I'm don't think I'm actually bi-sexual. I guess that makes me a cheat for striding into clubs on Canal Street all the time like I own the place. Admittedly, something I only started doing after I was 'turned.' (Hate that term, plus any of the other related descriptions).I met Karl two months into my new 'lifestyle,' he was the loneliest-looking and least camp guy on the scene... and I didn't mean to do anything more than give him a hour or so in my company. He looked at me like I was Jesus and there was something there, for him at least. I didn't drink from him at all that night. Just gave him my number, feeling a little terrible that he was expecting something different than I was offering.??It was two weeks later and I'd met him six times already, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He was something else, not just one of those chicks I take home every other night. Karl is a pretty guy, about 5'8", brown hair, hazel eyes, actually nothing special, but he cared about me from the start. It seemed right, and I ghouled him, probably the best night of his life. We kissed; that was all, and then I asked him. Bit of a strange thing to ask, maybe. I had to tell him the truth. I don't think he believed me at first; soon enough he did.??He's at my beck and call; I love him, and I don't mean 'love' in the traditional sense. He's important. I was overwhelmed that he would do whatever I said, but only for a while. I got used to it. I'd like it if he knew me inside out, but he doesn't. I can't tell him everything. Where would I be if I didn't keep secrets? He knows all that is required.