Sabrina and Vasyl answer the UNDERWEAR CHALLENGE!

The vampire appeared in my dining room, looking like something out of a virgin girl's dream. Long wavy black hair draped down his bare shoulders, down past the band of his tight, faded bluejeans. Large violet eyes going half lidded, he breathed, “Mon cher,”

Of course he startled me. “Vasyl!” I put a hand to my chest. I hadn't expected him to pop in tonight. “Leave it to you to scare the pee out of me!”

“Pardon, mon cherie, but I whished to visit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. I just wish you'd come to the front door like everyone else.”

“Why?”

“It's polite.”

“Very well, from now on I shall rap on the front door.” He paused to study me as I looked over a sheet of paper.

“What are you doing, Cherie? What is that you have there?”

“It appears to be a questionnaire,” I said frowning at the page.

“What is it for?”

“Lorelei sent it to me to answer for her blog.”

“Who is this Lorelei, and what is a blog?” He sounded half-way peeved that something would take attention off of him.

“Lorelei is the woman who writes about my adventures—or mis-adventures—and a blog is something she writes on the Internet.”

“I do not know this Internet.” He gave the French shrug.

“That's right you shun the modern world. Anyway, I have to answer these questions. They look hard.”

“Ah. I shall help you, no?”

“You want to help?” I gave him a look as he moved closer to me. As he did the rich aroma of earth and horse blankets and straw distracted me.

“Oui.” He moved in closer, looking over my left shoulder a strand of his black hair snaked over my neck. His hair was possibly possessive as well.

“Well, okay, if you want.”

“What is the first question there?”

What do you call your underwear/undergarments? Do you have any commonly used nicknames for them?

Vasyl straightened and looked puzzled. “You have to name undergarments?”

“It's for fun.”

“But they already have a name.”

“What?”

“Undergarments.”

“I think they're looking for a common name. Like a person's name.”

“Ah. Then do you have a name for them?”

“No.”

“Let us call them Debbie,” he said.

“Debbie?” I looked back at him. “You mean, as a thousand year-old Frenchman, you could be that blasé?”

He shrugged. “I like the name Debbie for your undergarments.”

“Okay.”

“That was simple. What is this next question?”

Have you ever had that supposedly common dream of being in a crowded place in only your underwear?

Vasyl straightened. “I do not dream. Usually. And when I do, mon cher it is only of you.”

I snorted. “Yeah right.” I looked at the paper in my hands. “I'm going to go with no. I may have had visions while in a crowded place, but I had clothes on. So, I don't think it counts”

“I agree. Next question.”

What is the worst thing you can think of to make underwear out of?

“Wool,” he said.

“I agree. That was simple.”

If you were a pair of panties what color would you be?

Vasyl threw back his head and laughed. “These are silly questions cherie!”

“I'm going to go with white.”

“No-no-no! Black. If you were undergarment I would want you to be black silk.”

“Oo-la-la,” I sang. His hands slid up my arms. He pulled me close, my back against his bare chest. This was actually the vampire feeding pose. With any other vampire, I would have been under his thrall, by now, except for one thing--I wore the mystic ring, which prevents vampire thrall completely. But also, Vasyl did not feed from me. He had sworn human blood off centuries ago. I'm not at liberty to tell you what animal blood he feeds on almost exclusively.

“And I have yet to see your undergarments--please tell me you will wear only black and that they are silk,” he said low in my ear.

“Vasyl!” I turned my head to look at him, unable to help a silly smile. “You'll just have to wait to see,”

“It makes me tingle with anticipation to see your Debies.”

“I think we'd better continue with these or we'll never finish,” I said.

Have you ever thrown your underwear at a rock star or celebrity? If so, which ones? If not, which ones?

“I do not understand,” Vasyl said. “What is rock star?”

“Uh, they play music. Rock and roll, or other kinds of music. They play on a stage. Sometimes women throw underwear at the stage.”

“Why? Do they need underwear?”

“No, silly, they throw them their underwear.”

“Ah. Then it is to suggest they want to—” he made a suggestive noise in the back of his throat and encircled me with his arms. “This is giving me ideas, mon cher. Let me take you into the bed room, I will lick my bite, as you like that so much.” Vasyl had bitten me when I was young and any time he licked his bite it gave me a powerful orgasm.

I squealed with delight as he kissed along my neck. “Wait,” I panted, turned and pressed my hand to his creamy chest. My eyes fell to the black hair that arrowed down to the waistband. I pinched the hair between my fingers. “We have a few more questions to do.”

“They can wait.” He pulled me close and kissed me. My knees went first, and then my stomach did flip-flops. He may not be able to thrall me, vampire-wise, but man-wise it was no contest.

“There's only a few more. . .” I spoke through our kisses.

“Hurry then.”

You're out of underwear, what do you do?

“Oh, bien.”

I chuckled. “Since you don't wear shoes or socks, you probably don't wear underwear.”

“Why should I?”

“Of course.”

Are you old enough to remember Underoos? If so, did you have any? Which ones?

“I am old enough to remember the Bubonic Plague. And nearly all of the churches of Europe were built in my time as a human and then a vampire.”

“Right. Next question.”

If you could have any message printed on your underwear,what would it be?

“These questions are silly.”

“Play along—what are you doing?”

“Kissing your palm.” His lips trailed up my inner wrist, working toward his bite.

I yanked my hand out of his and gave him a stern look.

“What?”

“We're not done yet!”

“I have told you, these are silly questions.”

“Nevertheless I have to answer them!”

“When you are through, then we shall retire to the bedroom.”

I licked my lips. “Okay!”

How many bloggers does it take to put panties on a goat?

“What are these people?Greek? Who would put panties on a goat?”

“I think it's a joke.”

“This whole questionnaire is a joke! But I'm not joking when I tell you I need to address this question of what color your underwear is.” He lifted me up into his arms and I squelched a screech. The paper with the questions went fluttering to the floor.

Wait! We have to pass this on to a couple of people!

Let's pass this on to the men:

Roland Yeomans of Writing In The Crosshairs

James Garcia Jr. of Dancing On Fire