Val The Vamp Ch 01

1. Awakenings -- Delano, a suburb of Bakersfield, CA (In between Wasco and Woody)

I've always hated my nicknames. Yes, I have two of them. My name is Valerie Vickers, which would seem innocent enough. Obviously, all my childhood friends called me Val. My parents called me Val, and my little sister called me Bal, once she was old enough to speak, but not old enough to master words beginning with the letter V.

I was unlucky enough to be the first in my class to get serious boobs and child bearing hips. Some of my friends noticed, but all the boys in the older classes noticed, of course. My body had matured, but my mind was still that of a fun-loving child. My childish mind and my mature body did not enjoy a happy coexistence. I became defensive, and protective around boys, so they made fun of me. My first nickname post-puberty was "Valsicle," as boys interested in exploring the fairer sex, in shall we say intimate ways, got absolutely nowhere with me.

It turns out as time passed, through no fault of my own, that I became gorgeous. (Please excuse my lack of false modesty; it's just an objective fact!) I still refused boys, but less completely. I would kiss them if I liked them, and they could feel me up a bit, but that was it! A few of my classmates were getting pregnant, and most had abortions (it's California). All the while, no boy had yet even to have gotten my bra off.

My body's unavailability had the unfortunate consequence of making me an object of desire. I learned in college that philosophers called the phenomenon

Desire and Impossibility

. They knew they couldn't have me (that way), so they all wanted me! The question became: Who was going to be the first guy to conquer the ice queen? A group of the popular guys all wanted to be the first to lay me. There was even a betting pool. It was not a pretty situation.

That's how I got my second nickname: "Val the Vamp." Both the guys and the girls would call me that, even my girlfriends did, but behind my back. Unlike Valsicle, I decided to own my late teens nickname, and I told everyone just to call me Vamp. It was a bit unsettling to embrace the eagerness with which they all adopted the nickname.

**

When I was ten years old, I fell, and bruised my arm. Skin was torn off, and a friend told me to lick it before I could get to my Mom who would bandage it up. After all, that's what animals do, she explained. (I think she was thinking of cats!) But I knew the phrase about injured animals, "licking their wounds." So, I did, and I tasted my own blood. That one act was destined to define me, forever more.

I loved the taste. I did not just love the taste, but once I had tasted it, I sort of, kind of, craved it.

My parents noticed, of course, and took me to the pediatrician, who sent me to a specialist, who sent me to another flavor of specialist, who sent to another flavor of specialist, and I began to realize that the medical profession was probably the inspiration for Baskin -Robbins and their 31 flavors. Eventually, there was a kind of consensus, and the conclusion finally was twofold: I had an iron deficiency, and I liked the taste of blood. The solution? Part one: Drink some godawful supplement every morning, along with my orange juice. Part two: See a therapist.

I realized this was not rocket science. All girls beginning their periods (and losing blood, of course), should be checked for iron deficiencies. It's not uncommon.

When I turned eighteen I decided to join the legions of my friends who were enjoying sex, and talking about nothing but sex. It was sex all the time, all the time, and I mean ALL the time. Most of them -- but not all -- were still virgins, but they had given their guys blowjobs, and they themselves had been fingered to orgasms, and a few of the lucky ones had even been licked to orgasms, or at least, so they said.

Others had had abortions, but those girls were quiet, and anyway were not in my circle of friends.

Boys avoided me, since I was The Vamp, and I didn't put out. I decided I had had enough chastity, and was ready to enter the fray. I had three friends each named Mary, although with different spellings, and I told all three I was ready for sex, and maybe they could subtly let it be known among the stronger sex? Maybe even they could drop some hints to Jason? (I had a schoolgirl crush on Jason Jones.)

I had quietly arranged with my wonderful pediatrician to go on the pill, more due to my menstrual cramps, than to anything else. Once I was on the pill, I stupidly saw no downside to going all the way, other than some worry about getting the reputation of being easy, and -- of course -- the ubiquitous concern about STDs.

I knew from personal experience that it was quite easy to drive me to an orgasm, and I hoped the boys would enjoy doing that. Being easy, and being quick to orgasm, gave me my third nickname, due to the name of our high school being Sheridan. I became known (to the nastier boys) as a Sheridan Slut. Personally, I felt our high school should have been named Slytherin, for all of the obvious reasons. Had it been named Slytherin, I'd have been named the Slytherin Slut, a moniker that, while still offensive, was one that I would have preferred to the Sheridan Slut.

