I remember watching men, even as a little boy. I remember feeling strange and good and nasty. I remember doing it anyway, looking, and feeling that way. I remember not being able to stop and worrying and then stopping worrying. I remember the sight of men’s naked waists. I remember the abdomen that looked sculptured and the sinews’ definition. Solid. The way the dark hair would crawl from the pants and up the stomach toward the chest. I remember looking at arms, firm arms, with large biceps like ripe fruit. I remember the thrill of large, thick bare feet, clean and full and warm and powerful with round plump toes like grapes. I remember thighs, the way they looked like mighty columns, steel bundles of fiber, covered with hair like down. I remember the way my neck would prickle and my breath would come shallow.

I remember the first picture I saw of a naked man. I remember feeling ashamed. It made me hard.

I remember fear. I remember dark nights at home, looking out near the woods. I remember hearing crickets, owls, frogs, howling dogs, turtledoves. I remember thinking about unexplained snapping twigs or rustling leaves. I remember sleeping with my head under the covers. I remember worrying about claws or paws or just hands reaching out from under the bed and taking me away. I remember my grandfather saying, Just say your prayers and the angel of the Lord will protect you. I remember saying back, But I can’t never see it, and him saying back, But you can’t see God neither, can you? and I said, No, and he said, But you believe in him anyway, don’t you? and I said, Yeah, and he said, Well then, and I said, But I’m still scared.

I remember Dracula and witches and Frankenstein and the mummy and the werewolf and the Headless Horseman and Bigfoot, but mostly I remember Dracula and vampires and the fear of him coming after me late at night and grabbing me in his arms and me not being able to get away and him breathing hard against my neck with his yellow teeth shining and biting my neck and sucking away my life.