.


A week later he had successfully negotiated for a dozen “authentic” photos of Marianne with the website’s owner.  The private investigator he hired had told Chester that Marianne was actually Marianne Fierst and resided at the Shady Arms Rest Home in Century City, California.  The site, per the hired sleuth was run by her daughter Marilyn Westenra who sold her mother’s, and other former models, pictures for profit.  The accompanying surveillance photos proved beyond a reasonable doubt the young woman strikingly resembled the fifties pin-up girl.  However her age and her appearance didn’t seem to match even though she was well into her forties.  The Los Angeles resident was almost too youthful looking for her age.  This disappointed him.  He was hoping Marianne was some supernatural creature untouched by time.  Still legal action wasn’t called for in Chester’s mind since the photos would be original.

Driving to the Monterrey Hills section of LA Chester’s pink Cadillac nosed towards a more affluent section bordered by the working class neighborhoods.  The night had recently fallen and he had the top down enjoying the sites, sounds and smells.  The warm breeze brushed through his red hair and tickled his nose by ruffling his mustache.  In the trunk of his car was the briefcase filled with the recent withdrawal of funds to buy the duplicate glossies of Marianne in her prime.  His mood was light and he felt amazingly happy.

I should pay a visit to the woman in the photos, he thought.  Just to let her know how her beauty in those days still can inspire my interest.  I’m sure she would be flattered.

A part of him worried though.

However to see how she looks now it might spoil what I’m about to do.  It would be rather cynical and cruel but I really shouldn’t remind her of all she’s lost to be honest.  That gives me an idea  it might be possible to fund a magazine or e-zine in the same style of these faded beauties.  I wonder if Ms. Westenra would be interested in such a partnership? Her business is thriving but yet I could help her achieve new heights.

Then it hit him.  The bolt of pure, hot inspiration coursing through his entire body felt like an electrical current.  It was something he had never thought of before and the prospect thrilled him to no end.

If Marilyn could be wooed successfully I would have both a living representation of the era I so love and the kind of woman I’ve been seeking for a mate.  Of course this would depend on the chemistry between us.  I will forgive any business partner the occasionally odd idiosyncrasies but I won’t tolerate that in a wife.

He was still thinking about the ramifications of a possible romance with Miss Marilyn Westenra when he pulled into her driveway.

Well I’ll be damned, there’s the Lexus coupe from the photo.  I bet if I look into her closet I’ll find both the dress and those expensive shoes, Chester smirked inwardly.  So the “new” pictures are really Marilyn but how did she manage to stave off the effects of time?  How disappointed I’d be if the truth is so drab because I’m hoping for a mystery to unravel.

The Cadillac eased to a silent stop next to the expensive luxury sedan.  He got out of the car and brushed away some imaginary dust from his business suit.  Chester retrieved the briefcase and sauntered up to the front door, his anticipation building.  The reality of holding actual photographs of Marianne at the peak of her freshness made his hands sweat and tremble.  He licked his lips as he rang the doorbell.  It opened and he clamped down his lips to avoid an unmanly yelp of surprise.  Marilyn was almost a carbon copy of her mother.

She was tall, almost five feet and nine inches in height with the same deep brown eyes.   Her hair was as dark as midnight in a mineshaft and fell in a silky avalanche around her smooth shoulders and framed her gorgeous face.  Her lips, painted a hot shade of scarlet were twisted up in a knowing and sensual smile.  Her chest pressed against the material of her vintage homemaker’s dress and the frilly apron was no less tantalizing.  It looked more like an accent than a determent to her appearance.

It’s like being greeted by Mrs. Cleavers’ hotter sister, he thought instantly.  Someone who would act all proper by day or in public but be a real hell-cat in private.  Oh my!

“Mr. Marshall I presume?” she cooed seductively.

“At your service,” he replied equally hinting at sexuality.  “May I come in?”

“Of course.”

She stepped aside and permitted him to enter.  The house was unfortunately decorated in the current styles which immediately shattered the time-traveling feeling he was experiencing.  Chester sighed deeply and sat on the couch.

“I trust you brought the agreed upon sum?” she stated.

“Naturally,” he answered.  “May I see the photos please?”

“Of course.”