For the girls, and the other, not-so-nasty boys, I remained Val the Vamp. The slut moniker was because two different guys had achieved carnal knowledge with me. I was not, shall we say, giving it away like candy, but in high school, two boys in a short of amount of time? You're a slut.

However, I'm getting ahead of myself. When Jason Jones first asked me out, I was thrilled. I was still a virgin and eager to lose that status. I had to contain myself, and not to scream out "Yes!!" when Jason asked me out. On our first date, Jason gave me a single red rose when he picked me up, which I passed off to my Mom, to put into water. It was so romantic! He took me to dinner, to a movie, and to Cherry Hill, the infamous make-out spot for teenagers.

Jason gave me my first kiss inside his father's car, up on Cherry Hill, and it was lovely. The man knew what he was doing, as he pushed my light sweater up around my neck, all the while caressing my boobs, themselves enveloped and protected by my bra, which he expertly unhooked, even without me noticing.

Suddenly, and before I had mentally prepared for it, his hands slipped under my now loose bra, and for the first time a boy's hands caressed my naked boobs. I loved it, and when he became a little rough with my nipples, I actually moaned. It was unintentional, the moan just slipped out. It was a kind of an "mmmm" type moan, soft and (I hope) sweet.

Jason removed my sweater and my bra and gazed upon my boobs. I felt naked under his concentrated gaze, but soon my tortured nipples were blissfully and gently sucked back to Nirvana, as I began to realize how talented Jason's mouth actually was. I felt myself beginning to get a little wet down there.

When Jason tried to slip a hand under my leggings, however, I stopped him. "Not on the first date, Jason. I'm not that kind of girl," I said, in a

bona fide

, classic high school reaction.

"How about on the second date, my little Vamp?" Jason asked, in a

bona fide

classic high school reply. I was instantly thrilled he wanted a second date!

"Maybe," I said, giggling, which is, of course, high school girl-speak for yes.

On our second date, not only did my skirt come off, but so too did Jason's slacks and boxers, and I saw an erect penis -- I mean a hard cock -- for the first time! Jason, in return, saw my wet panties. I insisted my panties stay on. "It's only our second date," I explained.

"They come off on our third date?" Jason asked. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Maybe," I once again replied, and I proceeded to give Jason a hand job, my first hand job ever. Jason appeared to like it. When he announced he was going to cum, I was prepared, having already discussed with The Three Mary's, what to do. I took his hard cock into my mouth, and continued to pump it with my hands. Jason's prediction was accurate, and he exploded into my mouth, some of his copious donation of cum leaking out onto my boobs, but the rest I managed to swallow.

I got a sexual rush down below when I swallowed his cum, a phenomenon The Three Mary's had never mentioned. In fact, I later learned, they all three thought swallowing cum was gross, but they did it anyway, because boys seemed to like it when they did.

The third date was similar, but on the third date, while I nevertheless kept my (once again wet) panties on, I gave Jason a full-fledged blowjob, and actually deep-throated his rather long cock. (It was around six inches, in fact.) I had practiced in advance, with an English cucumber, so I knew how to deep throat. I had been coughing so much in my room when I practiced, that my Mom, hearing me, thought I was sick.

Only one of The Three Mary's (Maeri Fayerweather) had given Jason a blowjob, and none of them had deep-throated him, so it was his first deep-throat blowjob, and he was thrilled, even if my panties stayed on.

I really liked Jason Jones. I thought at the time that I was falling in love with him, but my mother cautioned me it was probably puppy love. I knew, however, she was wrong. I adored him, and he was such a sweetheart with me. All the girls were jealous of what I had with Jason. It was as if we had one mind, Jason and I, we were so close.

The fourth date Jason got another blowjob from heaven, as he called them, and my panties once again stayed on. This date, however, Jason snaked his hand under my panties and managed to finger me with one of his fingers, and it was wonderful indeed.

