Agnes had been known as The Whale since childhood when all she would eat was baked beans and cake. In her teens she became fiercely vegetarian and added large quantities of pasta to her diet, and the larger she became, the angrier she became. And the more the world shunned her, the anger turned to hatred. Hatred of the slim, hatred of the fit, hatred of fashion and consumerism, hatred of animal exploitation, hatred of men.

By the time she was thirty she was huge and friendless and alone. She dressed in black, shapeless smocks or tent like pantaloons, and doc martin boots. Hair dyed black, her only concession to cosmetics was black eye liner and mascara. And she was a virgin.

Then she met Chilly Lollipop, an olive skinned Mexican. Petite with shining black hair and peculiarly sharp little teeth and brown, brown eyes that saw into her soul. For the first time in her life Agnes felt lust. Chilly had a rich throaty voice and hands that caressed her where she had never been touched and fingers that aroused feelings she had never known. And as she lay trembling and helpless at the edge of her first orgasm she felt the sharp teeth at her breast and a tongue flickering and Chilly moaning with pleasure as she bit harder and sucked.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m feeding.’

‘Feeding on me?’

‘Yes, you are delicious.’

Agnes laughed softly. ‘Are you a vampire then?’

‘Yes I am.’ She kissed Agnes with bloodied lips. ‘And so are you now.’

Later that night the hunger began.

‘It is the blood lust beginning,’ said Chilly as she licked the open wound on Agnes’ breast. ‘Soon you will need to feed and I will help you.’

And later that night as Agnes again lay shuddering in ecstasy, Chilly cut her own wrist and dribbled blood into Agnes’ mouth. Agnes moaned with pleasure. ‘I need more.’

‘And more you shall have,’ said Chilly, ‘we will find you a man. Men are much spicier.’

‘Where will I find a man,’ asked Agnes.

‘We will go to Fat Betty’s. It is a club for big women. Lots of men like big women. You’ll see.’

‘There are men who like big women?’ The world according to Chilly Lollipop seemed a remarkable place.

‘It is possible to find a man with any appetite. A very useful and manageable resource. And very flavoursome.’

And later still, in the early morning light, they lay either side of a naked man, unconscious with vodka and sexual exertion, and Chilly bit into the muscle at the nape of his neck and offered him to Agnes.

‘He tastes hot, like Chilly,’ said Agnes.

‘Your very own Bloody Mary cocktail.’

‘God I hate men but they do taste good.’

‘Don’t drain him Agnes. Save some and we’ll make chilly flavoured blood lollipops. My favourite.’

And Agnes laughed and sang. ‘Its raining men, Allellullah, its raining men from the sky, sky, sky…..’