Joe Vampire by Steven Luna

baked goods. It’s a person. Usually a woman.
    Sometimes it’s a dude.
    I want this to go away – all of it would be nice, but this smell thing for sure. I’ve taken it as a sign that I’m maybe one step removed from chowing down on people, and I am so not going to let this vampire shit go that far. But I’m sort of at a loss here, not knowing what else to expect. 
    And I fucking hate surprises.
    I did find out a little more, though, after the unsuccessful trip to the doctor. I knew Hube was upset that I wasn’t taking care of myself like I told him I would, but I also knew that there was more going on here than an after-flu letdown. I’d have to tell him about all of it at some point. He’s my best friend; he was always checking in to see how I was doing. He wasn’t going to take “meh” as an answer forever. So instead of trying again with a doctor, I figured I should consult with someone else, the only one who might have any real answers about what was going on. There would be no nurse to protect my balls from this time.
    Another vampire maybe, but no nurse.
    I needed to talk to Don.

POST 11
     
    Once Bitten, Twice Shy-Gay
     

    I had to put the shakedown on Michelle to get Don’s address. She was reluctant to give it up, thinking I wanted to beat the crap out of him for the bite. As if I have any crap-beating tendencies. Or abilities. I told her I needed to find out his medical history – not a lie – and knowing how sick I’d been, she understood. I said nothing about thinking he might actually be a vampire, or that I might be one now, too. 
    That fun little secret was best kept between me and my commode.
    I showed up unannounced at his loft, which happened to be a few blocks away from Pomme. I thought I’d be afraid to face the guy who’d done me such undeniably bizarre harm, and to find out what I was really in for. But I was more angry than scared when I hit the buzzer. It took a few minutes before he finally emerged from the entryway, bleary and blinking like it had been a rough night for him. A rough couple of weeks, even.
    You and me both, buddy , I thought.
    He looked like a gaunt, shirtless Bret Michaels with about ten years extra mileage. All guy-linered and tattooed, with shaggy blond extensions falling out from under a straw ten-gallon hat, ridiculously decorated with feathered clips hanging from the band. I had the feeling that somewhere in Haight Ashbury there was a half-stoned scarecrow with a cold head, missing his lid and wondering how he was going to finish off his roaches. Most notable about Don: he wasn’t pale like I was. He wasn’t even semi-flesh toned; he was completely tanned… just like Bret Michaels. That had to be fake. Maybe feeding on people blood rather than sirloin blood gives a vampire a healthy Bain de Soleil glow. Or maybe this whole thing was a product of my overactive imagination. Then he smiled and a little pair of fangs shone in the sun.
    Not my imagination. Damn. 
    “You look like shit, man,” he said, all gravelly and wheezy. I wrote it off to chain smoking and Jack Daniels, both which he must have started consuming at the age of six. 
    I hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a coming feature of being a vampire. 
    “Yeah, well I feel like shit, and I’m pretty sure you know why.”
    “Hey – not my fault if the stuff I sold you was bad. I have no control over my suppliers. They provide; I sell. No refunds, no returns.” So not just a vampire, a drug-dealing vampire.
    Beautiful.
    “Not drugs, dirtbag. I’m the one you bit a few weeks back… remember?” I stretched out my neck to remind him.
    “Oh… it’s you, bro. I thought you looked familiar.”
    Now I just felt cheap. “Thanks. Nice to know I blend in with all the other guys you’ve chewed on.” 
    “Actually, you were my first.”
    As seasoned as he looked, that just couldn’t be right. “Your first what – first bite, or first group date that ended in neck sex?”
    “My first change