Word: dracula
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...hair, glasses, copy of Stranger in a Strange Landdiscreetly folded over an otherwise prominent hard-on. At least they have something to talk about: the possibilities of sending Isaac Asimov to Pluto, or the time Mr. Sulu's left ball was shot off by Klingons. It's worse at Dracula conventions: the plastic fangs they wear inhibit conversation, and instead of meeting tall, gaunt, Continental types they find only themselves, or else fat, greasy middle-aged men. The shock of recognition: it's like casting a vampire into the sunlight...
...DRACULA. Graceful, hypnotic, cultured, with the accumulated wisdom of 500 years. He can shrivel a potential rival with a burning glance, and back it up with action. No matter that he never sees the sunlight--the day is evil and harsh; it is for playing ball and going to school and applying fresh Clearasil after every class. Daylight means exposure. Whereas Dracula haunts the shadows, dissolves into a puff of smoke, a wolf or a bat. And he can hide his hard-on in his cape...
...merely mauls. But women--women he subdues with a combination of violence and gentleness, depending on their speed of submission. Dracula robs sado-masochism of its ugly, hideous, sordid side, and changes it into the brutally tender ballet of your innermost fantasies. (Yean, your fantasies, fella...
Vampires have always plagued such hysterical misogynists as August Strindberg, who saw women as the bloodsuckers, preying on the very soul of Man. Dracula is Our Champion,the only man capable of fighting back, of beating women at their own game. The whole thing smacks of sexism increased exponentially by psychosis, but that, after all, is what we go to movies for, to satisfy our primitive urges without actually acting them...
...character can churn up these kinds of emotions and survive. Dracula must die at the end of his movies, and he's got to die bloody, so it hurts. Part of us dies with him--loving it--and the other part drives in the stake and loves it more, sending Dracula back where he came from, to hell, to the bubbling pits of our own souls...