Sooo, I'm back. I know a lot of you know how this story ends, but just roll with me here. Things have been absolutely freaking crazy, but I'm back. I apologize for disappearing and taking all my stories down, but I had this vague idea that I could turn them into something publishable and didn't want people stealing them off the Internet.

So, here we go, round two.

Enjoy.

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Vampirism was some fucked up shit. Seriously. Yeah, we had the whole sparkly, sexual magnetism for unwitting humans, but that mattered a total of zero, zippo, zilch. Especially annoying? The utter uselessness of sex appeal when you're a vegetarian vampire. That was a whole other bag of suck (Get it? Suck?). Basically, humans were still goo-goo gah-gah over us, but it's not like we could have a tasty snack when they tried to get close. It just made it harder to be good and not rip open throats on a whim. No easy task, let me assure you.

So after the utter fuckery of holding life and death in my cold hands, there was the delightfully added bonus of mind-reading. I guess I got the fucking short end of the vampire dip stick because I was eternally forced to listen to everyone's thoughts.

Did I really want to know that Mike Newton had been caught watching gay porn last night? That Angela Weber had masturbated for the first time and thought she was dysfunctional because she didn't feel much of anything? That Lauren Mallory had burned her step-father's favorite tie in an act of revenge? That Tyler Crowley wanted to bang the new student? That Eric Yorkie was sexually attracted to gummy bears?

No. My "give a damn" had been broken since Prohibition when everybody was fucking miserable from withdrawal. At least alcohol numbed the triviality of human thoughts. And don't even get me started on WWII – it had been unbearable. I had gone on a rampage. Damn Nazi bastards. Hitler's suicide? Yeah, not so much. It wasn't usually my style to interfere with human things, but that had been one guy that needed to die. One look into his mind and I knew I was committing him to hell. Eva had been a fucked up broad, too. She needed to go.

I had a brief period of being less emo during the 70's when organic lifestyles ruled. That had been a trippy decade where reading minds hadn't been a gigantic, flaming wad of suckage due to everybody being high as fuck. If only vampires could get high or drunk or stoned or buzzed or wasted or intoxicated or any other fun linking verb. I'd be a goddamn peach. But now when drugs were illegal and everybody was cynical and exposed to too much of the damn Internet? Fuck no. I was back to Oscar the fucking Grouch that lived in a garbage can. Oh, excuse me – RECYLCING bin. They'd changed his damn garbage can into a recycling bin in effort to brainwash children into being contributing members of society. Was nothing sacred anymore? Fucking Sesame Street. Fucking environment. Fucking Al Gore.

And oh god, that was just my attitude towards inane human thoughts. Vampires were much worse. Exponentially more annoying. Especially since they never slept and thought much more quickly.

Did I care that Esme and Carlisle enjoyed a BDSM relationship in their bedroom complete with sex swing, ropes, and gags? That Jasper liked to garden? That Rosalie would sometimes wear a silicone pregnant belly and pretend she was expecting? That Emmett liked to wear ladies' underwear?

Simple answer: hell no. There were things you just didn't need or want to know about people. And I knew them all. Everything they thought, I heard, too. It really was an act of stupidity on my part to live with a clan when I felt like bashing my head against the wall repeatedly half the time. But that would just damage the wall. And then I'd have to fucking repair it myself because somebody being paid to repair it would think we'd run a bulldozer through the living room or something.

The real reason I despised all of this – this life, my family, fucking humans, my goddamned useless sex appeal (hey, I'm sexy and I know it) – was because I was impotent. My cock was a little fucking traitor. Seriously. My junk hung there like a useless decoration. In over a century of living, not even an erection. No sexual satisfaction. That would turn any seventeen year old dude into a grouchy piece of shit. But expound that by leaps and bounds and you get me: Edward Cullen, most sexually frustrated person on the fucking planet.

And let's not forget the mind-reading, shall we? High school was hell. An atmosphere where every other thought was sexually based? Hell no. And vampires, though no one would admit it, were a bunch of sick, perverted, horny fucks. Some of them had sex for years without stopping except to drink blood. Sometimes that was part of the sex. The nastiest stuff you could imagine. Cults of devil worshippers who sacrificed virgins would be squeamish at some of the shit immortals have thought up over their long years. Aro Volturi was the most disturbing of all cases given his obsession with that kid's show My Little Pony, but I digress.

Summation: my immortal life sucks.

I hated my dick for all the fucking shit I dealt with. In all the thoughts I scanned, no other vampire had ever had this problem. I was the world's first vampire with erectile dysfunction. And it wasn't a secret. Goddamn Aro and his bastard mouth. He had touched me (no molestation, thank you very much) and seen my dirty secret. I was the laughing stock. Even my own adoptive vampire family teased me. Assholes.

But I suffered through it all, the martyr and pioneer for any other vampires with this problem (though I doubted they existed). I swallowed my daily dose of irritation and soldiered on bravely. I'm just fucking awesome like that. (Notice the sarcasm.) Why did I do it? Because call me a pansy, but it was better than being alone. Yes, I was a big, bad vampire and I had abandonment issues – sue me.

