Congratulations Vampire Fucker!

You’re not actually very interesting, and not nearly as unique as you think you are. The fact that you frequent clubs filled with people who are dressed exactly like you should’ve given that away by now. But you still get out there and twitch arthymically on the dance floor until some cute boy is sufficiently relaxed by your total inability to move your body to work up the courage to ask you to come home.

Tonight you’re not even going to make it out on the dance floor. While you’re downing your third appletini, checking your fishnets to make sure they’re torn in all the right places, a young man will walk up to you. He’ll place his hand on your shoulder, put his lips by your ear, and speak.

“Let’s go. Now.”

You won’t be able to resist.

You’ll follow him home through alleys and side roads, winding footpaths through concrete jungles that you later won’t be able to recall or even describe aside from the inordinate length of the shadows and the whispers that seemed to emerge from them. When you reach his apartment you won’t notice walking up stairs or opening any doors – you’ll simply be inside of his apartment suddenly, sprawled across his couch with his hand between your legs and his mouth on your neck.

What passes in the night will be in a fog as well, a mist of passion, pleasant sensations accompanied by shocking intensity that will plague your dreams for weeks to come. The only thing you’ll remember is waking up on an unfamiliar stoop, wrapped in a blanket. Your neck will feel sore, and when you touch it you’ll notice a pair of red marks, conspicuously spaced dots, adorning your neck. You’ll feel along your body, checking to see if you’re dressed, making sure you still have your purse. After a few minutes of fumbling you’ll find a small note, hastily scrawled.

“That was fun,” it will read. “You should get tested.”

You’ll crush the note in your hand, stand up and walk home, cursing under your breath for the loss of your perfect record.

Congratulations Vampire Fucker!