Interim Memoirs of a Vampyre

The young woman looked at me as she walked by my table carrying her drink. I smiled and looked directly into her eyes. She smiled back and then turned to walk away. I began mentally counting -- one, two, th-.

She turned and walked back toward me before I could finish my mental count of three. Mentally counting to five before they turned was usually the case. Counting only to three was rare. Not reaching my count before three was rare indeed.

She stopped in front of me and smiled again.

"What's your name?"

"I am called Cole."

"Ohhh...you have an English accent. I like that, Cole."

But of course she liked my accent. Most women find my accent to be arousing, but then, they cannot really help themselves.

"If I might be so bold, by what name are you called?"

"I'm Tiffany."

I put out my right hand as is the current custom when a man meets a woman, though I do not understand the reasons for such. When men formerly carried a saber or foil and used that hand to wield it in combat, an empty right hand extended indicated a desire for friendship. I have never known a woman to walk about so armed, thus no such contact of the hands is logical. It is, though, very pleasant.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Tiffany."

Tiffany moved closer to me.

"Are you here with somebody?"

"No, unfortunately I sit here alone."

"Would you mind if I sat with you?"

"No, not at all. I would always welcome the company of a beautiful woman."

Tiffany blushed, but took the chair across from me at the small bar table.

The raucous music that had blared from the speakers hanging around the bar changed to the soft, romantic tones of a slow song. Tiffany sipped her drink, then touched my hand.

"Do you dance?"

"Yes, I do. Would you enjoy dancing to this song?"

Tiffany did not reply. She smiled, stood up and held out her hand.

I led her to the small dance floor and held out my arms in the traditional dance position. Tiffany smiled, put both arms around my neck and pressed her body into mine. Her ample breasts flattened against my chest, and I felt her mound against my thigh.

She shuddered when I placed my hands upon the small of her back, and attempted to press her body closer. Halfway through the song, she pressed her soft cheek to mine and whispered in my ear, "I'm so fucking hot my panties feel squishy. Take me somewhere and fuck me 'til I can't fuck anymore."

Hoping my vernacular was not once again out of fashion, I replied, "To your place or mine?"

Tiffany breathed in deeply as I stroked the curve of her hip, and exhaled her words erotically in my ear.

"If you fuck me like I want you to, I won't be in any shape to go home. My apartment."

Tiffany was attempting to press her breasts into my side when I walked her to my car. Ellison, my driver for that evening was waiting with the rear door open.

Tiffany bent to get into the vehicle and her already short dress rode up her thighs until I could see the dark stain on the panties that covered her cunt. Yes, I thought to myself, it was a rare woman who flowed so quickly and with such volume. She would be a joy.

I entered the car and sat down as Ellison closed the door. Tiffany scooted close and began stroking my cock through my trousers. She quickly pulled her hand away when the privacy curtain separating us from the driver lowered.

"Where to, Sir?"

I turned to Tiffany. Her dress had once again ridden up. She was lightly caressing her bare thigh and licking her lower lip.

"Tiffany, where is your apartment?"

"One-twenty-six, Anson Drive. The brick building."

The curtain rose and Tiffany began again stroking my cock. Her free hand went to her breast and fondled the soft mound as she moaned.

"God, I need to be fucked. Do me right here."

I chuckled as I gently pushed her hand aside and fondled her breast.

"I think I shall wait until we are on a bed."

"Then play with my pussy. I need to cum so bad."

I entertained the thought of doing just as she'd asked after sliding my hand under her short skirt and massaging her cunt. My fingertips came away wet. I moved them to my mouth and tasted of Tiffany's juices, then smiled. She would be as no other had been for quite some time.

Tiffany fumbled with her keys when we stood at her front door. I gently took her hand, removed the keys and unlocked the door for her, then gave them back. She opened the door and walked inside. I followed, closed and locked the door behind me, and then turned around.

Tiffany's short, tight dress was lying at her feet and she was unhooking her red bra. It came away from her body and she threw it across the room with one quick toss. Her small, red lace panties quickly followed in the same path. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me with the abandon of a woman so aroused she is no longer in control of herself.