She picked up a manila envelope after putting on a pair of latex gloves.  Gently she removed the twelve eight-by-ten glossies of her mother’s glory days as a model.  Chester felt his smile grow upon his face.  The pictures were absolutely, positively worth the asked for price.  Marianne in a bathing suit lounging across the bow of a boat, Marianne in a sun-dress whose hem was being blown up around her waist and many other seductive shots from yesteryear.

“They are magnificent,” he whispered.

“I’ll make sure I tell my mother how much you liked them,” Marilyn remarked.

“Why the deception though?  Why pretend to be her?”

“I don’t really know—I guess I’m a bit jealous.”

“You never tried modeling?”

“I did but after the first year of rejections I decided to pursue another career.”

“Selling your mother’s old photos.”

“Yes it’s quite lucrative.”

He set the briefcase on the table and opened it.  The appearance of seventeen thousand dollars made Marilyn voice drop the charade it had adopted.  She shrieked out, “Show me the money!” and the momentary loss of her 1950s airs by using such a current expression made his disappointment go down like the Titanic.

“I’d like to offer you a business deal,” he suggested.  “I’m looking to start a magazine in the same style as the ones your mother used to pose for.  Since you look so much like her it would be easy to feature you and others like you as models.  We could agree on a thirty/seventy percent split if you’d agree to sign on as both model and partner.  We could tie it into your website and others like it.  Pin-up girls are becoming popular once again.  What do you say?”

“Y-you’re kidding?” she stammered.

“I never joke about business, Miss Westenra.”

“You have a deal then.  Can I get you a drink Mr. Marshall?”

“I might be interested in a martini.”

She stood up and strolled very properly to the nearby bar.  He watched her impersonate a fifties wife, obedient and yet independently sensual.  Even though he knew it was a charade he found it compelling, erotic and titillating.  Marilyn came back, the drink in hand and presented it to him.  As she bent over he could see the vaguest hint of her deep cleavage peering back at him.

“You don’t want one?” he asked her.

“I don’t drink—alcohol,” she replied.

“You should really learn to live a little.”

“I’ve lived enough I think.”

“Apparently enough to know a good deal when you hear one.”

“And a good man when I see one.”

Her scarlet lips parted in a coy grin and her alabaster skin seemingly began to glow.  He began to wonder if it was because of the money, the business offer or her genuine attraction to Chester.

Probably all of them combined.  I’ll bet my last nickel she’s investigated me as well as I have her.  A pre-nuptial agreement would protect me from her mechanizations if she’s agreeable to a romance liaison or even more, he thought.

“Can I offer you anything else?” she whispered in a husked tone.

“My dear Miss Westenra,” he said, “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

“And what if I am?”

“Well I’m not above mixing business with pleasure but surely someone so pretty is married or has a boyfriend?”

“My husband died years ago.”

“How long ago did he die?”

“We were young when we got married and it isn’t worth mentioning.  I went back to my maiden name right afterwards and haven’t bothered with matrimony since.”

“I did some research on you.”

“I’m not shocked—you have a reputation for being quite thorough.”

“I find it amazing you are nearly fifty years old.  You’ve held onto your natural beauty quite surprisingly.”

“That’s an odd compliment, but I’ll take it quite the same.  Someday I’ll have to tell you my secret for eternal youth.  But let’s get back to this apparent seduction you think I’m attempting…”

“So you admit to doing so?”

“Well you’re rich, handsome and about to make me wealthy.  I suppose it’s only proper for a woman to show you just how grateful she is for all of those things.”

She began to untie her apron and Chester’s breath caught in his throat.  He concentrated on her mouth as she licked her lips provocatively while she undid the ties behind her back.  The frilly pink material was flung over her shoulder without a word between them.  Marilyn picked up the remote control and suddenly the room was filled with Frank Sinatra’s At Long Last Love which Chester knew had been recorded in ’56.  His hostess moved over in front of him and began to sway to the music.  She ran her hands down her sleek, sexy body.  He tried not to openly display his sudden and complete arousal while she danced for him.  The curling of her lips, the swing of her hips and the mesmerizing shake of her breasts had captivated him as surely as a net.  He was enthralled.

“Do you want to make love to me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he responded dully.

“I thought so.  I must admit I wanted you the minute you came into my house.  You’re so strong, powerful and manly I couldn’t resist trying to seduce you Mr. Marshall.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be—I rarely take lovers these days.  Somehow I sense you and I possess kindred spirits, a sort of cosmic bond.  Don’t you think so?”