After the fingering of the fourth date, my panties came off on the fifth date, and Jason had rendered me stark naked, in the backseat of his father's huge car, while we were parked up on Cherry Hill. I was turned on beyond belief, just by being naked for Jason, and with the possible exposure to a peeping Tom, were there to have been one, late at night, up on Cherry Hill. When Jason got two fingers inside me, I was rapturous. When he found my clitoris, I told him I loved him, something I was later embarrassed by.

In fact, I never saw the peeping Tom. Jason had bragged to Arnold Merriworth he would get me naked up on Cherry Hill that night, and Arnold (Arnie to his friends) had come up earlier and hidden himself away. He watched us, and so did his cell phone camera. I remained totally ignorant of the deed.

On the sixth date we both knew what was going to happen. We skipped the movie and went straight up to Cherry Hill. We both took our clothes off and went to the backseat. I looked at Jason's sweet eyes, and he looked directly at my boobs. I giggled.

Jason Jones was the first boy to render me naked, in the back seat of his father's gas guzzling monstrosity of a car. He was also the first boy to spread my legs, and gaze into the promised land of the Vee at the top of my thighs. He was awkward, and his delightfully engorged penis, which had already enjoyed my first ever blowjob, had trouble finding the flowering and welcoming entry to my soul. My soft, gentle hand guided him in.

Arnie documented it all.

I thought I knew what it would be like, since my hairbrush handle, and also another unfortunate English cucumber, had already gone where no man before Jason had ever boldly gone. There was no comparison, however, as Jason's warm penis -- excuse me, his warm cock -- felt magical inside me, in ways a cucumber never could. Luckily, Jason was already experienced: he had, for example, as I later learned, laid a sweetheart of a girl, Alexis Samson, on the exact same back seat of his father's car.

As Jason pounded away inside me, taking my cherry on the top of Cherry Hill, all the time using his hands to torture my totally erect nipples, he drove me quickly to the first Oh-My-God orgasm of my young life. When it washed over me it was so overwhelming that my mouth clamped down on Jason's shoulder. The love bite was so hard that my teeth drew blood.

Without thinking, I quickly sucked up the blood, then sucked up some more, and a little more after that, drawing it out of Jason's shoulder like a vacuum cleaner. The blood was the cherry on the top of my first boyfriend-driven Cherry Hill orgasm. As I sucked up the blood, more blood appeared, and I sucked it up, too. The strangest thing was Jason's reaction. I could not parse whether he was ethereally happy just from having fucked me bareback and having squirted inside me (something none of the three Mary's would have ever allowed, for example), or whether it was having blood sucked out of his shoulder, or both.

Life is full of mysteries, as my father was wont to say.

This mystery was a big one however, because as I sucked the blood out of Jason's shoulder his cock, still buried inside me, quickly became hard again, and I'd swear -- in a court of law, on a pile of Bibles -- that it began to grow, both in length and more significantly for me, in width. Soon it was pushing at the sides of my love canal and I felt like if it didn't stop soon, I would burst!

Jason began to pump, and the feelings I had were extraordinary, in the true sense of the word: The feelings were anything but ordinary, they were extra-ordinary. I later concluded I was having a continuous orgasm. I managed to realize, in the delirium Jason's cock was now creating in my poor, bedraggled brain, that if I did not stop sucking the blood from his shoulder wound, a disaster would happen somewhere around my lower abdomen, making an exploding appendix seem like child's play.

Jason's blood tasted divine. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and it had a flavor like none other I had ever tasted. Not simply never tasted in blood; I mean never tasted anywhere during my young life. Later, when I had Cambodian food, I found a similar taste: Lemongrass. I ate Cambodian food every chance I got!

I stopped sucking Jason's blood. I had a full tummy, and I didn't want Jason to pass out. I wanted him to continue to fuck me forever.

Jason did indeed continue to pump, and I continued to orgasm, and then finally, just as the last, clinging, vestige of my sanity was beginning to float out of my head, Jason's cock did what cocks do, only Jason's did it better, I'm sure: his cock seemed to explode and to fire out his semen the way a fire hose expels water. Maybe Jason has a future in firefighting, were my last thoughts before I passed out.

A little later, as my eyes fluttered and I regained entry into the conscious world, I saw a look of loving concern on Jason's face, as he looked down on my comatose naked body, floating in a haze of endorphins, his seminal fluid dripping out from my pussy.

"Val, are you awake?" Jason whispered, as one might do to a woman waking from a light sleep. It was a sweet whisper.