My hands on her breasts aroused her to an even greater extent. She reached down to feel my cock when I rolled her nipples between my fingers, stroked my rigid shaft for a moment, and then led me to her bedroom. With one quick sweep of her hand, she pulled the sheet and spread off the bed and then lay down on her back with her knees elevated and her thighs spread wide. The glistening of her juices on her cunt lips and soft inner thighs was a bit surprising, but welcome. Most women required some stimulation before their juices flowed so.

There was no stimulation required with Tiffany. I had no sooner disrobed and eased down beside her than she rolled her satin thigh over my body and pushed her breasts into my face. She groaned when I captured one swollen nipple between my teeth and bit gently.

"Oh God, I can't wait. Stick your cock in me and fuck me."

I knew the pleasure of sheathing my manhood inside Tiffany's cunt would be extremely pleasant, but my first craving would be satisfied in another fashion. I rolled her onto her back, then spread her thighs and plunged my tongue between her wet cunt lips.

Tiffany shrieked and began to shake almost immediately. As I lapped up the juices flowing from her entrance, she shrieked again.

"Oh fuck, I'm cumming already."

The climax only caused more of her juices to flow to my waiting tongue and I continued to lap them up. Knowing more awaited me were I to maintain her state of arousal, I alternated between her portal, the thick, rippled cunt lips that guarded it, and the stiff, swollen bit of flesh at the very top of her cunt.

Tiffany panted rapidly as the second storm of sensations raged through her body with strong contractions, contractions I felt as the rapid opening and closing of her portal around my tongue. When my lips closed on that swollen button of erect flesh, she cried out.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God....Oh fuck...don't stop, I'm cumming again."

I have learned that even women such as Tiffany have their limits, and after she had succumbed to four such climaxes, I knelt between her upraised thighs and began to insert my manhood in her dripping cunt.

She gasped when the swollen head began to enter her.

"Oh God, you're huge."

"I shall go slowly. That will make it more pleasant."

Tiffany moaned and pulled at my hips.

"No, don't. Fuck me, fuck me hard and fast."

Tiffany took a deep breath and then pushed her body up. As my length slowly slipped into her stretched passage, she began to shudder.

"Oh fuck...You're so big...ah...oh fuck...ohhhhhhh...yeah...fuck me now."

Tiffany's cunt was indeed stretched tight around my cock as has been the case with all women since that fateful day when I was twenty. I had no concern of permanently injuring her. A woman's cunt is wonderfully capable of accepting things much larger than my rigid cock else children could not enter this world. She would possibly be somewhat sore the next morning, but that would heal rapidly.

I began to stroke my swollen cock head and shaft in and out of Tiffany's clasping cunt. Had I been as most men, I should have spent quickly and Tiffany would have not achieved yet another climax. My ability in that regard is somewhat of a blessing. The contractions I felt around my stroking shaft were very pleasant, but not sufficient stimulation to cause a lack of control on my part.

Such was not Tiffany's reaction. She began to pant again, and then to writhe into each of my long, slow strokes. With one hand, I tightly squeezed her left breast, and she moaned. I pinched her nipple tight and then lifted her breast by the flattened nub between my fingers and pulled it up towards her face, then carefully placed my mouth in the place I new to be a good source, yet hidden from view.

Tiffany shrieked and her body began to quake as the contractions of the climax caused her to arch high off the bed. She gasped several times, then her body jerked hard as the strongest waves swept through her. With a sigh, she collapsed under me.

"Oh, fuck. I've never cum that hard before."

I did not reply. I only continued to stroke my cock in and out.

"Did you cum too?"

"It is no matter. I will reach my peak this time."

Tiffany's eyes widened.

"This time? You mean..."

"Yes, this time...or the next."

I used one hand to stroke the button at the top of her slit and Tiffany gasped.

"The next? I've never...I can't...Oh God...it's happening again."

Tiffany climaxed more quickly the second time, though I believe her experience was stronger. She raked my back with her nails as she heaved her hips into my thrusts, and her cunt continuously gripped at my stroking cock

I had intended to take her to one more before allowing myself the exquisite pleasure of filling her, but a look at her face as the beginning of the climax overtook her told me such might be somewhat of a danger to her. I allowed my body to respond. As Tiffany cried out and arched off the bed, milt spewed from the tip of my cock.