She turned around.

“Undo my zipper, please,” she asked, “I can’t reach it.”

He reached up and with numb, trembling fingers assisted her in tugging down the zipper.

“You’re such a gentleman,” Marilyn commented.

She turned to face him once again and let the shoulders of the dress slip down over her pale shoulders.  The straps to her bra, black as sin were exposed to him.  She began wiggling out of the dress, a slow shimmying quiver resembling a snake shedding its skin.  Her body was bared for him, inch by decadent inch until the material was gathered near her slender waist.  With both hands she squirmed out of it, letting the dress fall around her ankles.   She wore a pair of French cut panties and a black garter belt.  Her smooth loins and supple thighs gripped by the naughtiness of the undergarments making Chester suck in breaths like gulps.

“You are beautiful,” he gasped.

“Thank you,” she demurely answered.

She leaned down, her breasts spilling towards the edges of the cups of her bra.  Her lips like wet satin caressed his cheek, her tongue sliding down to the rim of his jaw.  Both sensations filling Chester with a drowsy yet exciting feeling pulling him down to drown in a pool of deep desire.  She kissed him deeply just before removing her bra and standing up, her breasts swaying in liquid heaviness from their sudden freedom.  Marilyn removed the panties, turned around and thrust her ass into his face.  His vision was eclipsed by the smooth round spheres of her bottom and the angry tribal tattoo across the top of her rear.  She began to strut and dance in a suggestive manner, her hand dropping to her moist, aroused pussy.

“I want you Chester,” she whispered.  “I want to take you to my bedroom, rip off your clothes and fuck you like an animal.  I’m going to suck your cock and then ride you like a horse until I drain your balls dry.  When I’m done with you I’ll own you—body and soul forever.”

She nipped at the skin on his neck.  He could feel her teeth as they grazed across his throat while she continued to frankly express what was about to happen in graphic detail.  The fantasy shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Excuse me I have to go,” he said, keeping his revulsion out of his voice.

“What?” she exclaimed.  “You’re leaving, just like that?”


“I don’t understand.”

“You might look like your mother but you act like a whore.  I’m sorry but the illusion you created at first was very arousing but you act just like the rest of the female species in this day and age.  I’m sorry but I’m an old-fashioned kind of man.”

“But what about the business deal?”

“My offer stands and my lawyers will be contacting you in a few days about the details.  Now if you’ll excuse me I have somewhere to be.”

Brushing through her protests and clinging hands Chester left her residence, empty briefcase and the manila envelope in hand.

I want a woman who isn’t so brazen and she just won’t do.  Tattooed with a butt-topper and having all the moral fortitude as an alley cat in heat—no that’s not what I want.

He climbed back into his car while she screamed obscenities at him from the doorway.  She hadn’t bothered to get dressed.  Right then he decided she wouldn’t make a very good business partner.


Her hair was grey, thin and unkempt.  The skin on her face was pulled taut and yellowed with age, liver spots dotting her throat.  He watched her halting breathing forcing her wasted breasts to rise and collapse beneath the thin and dirty sheets she lay beneath.  The stink of sickness and the nearness of death wafted off of Marianne like a foul perfume.  But the chemistry he sensed was still there.

Chester looked down upon her and felt pity welling up in his heart.  The new report from the private investigator had been given to him on his drive over here.  It was very detailed about the life she had led since the photos in Sir Magazine had been taken.  An abusive husband who had died in an auto accident but not before she had suffered nights of endless torment at his hands.  Years of being a single mom, working hard and doing the best she could after her daughter was born in the ’60s.  Only to suffer from an ungrateful only child who had wasted Marianne’s miserly saved bank account on plastic surgery to remain young and pretty.   The final straw was having her mother committed well before her time.  Now alone and abandoned she had resided here in this terrible place for twenty years under the false pretense of being mentally unstable.  A charge trumped up by a spoiled brat who now made money off her mother’s lost beauty.  The tragedy tore at Chester’s damned soul.

“I shall free you of mortal restraints, give you back your beauty and raise you up to be the paragon of perfection you deserve to be,” he whispered to her.

Her eyes, still deep brown opened with his words.

“W-who are you?” she asked, her voice gravely and hoarse.

“An admirer of sorts,” he answered.


“My name is Chester Marshall.”

