Welcome to In the Hands of a Vampire
The Vivian Addams Story.
The telling of how a mistress vampire came to be because of a particular and infamous vampire from the 1985 horror film Fright Night. Mr. Jerry Dandridge.
DISCLAIMER:
This is strictly fan fiction vampire erotica.
I claim no rights to anything Fright Night but do claim rights to my creation Vivian Addams.
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Vivian's POV
I am, Vivian Addams and when I was an eighteen year old stuck in suburban living in the year 1961, I found my calling in the form of some serious bloodshed and deaths that rocked my suburban childhood hell.
Younger me, young naïve Vivian, grew accustomed to living like everyone else. I dressed as others my age dressed and basically kept my true self hidden. My Father was a business man who worked at one of the high rises in the big city of Atlanta. And Mother stayed home and kept the house neat and clean and had dinner ready on the table promptly at six thirty for that's when Father was supposed to come home but he typically worked late.
It neared my favorite time of the year, Halloween which meant I could go crazy with the high school newspaper and create an elaborate story with a creepy vibe. I itched for that moment to come because something inside me said I was about to make a discovery that would ultimately write my destiny to become the fabulous woman you'll know, love, envy, and wish you were.
Strange, it wasn't until now that it all returned to me or was I just dreaming or was it my torment in hell?
Suburban life was hell!
In 1961, that was me, Daddy and Mommy's good little ebony haired angel that was sweet as cherry pie but under that persona I lacked a cherry.
I left another typical day of high school hell, though I had it pretty good, I truly hated every single minute of it.
Out the front door of our typical cookie cutter suburban neighborhood I bounced with my text books hugged against my sickeningly white cashmere sweater with the buttons lined down the center of my back. I walked with hop in my step as I wore my simple flats that slapped against the somewhat cracked sidewalk.
There was excitement in each of those steps because it was the day I would begin to prove myself to that high school newspaper that I, Vivian Addams, was one hell of a promising journalist.
I had approximately three weeks before the Halloween issue would be released to all my high school peers and newspaper staff. Three weeks to investigate and make a killer story out of the local horror story that disturbed suburbia.
With a smile on my natural pink lips, I continued down the sidewalk headed to school as usual. During those morning walks was when I could be myself in my thoughts, buried inside my naturally morbid little brain I knew I would one day be famous.
There was a somewhat thorn in our community that was recently purchased several weeks prior which, oddly enough, the whole gruesome deaths started.
My steps slowed as I looked to the old eye sore which I found oddly beautiful. Thoughts of those deaths replayed in my brain.
The local town's newspaper hadn't printed much about the deaths because they involved those who were scandalous, from the black widow Scarlet James who was found sprawled naked on her bedroom floor and to who Mommy called a lady of the night, prostitute, hooker, or harlot. No one seemed to care about those women. Yet, neither did I because I was more curious why they died and who did it.
Before my baby blues was that eye sore. I studied that looming structure tucked behind a circle of pines, the raised peaks were visible from the street. The old Sanderson Funeral home sign was finally removed from the entrance of the driveway. My head titled as my lips puckered with intrigue. I took a few more steps along the modest property lot. My eyes slightly squinted, saw the glint of metal reflecting against the sunlight. It was a chrome and sleek black rear end of a car.
I did a little perky bounce then proceeded on my way with that hop and skip in each of my steps.
High school bored the hell out of me, though I put on a good face with my so called friends who were mostly blondes with their pretty pastel dresses. I would laugh with them though most of the time I had no clue what I laughed about.
Oh, can't forget the boys and that's what they were. The male population of teenaged guys were a bunch of football tossing boys who butted heads and punched one another in attempt to impress my blonde friends. Unbeknownst to my blonde girl friends, I pretty much made it beyond third base with each of those jocks. Yet, there was one I hadn't quite gotten my pink nails into.
His name was Skip Folsom. Skip was the latest addition to the high school and the Lion's football team. He was shy which was what made me want to get my milky toned hands on him. I enjoyed the naive boys, those who were easily succumbed by their typical teenage hormones.
I made my move and bounced up to Skip, loved how my perky lifted and well endowed tits looked in that tight sweater. "Hiya, Skip!" I sang with that sickening sweet and squeaky voice that most of the girls used, "It's Friday night, so, are you going to the sock hop?" I hated my voice but that was the only way I could really fool a boy to think I was sweet and demur.
Skip quickly put on his cool demeanor, firmly gripped the inside hem of his Letterman's jacket. His buddies obviously encouraged him with their elbow nudges. "Yeah," he simply answered, nodded his head and not once looked at me.
"Well," I sang, batted my big blues at him then sweetly chimed, "Maybe I'll see you there." I lightly puckered my lips then spun around and returned to my group of blondes who giggled upon my return.
I peeked over my shoulder at Skip, kept my lips lightly puckered and he gave me that all too familiar suggestive nod which prompted me to curve my lips at their corners.
I went on with my day and by the end I met up with the high school paper staff who was led by the senior class president Vincent 'Vinnie' Russo who I admittedly lost my sweet cherry to in the back of his dad's pickup.
It was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, Vinnie acted as if he were the head of some major newspaper while I was the only girl there who dared take on any writing assignments. The other two girls mainly acted as Vinnie's secretaries, waited on him hand and foot.
Once the meeting was over, I skipped back home to prepare and get dressed for the weekly sock hop where I'd hope to get my hands on Skip. Hoped I would get get handy with other body parts by later that evening.
Mommy was home, Daddy wasn't yet.
I hurried up the stairs to get into a more colorful outfit. When it came to sock hops or any social event, I desperately tried to make myself stand out amongst my pretty in pink girl friends. I put on my bright red cashmere cardigan, a black A-line knee length skirt, my black dress flats and red ankle Bobby Socks. My nearly rear length black hair I pinned back to the high crown of my head with a red ribbon. I tucked in my little clutch purse a tube of red lipstick and makeup.
Mommy didn't allow me to wear makeup. I pinched it from the local drugstore.
I skipped down the stairs, prepared to shout out my goodbyes and what my whereabouts were going to be.
Mommy called out to me from the living room.
I rolled my eyes with annoyance. I still had to put on my makeup once I was out the door. "Mommy, I'm heading out!" I shouted near the front door, used my sweet angelic voice, "You know it's sock sop Friday, Mommy!"
Mommy came to the foray with a big smile on her perfectly makeup enhanced face. She prided herself on her appearance, mostly because of Daddy. "I know that, dear." she sang to me without her smile faded then explained, "Your Daddy's guest has arrived early and it's only proper for you to meet him."