"Are you okay, my love?" were my first words to Jason. The Three Mary's had taught me to call all boyfriends 'my love.' It simplifies life, and avoids name confusion if you're intimate with more than one guy at a time, as Mary Stone was. "Let me see your shoulder."

Remarkably, there was no wound on either of Jason's shoulders. There were not even small love bites. It was as if I had never bitten him, nor drew any blood, and Jason seemed to be in perfect health, even if I myself was a wreck.

"Let me see the pictures you took of us making love," I said next, surprising Jason. I knew he would have to document that he laid me, in order to claim his prize in the betting pool, for being the first guy to lay The Vamp. Blushing, he showed me the pictures. A talented photographer, he was not. There was even one picture where, probably due to the camera angle, I looked fat! I made him delete that picture immediately.

A river of Jason's cum had flowed out of my vag while I was comatose, and even then, it was still leaking out. Jason had a picture of his cum leaking from me into the puddle of it underneath my vag. There was no picture of me biting Jason's shoulder.

"Jason, Jason, Jason," I said, chiding him, as you would scold a child. "What you want is a picture of us fucking, with me on top, and where you can see that part of your cock is inside me, and see my boobs bouncing around, with bliss emanating from both of our facial expressions. We're going to have to have a go at it again. Let me get you hard," I said, and I maneuvered myself to give him a blow job. "And we take the pictures with my Casio camera." I pulled my camera out of my purse. "And not using your sleazy cell phone. First, though, delete all the pictures you have of me being compromised. Do it now!"

Jason deleted the pictures, as I watched. He knew about Arnie's pictures, so he didn't care. I could see his cock twitching, just a bit, as he looked at the picture. When they were all gone to the digital afterlife, I finally exhaled.

"You really drained my balls, Val," he said, calling me Val for the first time since we were both twelve. "I'm not sure I can, you know, get it up again. I feel weak and a little dizzy."

"Leave it to me," I declared, with false confidence. My confidence turned out to be well-placed, however, because my mouth, my tongue, and my right hand combined to produce an erection worthy of US Steel, and in just minutes. I smiled to myself as I looked at it, and I had to admire my own talents at getting a maximal amount of sex out of my sweet boyfriend, the veritable Jason Jones.

Jason got exactly the picture I described, won the pool, and showed a rather spectacular and compromising picture of us

in flagrante delicto

to all the boys in the betting pool, and -- as it turns out -- to all the senior boys at Sheridan High, which so, so, so, should have been named Slytherin High! I had forbidden to let the picture be passed around, and it took him only a few days to violate my trust. To say I was angry was a huge understatement, I was also angry with myself for letting him have any pictures at all!

In the meantime, I had a few mysteries to be solved. The primary one was what had happened to Jason's shoulder? Why was there no wound? Why was Jason unaware I had sucked out some of his blood? What was the amazing and wonderful thing that happened to his cock when he was, you know, and I was sucking out his blood? Could it happen again? Why did Jason's blood taste so deliciously good?

More importantly: Was it all real, or had I, in the throes of the ecstasy of making love for the first time, just simply hallucinated all of it?

On our seventh date, after repeating the extreme pleasure of our sixth date, and while Jason was smugly admiring my near comatose body, I watched the fresh wound on his shoulder my teeth had wrought, quickly heal, before my eyes, and disappear as if it had never happened. Was this yet another hallucination?

Even though I absolutely loved our intimate times, I told Jason we were through. I had learned that instead of the small betting pool of boys, that in fact all of the boys at Sheridan High had seen pictures of me naked, dripping cum, and with his cock inside me. I was humiliated to the core, and any boy that would do that to me was not worth my time, even if I loved him.

Still naked, I ordered him to take me home. I gave him a sizzling hot kiss goodnight, and goodbye, at the door of my parents' home, and -- even still naked -- entered my house. A very confused Jason went home to consider his situation. I guess I was sending a mixed message, but in truth, I loved Jason and it was very hard for me to dump him. Nevertheless, dump him I did. Good for me, right? Why then am I crying?

I was totally freaked out by what I had seen happen to Jason's shoulder. I had lost my cherry on Cherry Hill, and then before I dumped him, I had given quite a few repeat performances there, always with Jason Jones, and his delicious lemongrass flavored blood.