“He is really hot. Hot enough to get me fantasising about, you know,” a distant cousin winked at me meaningfully. We were at a coffee shop, sipping cappuccinos and nibbling at a cake. The cousin had refused to order a slice of cake for herself because she didn’t want to “get balloon-y”. But that didn’t stop her from taking generous bites of the treat we were supposed to share between us.
“Really? That hot?” I enquired. “But isn’t he kind of creepy? I mean, he is a vampire who goes about slashing throats and sucking blood.”
“I wish he would suck mine.”
Her level of dedication amazed me. She was willing to donate her blood to satiate a random bloodsucker’s hunger only because he was, apparently, hot. This man appeared in a TV series about vampires—a “million times better than that crappy Twilight”—and was the latest obsession in the young girl’s life. Previously, she had fallen for werewolves, zombies, and tomb raiders. These mythical creatures were responsible for most of her sexual awakening.
When I was a child, vampires appeared in spooky Dracula films and classic novels. They kept me from going to the bathroom alone at night. I am pretty sure I had crushes on actors from televisions soaps, but they were usually people I could imagine running into in marketplaces, libraries or restaurants. They didn’t slink up on me from dark corners, pretending to like me only because they were thirsty for an iron-rich liquid. Continue reading