“Father, I’m so lonely and alone.”

“I’m here, my child,” he said, putting his arms around her.

“I… I hate to ask, Father… but your crucifix. I was… raised Catholic and it… puts me out of the mood,” she lied. It would be misery to come so close only to be repelled by loose jewelry.

“I… left it at home, child. I’m… very old and absent-minded,” he croaked.

“Take me, Father,” she sighed into his ear, her hand slipping inside his pants.

“Certainly, my child,” he said. Yet there was no response in his pants. Was she losing her touch? His dry lips grazed her ear, her jaw, the base of her neck…

Then he bit her.

She shoved him into the wall. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “What kind of vampire goes around dressed like a fucking priest?”

“You should talk!” He spat, and kept spitting, trying to expel the rotten-egg taste of brimstone. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’ll be tasting this shit for months!”

It was the beginning of a short and extremely grating acquaintance.