At the first spurt, Tiffany gasped.

"I...Oh God...I can feel you cumming inside me."

It was the last intelligible thing Tiffany said to me. She continued to alternately cry out and murmur, but if there were words, I was not able to understand them. When she fell back onto the bed, I pulled out my cock and watched as a flood of white poured forth from her gaping cunt.

I looked at Tiffany's face. She was either asleep or unconscious, but her regular breathing indicated she was otherwise no worse for the experience. She would wake on the morrow, her cunt and nipples perhaps a bit more sensitive than normal, but rested and relaxed. She would probably never see the two small wounds on the underside of her breast. They would heal and disappear in a day. I covered her with the sheet, dressed and locked her front door behind me as I walked back to the car. Ellison opened the door as I approached.

"To the hotel, Sir?"

"Yes, Ellison. To the hotel."

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Yes, I quite understand an explanation is in order here, but I must first apologize for my manner of speech and therefore my writing.

Some words in favor at the moment can be somewhat confusing to one not well-versed in the vernacular and often the original meaning of the word has been greatly modified. One example I find to be both unusual and somewhat humorous is the use of the word I learned to describe a small, furry cat to indicate a woman's cunt.

"Cunt", to the Americans in particular, appears to have come to be a derogatory term for women of a less than agreeable nature, but it was not originally intended to be such. It was merely a word used as the less clinical name for a woman's soft lips and the entrance through which children are conceived and subsequently born. I understand the comparison of the furry hide of a small feline to the same patch of hair on a woman's mound, though I have found that of late, women seem to dislike those delicate and beautiful tresses. They go to great lengths remove them by shaving or by the application and then quick removal of certain waxes.

It is true that stroking that patch, furred or not, does at times result in a sound from the woman that somewhat resembles the purring of a cat, but that is the end of any valid comparison. "Cunt", on the other hand, has a clear meaning and since it had no other usage in the original English language, leaves no questions as to the subject at hand, as it were. I shall continue to use "cunt" until a more definitive word comes into use.

Though I have attempted to otherwise maintain currency in English, most times I fall back out of habit into the tongue I learned as a child. Modern English, especially that of the Americans, tends to change rather quickly so I am sometimes at a loss for the correct word and use the word or words I was originally taught. In some instances, I do not realize I do so. I only hope this failing of mine does not cause undue confusion.

So it was with my beautiful Ming. I was teaching Ming to speak English, but when she became frustrated with some peculiar pronunciation, she would launch into cursing herself in her native Mandarin. As I also spoke Mandarin fluently, I could understand her, and I would chastise her for such a reaction. She would apologize and we would begin again.

Ah, were but she with me still today. Her child-like appearance and slender body belied a desire to couple beyond my imagination. I have since found many women of Asian descent to have the same traits, both in appearance and in the bed. But I digress...

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Most writers of their memoirs pen them at the end of their lives in hopes of causing the remembrance of those lives by others. More often than not, those usually boring writings are relegated to the tallest shelves in the library and remain there to gather dust. Though I am prepared for my remembrances to suffer the same fate, it pleases me to write of my experiences to date, to clarify certain assumptions from the mythology, and to give an advisory and promise to the female readers of this memoir. Perhaps one will someday stumble upon these words and be somewhat enlightened.

I do this with the recognition that some will read my tale and then liken me to the small equines that serve as transport in the Arab countries. They may do as they wish without offending me, for though my words may seem to be those of a braggart, I merely write of my experiences. Though I might be so bold as to speculate upon my future, as some authors of their memoirs indeed do, I shall not, for I have lived through so many changes in the world I would not know where to begin.

In October of this year, I shall have reached the age of two hundred, ninety nine years. This is not possible, you will say, and 'twould be the truth were my situation the one normal for most people. Were it not for the gypsies who drove their wagon through my tiny village in the south of England that day, my bones would have long ago sat mouldering in some forgotten grave in the English countryside. Instead, I have lived to see nearly three centuries of years pass by and can yet see no end to it.