“I don’t remember you, do I know you?”

“No but I know of you.”


“I have seen your pictures from back in 1956.”

“That was a long time ago—leave me in peace I just want to die.”

“If I could restore you to your former glory, would you take it?”

Chester watched as tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her wrinkled face.  She tried to speak but the words didn’t come.

“I can do this.  I want to do this only for the love I bear you,” he told her.  “Will you consent to be my wife for all eternity?”

“You love me?” she cackled merrily.

Her disbelief made him slightly irritable but he reached out to stroke her iron gray hair.

“I have loved you since I first set eyes upon you,” he assured her.

She looked into his face and he knew the darkness was hiding most of his features.  But in that near lightless room he saw a spark of recognition in her eyes.  It was the same sensation which had coursed through him when he first saw her pictures online.  Without knowing her name, location or whether or not she was still alive Chester knew now he loved her.  Perhaps she was a reincarnation of his long-dead wife Madeline, in fact he was almost sure of it.  Marianne was now experiencing the same exact thing the bizarre re-kindling of some unrecognized but honest bond.  It was the undisputable siren song of eternal soul mates, a rare and beautiful thing.

“I see,” she rasped quietly.

“It is your destiny,” he answered.

“But I’m so old now, too old for love.”

“One is never too old for love, my dear.”

“Where were you when I was young and having my pictures taken?”

“I was still in England, living beneath a monastery where I was imprisoned by a traitorous servant who didn’t have the courage to destroy me.  I wasn’t freed until the late seventies and soon made my way here to America.  Something called me to this foreign country and so I came.”

“I was already divorced by then.  It would not have been too late for you profess these emotions for me.  So why now? I want an explanation for why did you wait until now to seek me out?  Where were you when I needed saving?”

“It has taken me a long time to re-amass my wealth and find a golden, secluded place to hide.  We vampires have to do this many times in our existence.  I was so busy with trying to hide my true nature I didn’t have time to concentrate on what brought me here.  I am so sorry for all the suffering I could’ve saved you from.  It must have been you but I was too late and didn’t know why I was drawn to the West Coast until just now.”

“So now you come for me?”

“Yes I’ve come to make amends for my mistakes.”

“You can really save me from death?”

“Yes and the horrible child you spawned from that bad marriage.  She is using you to feather her nest and I will not have your beauty sold like some cheap commodity.”

“She is evil, just like her father.”

“Would you walk the night with me?  Be my bride?  Now and forever?”

“Yes,” she wept.

He bared his fangs as she turned her head.  He pushed past the revulsion of her paper thin flesh and bit down.  The hot blood poured into his mouth while her arms went around his shoulders.   He drank his fill and then some.  Pulling away he gashed open his wrist with his teeth and made her drink of his stolen fluid.  She choked several times but bravely gulped down enough to start the transformation.

Her hair darkened to its midnight shade, her sunken cheeks swelling to their former beauty.  Marianne’s skin turned from yellow to its lost alabaster hue and her lips blossomed to full, crimson bows.  Her wasted bosom filled out and pushed the thin sheets upward as they swelled to heavy firmness.  He watched as the crone once more became the pin-up girl.   She rose from her deathbed and stood illuminated from behind from the moonlight through the window behind her.  The thin material covering her turned almost invisible and he drank in the sight of her near naked body.

“Come I have my car parked just outside of the gates,” he told her.

“What kind of car do you have?” she asked.

“A ’55 Cadillac Fleetwood 60 Special.”

“I loved the car Elvis had.”

“I’ll buy you a fleet of them if you like them.”

They started out the small, dirty suite and bypassed the dead security guard and the night nurse Chester had been forced to dispatch.

“What of my daughter?” Marianne queried.

“We’ll deal with her later,” he said with a smile.

The vampire and his new bride walked into the night air of California and Chester knew all was now right with his world.

She will be exactly what I desire.  The fifties wife I have longed for since I came to this country, hid my accent and gained my wealth.  As for Marilyn… well I think I can come up with a suitable punishment for such a vulgar woman, he thought darkly.

“Come,” he said aloud, “you must feed and I think I know just where to take you.”

Marianne smiled.

One response to “The Pin-Up Girl

  1. very nicely done. I enjoyed reading it and would love to read more of your work. Keep up the great job. you shoukld expand this and add to the story of Marianne getting revenge oh her daughter.

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