Vampires Can Suck It
Why wouldn’t it go away?
Something beneath my skin burned just out of reach, itching and raw. Without thought, my jaw clenched as I reached down; I squeezed with everything that I had, staring as the blood began to stain my once-white finger. Almost as an afterthought, I placed the wounded digit into my mouth and sucked hard. The salty, coppery, taste spread out over my tongue and down my throat—the liquid was never something that I craved, but was never entirely unpleasant.
This image played in my mind as I sat down to watch the first season of True Blood. I’ve always had an interesting relationship with blood, never particularly unnerved by the substance except for when it mingled with sex.
Needless to say, a show featuring intercourse with vampires was going to push me a bit.
Starting a new television series—a good one, anyway—is a lot like Dorothy being dropped into
Munchkin Little Person Country. I’m always disoriented for a second, but deep down I know that I’ve entered a new world that resembles my own and yet operates independently; an alien setting that invariably comments on my own.
Absorbed, I drunk deeply. As an outsider, both to Bon Temps and to the Southern ideals that it represented, I gazed at the scene unfolding in front of me with unwavering eyes. “This town, this place, was perfect,” I thought, “Here, people actually acknowledged the unseen forces that caused their worlds to shift: stereotypes, religion, mysticism, and the monsters in the swamp mist. All of it was real, all of it was felt, and all of it mattered.”