In any case, I was currently in the most uncomfortable place of Forks High School, braving just about as much as I could. The lunch room held almost the entire school, every student crammed in like sardines with the sole purpose of eye-fucking each other. The quiet ones were the worst. I had little faith in humanity if even the shy, quiet girls could focus on little else aside from sex.

Currently, Alice was sitting next to me, pretending to be interested in her apple (not like we could eat). But internally, she was thinking about the loud, obnoxious sex she and Jasper had last night. Because mentally experiencing it the first time wasn't enough . . .

I swore under my breath. Of course she heard it. The little pixie shot me a wink. She was almost as used to my consistently pissed off mood as I was. Hell, probably even more used to it. She could see the future. She knew I would be pissed off before I knew. (But then again, it didn't take a fortune telling bloodsucker to predict that I was going to be pissy on any given day. It wasn't rocket science.)

She saw the future. I read minds. Jasper spread emotions. And the rest of them were lame. Rosalie was just fucking impossible. Emmett was a vampire version of Arnold Schwarzenegger (prior to his political career and illegitimate child, of course). Carlisle was compassionate or some other bullshit like that. (The only thing that stirred my cold heart into empathy was Bambi. I loved that little fucking deer. Why did his mom have to die? Why?!) Esme was fucking crazy. I was pretty sure she was some sort of bipolar reincarnation of Martha Stewart. She was motherly externally, but got off on fucking Carlisle with a strap-on dildo (told you they were into some kinky shit) and burning different body parts of his only to watch them re-grow with a heaping helping of venom. It was sick and my "gift" got it all practically firsthand. Ugh.

But still, weird ass sex was better than none at all while I was slowly wasting away in androgynous exile. Damn dick. There had been times that I begged it to stir, twitch, harden . . . anything. But it was a lifeless lump between my hips. No amount of arousing porn, skilled prostitutes, or failed masturbation would bring it to life. There had been that one incident in '84. I accidentally skull-fucked some poor girl to death. After thrusting my limp shit into a hooker's mouth so hard that the pressure severed her brain stem, I had decided to give up. Dead hookers just weren't cool, dude. It had been with difficulty that I figured I didn't want to let her go to waste and drank her blood anyway. The gonorrhea had made it taste weird . . . like sour pineapple.

Dead, STD-riddled sex workers aside, it was time for biology. The lunch bell had just rung and there was a collective internal groan from everyone at the thought of returning to educational time. Except for Mike Newton. He had PE the period after biology and was eager to look at other semi-naked guys in the changing room. He had a pretty bad crush on Emmett, admiring his muscles and taut ass. Hey, his thoughts, not mine.

I sighed, wishing for the millionth time in my existence that my dick was functional. Hell, even if I was homosexual, that would be ok. Just as long as the damn thing worked. (Shortly after the '84 Hooker Incident, I'd come to the realization that maybe girls weren't my thing. That had only led to some awkward gay strip club visits. Side note: never go to a strip club if you're a telepath. The human misery is almost debilitating.)

My brooding continued as I sat down in my usual seat by myself. Humans were smarter than I gave them credit for since they knew to stay the hell out of my space. Their thoughts became louder the closer they were and I purposefully maintained distance. Their sexual urges were just a slap in my cold, dead face. And good fucking god, what was the matter with kids these days? They had been getting progressively worse over the years. Their thoughts were more fully formed and visual and loud. In the good old days (before internet porn), everybody had just imagined things. And that wasn't nearly as bad since they didn't have concrete images. But this? A fucking nightmare. I halfway wished SOPA would pass just so that the pornographic onslaught would cease. And it's not like I needed the freedom of information. I had a constant brain connection to knowledge 24/7. Most of it unwanted, but whatever.

I settled into my usual seat and splayed out my books on the desk like a good little student. Edward Cullen, acting guru extraordinaire. I had to pretend on a daily basis that I didn't already know this shit. Hell, I'd already found several scientific inaccuracies within the textbook when I read through it. (Hey, with a malfunctioning dick, what else is there to do besides read high school science textbooks?) But they didn't pay me to teach – with good reason since I'd likely end up eating the schoolchildren or getting fired for doling out corporal punishment – so I sat back and waited for the disgusting teacher, Mr. Varner, to start class.

Speaking of which, Mr. Varner was picturing the new student – brown hair, brown eyes, pretty average looking. He was a total pedophile. Well, sort of. He never actually did anything, but he took an unusually high interest in young students of his. And this new girl – Isabella Swan, his thoughts said – was receiving that attention. I had yet to see her. But he was picturing bending her over his desk and humping the shit out of her. Ugh, sick fuck. No wonder his wife left him. His excitement peaked when he scanned the class list and saw that she was in this period. He'd seen her in the hallway and had immediately started envisioning a variety of nasty, surprisingly detailed scenarios. The new girl was apparently at the top of his list now for students he wanted to bang. He was almost as hormonally charged as the buzzing students around me.

