He was a vampire, I was naked and it was Christmas. That's what I get being the best personal trainer to the stars when the star is the next Dracula on the silver screen and he's a real vampire. EE wanted a Jacob as vampire and for a writer with 300 years of middle age spread, Mister Fangs became my assignment.
"It's cold in here," he said.
"It's a shower room. You got something I don't got?" I asked. He smiled, his fangs sparkling in the harsh light. "Besides that?" I could see him hesitate. He turned those green eyes on me and I felt his power to make women swoon, bend minds, and turn men into helpless fools. Unfazed, I started the hot water.
"I'm different." Alarm bells rang in my head. I nodded for him to continue. "I have Rasputin's penis. I tend not to expose it to other men because they get bat-shit crazy." He slipped his kit off. I admit, I hadn't seen any member that big before.
"Rasputin? I thought his tool was in Russia." Steam filled the room.
"No that one's Nero Augustus's. The Praetorian Guard let me harvest it. I used that one until the Monk turned all psychotic nutzoid. I took his and left Nero's behind. The Romanoff's were only good for that noodle dish. Even that's questionable. They created that beet soup to kill lice in their closets."
"Son-of-a-bitch that's TMI for a shower! Save it for your vampires history."
--Dave F. (1st sentence: Whirlochre)