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The wagon was gaily painted in all manner of colors and designs, and on the side was a sign that read "Madam Rozsa, Teller of the Future". The two small black and white pied horses that pulled the wagon were unlike any I had ever seen. They were stocky, just as were the large, bay horses that pulled the plows through the village fields, but were between a pony and a riding horse in size and the fringes on their necks and feet danced gaily in the air as they trod along smartly.

The man holding the reins had the swarthy complexion and dark hair of a middle-European, though at the time I did not know of that classification. I would suppose he was handsome in some way. The women and girls of the village appeared to believe so, or so the whispers I heard would indicate.

The woman who called herself Madam Rozsa was truly an exotic beauty. Her skin was of a rich olive colour. Her hair was a shining black, her eyes, a deep, dark brown, and her face was both beautiful and mysterious with a wide, sensuous mouth and prominent nose. Her clothing accented an already erotic appearance. The bodice she wore dipped low to expose the swell of her large breasts. Though her dress was long enough to brush the ground when she walked, the seductive sway of her wide hips promised great pleasure to any man so fortunate as to be pressing his belly into them.

I was not yet a man, as I was but twenty years of age and had not yet taken a wife, and I very much desired to know what my future held for me. I approached her and asked the cost. She eyed me for a moment and then bared her gleaming white teeth as a smile formed on her lush, full lips.

"Have you a ha'penny?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well, what have you then, perhaps an egg?"

"I can get an egg."

She smiled again.

"Run and fetch your egg then, and I will tell your future."

She led me up the steps at the rear of the wagon and inside. I saw a small table there 'tween the beds on each side. She bade me sit down on one bed and then took the bed on the other as her own seat.

With my hand in hers, she traced the lines in my hand with the long, red polished nail of her index finger and studied them with a look of intense concentration. After a while, she looked up at me and smiled again, though the smile was somehow different, I thought.

"Each person's future is written in the lines of the hand, and I have read those lines in yours. You shall live a very long life. Many women will warm your bed, though you will never marry. I see wealth in your future as well, more wealth than you can imagine."

I asked if there was no more, for her words seemed too few to have cost a whole egg. She replied, "I see many more things, but I must tell the future of others yet this fine afternoon. We shall camp by the river tonight. Come there after dark and I shall tell you the rest of what lies ahead."

Since I was but yet a naïve young boy with no fears of anything and knowledge of less, I went that night to the river. I did so desire to know my future I should likely have done the same even had I suspected the outcome.

There were lanterns burning beside the steps into the wagon. I climbed those steps that night and knocked upon the door. Little did I know that door would lead me from the life of an English farmer to a life such as I could never have imagined.

She opened the door, smiled at me and bade me come in.

The table upon which she had studied the lines in my hand was absent, so I assumed she had no need for a further examination. I continued to look about the small interior and she took notice.

"For what do you look, boy?"

"Your husband was not outside. I though him to be inside, but I do not see him."

She placed a hand upon my shoulder.

"My husband has gone to set snares that we may have hares in the pot tomorrow."

"Then I should leave and return when he is here."

She chuckled.

"Why would you say such a thing?"

I was somewhat embarrassed by her question. At that time, I knew nothing of any customs outside of those of my village. In my village, a man and a woman did not meet in private surroundings until they were wed. I said as much to the woman. She smiled.

"What is your name, boy?"

"I am called Cole."

"Cole, as one may read another's future in the hands, one may read another's thoughts in the eyes. If you will look into my eyes, you will see I mean you no harm or embarrassment."

She smiled then, and my gaze traveled from her smile to her deep, dark eyes. I know not how long I was entranced by their gaze. I know only that once I looked into those deep pools, I was overcome with an intense desire for her.

I had known the feeling of desire before. There were several girls in the village of my age and after chancing to see through Adrianna's window as she washed herself one afternoon, I felt that desire frequently. 'Twas my usual practice to walk into the forest nearly daily, open my trousers and then stroke away at my cock while thinking of Adrianna's soft breasts and hair covered cunt lips. I would spend shortly, the ropes of milt shooting from my cock to land in the leaves and grass. Such would relieve the intense feelings that came upon me when I had those thoughts, at least until the next day.