There be vampires

The letch – all charm to the point of noxious asphyxiation – worked up his prey into docile supplication. The account of his unhappy, unfulfilled, married life and in-the-face-of-it stoic “single” parenting - given his millstone, psychotic, prescription drug addled wife - pranged the alcohol atrophied sympathetic reflex of the young lady who threw back her head in “that's-so-out-of-order” shakes, revealing the prominent and, as yet, unpunctured jugular veins carrying the bruised bluish de-oxygenated blood back down into the still beating heart.