The thoughts swarmed around me like a bunch of damn bees, always humming in the background. I wanted to swat them. And a swat from a vampire was roughly the equivalent to getting round-house kicked by Chuck Norris. Or so I'd heard.

However, I quickly found a logistical problem with having this so-called new student in this class period. The seat beside me was the only other one available, meaning she would have to sit next to me. Ugh, I fucking hate humans.

This Isabella Swan girl was evidently a complete klutz. As she began to enter the doorway, her toe caught on the edge and she literally face planted. I giggled. I'm over a century old and I fucking giggled like a patsy. But goddamn, her expression was priceless.

Her eyes – chocolate brown and quite an unusual color – shot up from the floor and glared at me as a delicious blush colored her face. Embarrassed, she quickly gathered her books and desperately scanned the room to find her seat. Her look of utter defeat when she realized she'd have to sit next to the only asshole that laughed at her was nearly comical.

I flashed a cocky grin and patted the seat next to me invitingly. What an unusual break in my brooding character.

God, he should laugh more often. He's so dreamy.

Those were thoughts directly from Mike Newton. Unable to keep myself from reacting, I literally craned around in my seat and shot him a disgusted look as he stared at me.

Wow. It's almost like he heard what I was thinking.

Damn straight, Newton. Damn straight.

Isabella thumped down into the seat next to me with a huff, sitting as far from me as possible. I seldom found humans amusing, but something about this annoyed girl made me laugh. Weird.

So, here's where the story gets undeniably complicated. About three things happened in quick succession.

Number one) I breathed in and caught her scent. Oh my fucking god. Her smell was appetizing in ways I couldn't even describe. I wanted to fuck her blood and consume her from the inside out. I wanted to do a wide variety of nasty shit to her and bathe in the sweet nectar of her red and white blood cells. Fuck. I wanted to eat her and then fuck her. Or maybe eat her as I fuck her? God, decisions, decisions.

Number two) The most miraculous thing happened. My cock – the useless lump of flesh that hung like a stupid mistletoe – stirred. Ok, rephrase. When I say that my cock "stirred", I mean that it went from limp to granite hard in zero-point-six-two seconds flat, ripping the zipper of my jeans clean off and tearing through the denim with sheer force. It hardened with such speed that it smacked the underside of the lab table with a dull thud, creating an indentation in the wood. (Get it? My wood dented the wood?) And for a dude that is realizing the magnitude of his hard dick for the first time, I almost wanted to cry (if I could, that is). It was magnificent. Call me narcissistic, but my package, when erect, was nine damn inches, wide, and hard as a boulder. Probably harder. (Note to self: split boulder with cock as proof of manliness.) I was going to name it . . . Count Cockula.

Number three) This girl was brain dead. I mean, like, stone dead. I couldn't hear a damn peep out of her brain. Way to go, Cullen, your dick picked the airhead. Eh, maybe that was for the best. Fucking wouldn't require her to say anything interesting.

The girl, the sudden embodiment of all my repressed sexual and bloody urges, sharply turned her head towards me at the sound of the thumping table.

My vampire brain quickly absorbed all this information and I made the speedy decision of snatching my textbook from the table and covering my lap with it. (I'm a virgin. I still have my decency, you know.) I then went into an onslaught of calculations. Firstly, I was pretty damn sure that killing this girl wasn't a good idea. Not only would it mean undoing decades of celibacy from exsanguinations, but I really didn't want to be having sex with a corpse (despite the fact that I myself am figuratively dead). Make no mistake, I fully intended to have sex with this girl for as many times as I was able. My newly resurrected cock would never forgive me if I didn't. However, her blood was calling to me. How could I resist such a powerful scent?

I realized that my fingers had become claws and were dug into the wood grain of the biology table as I struggled to not drain the girl sitting not even two feet from me. Her dark hair was splayed over her face in protective cover, but I could see her beauty. That pretty mouth. I wondered how her plump lips would look around Count Cockula.

But I couldn't just get up. I had a huge fucking problem standing at attention and completely unwilling to go limp so long as Isabella fucking Swan was around with her delectable scent. Besides, if I left, the grand objective of fucking her would be delayed. Count Cockula twitched in objection, ripping the binding of my textbook in half and briefly lifting the table before it came clattering down again.

Isabella I'm-a-sex-goddess Swan glared at me before facing the front again, giving me the chance to unashamedly stare at her chest. Heehee, boobies. She might have been considered President of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, but I didn't give a flying fuck. The girl, Buddha bless her, hadn't worn a bra and I could see some serious nips. It was during the viewing of said nips, that I understood why Vikings were into the business of raping and pillaging because no amount of "anything but yes means no" was going to stop me from having sex with this girl, brain dead or not.

Naturally, in my bloodlust and just the plain old lust, my own brain wasn't functioning at full capacity. Before I knew what I was saying, the words "do you want to go on a date with me?" tumbled out of my stupid mouth.

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As good as you remember it?