Fangs For The Night

Fangs for the Night

I met her in a bar in Worcester, one which was known for having lesbians drink there. It was the reason I was there. Well, I didn’t want to meet any men, did I? I was lesbian and proud of it.

   As soon as I saw her I knew that I wanted her. She was easily the cutest girl in there, with ripped jeans, biker boots, a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club tee shirt and a spiky leather jacket, which bore the legend the Real Hells Angel on the back. No apostrophe. But Hells Angels don’t bother with punctuation. They don’t live by our rules.

   Anyway, at first glance I didn’t think that she could be much older than eighteen. Later I wasn’t so sure. But she filled out her clothes very well. Busty, but not too much, and no sag, although she clearly wasn’t wearing a bra. Her ripped jeans were very tight, but no VPL. When her leather jacket moved as she walked up to the bar I could see the mark of rings going through her nipples under her tee shirt. Yum. Just my sort of girl. And add to her appearance a short cut to her jet black hair, a haircut which I believe used to be called a Louise Brooks. But not everybody remembered her now.

   Louise Brooks, I always felt, had an aura of sexuality about her. Check out films like Die Büchse der Pandora and Das Tagebuch einer Verlorenen if you don’t believe me. Or maybe it’s just me. Anyway, back to the night that changed my life.

   The Real Hells Angel got served as soon as she got up to the bar. It was clear that the barman liked her. Well, she was eye candy, after all.

   “Guinness with a shot of Tia Maria.” she said. Her drink was served, and she took it back to a table in the corner. Nobody else was sitting at the table. Her only companion was a motorcycle helmet (I hoped that she was going to take a taxi home, if she was on pints of Guinness with Tia Maria).

   I’m sure that all the men in the bar, and most of the women, would have liked to be sitting at that table. The bar was quite full. So I decided to risk being embarrassed by her saying no. I walked over to her table.

   “Do you mind if I sit down?” I asked. “It’s a bit crowded in here.”

   “It would be my pleasure.” she said, and smiled. Her eyes were piercing. The pupils were as black as her hair. I sat down. I took off my jacket, to show that I was occupying the seat. I put my Bloody Mary on the table in front of me. I don’t actually drink a lot. But it’s kind of expected that if you go into a bar you’re going to buy at least one drink.

    We fell to talking. The thing is, looking back, I can’t recall any details about her life, apart from her name: Sephira. I know that I asked her about her background and stuff, but the details just didn’t stick. I’m sure that I babbled on about mine.

   She really downed her Guinnesses and Tia Marias. In the short time that we were at the bar she got through four to my single Bloody Mary.

   Then, when she had finished her fourth, she stood up.

   “Time to go.” she said. “Are you coming? I presume that you do want to fuck me.”

   I stood up and put on my jacket. I was concerned about her being over the limit, and I had mental images of us ending up smeared up the side of some truck. But I found that I couldn’t say no to her. It was as though I had been mesmerised. At the time I had just thought that it was drunken lust. But now, looking back, I’m not so sure.

   We went out to the car park. Her motorcycle was there. It was a Harley Davidson, with lots of mods. And that represented the full extent of my knowledge of motorbikes. She got out a pink motorcycle helmet for me, and put hers on.

   “Hold on tight.” she said. “I don’t want you falling off.”

   “Aren’t you worried about the alcohol?” I managed to force out, now that she had glanced away, and her gaze had been broken.

   “Alcohol doesn’t affect me like normal people.” She climbed onto her bike and began revving it up. Her derriere was so cute that there was absolutely no way that I could resist. To Hell with road safety. I jumped on the back and put my arms around her waist.

   Then began the scariest drive of my life. It was clear that she had as much regard for speed limits as for drinking and driving. I had no idea how fast she went, but I know that it was a lot faster than the speed limits in the Worcester area. It seemed like only seconds before she was slowing down outside my flat. The funny thing was that I didn’t remember telling her my address. But I must have, mustn’t I?

   “Sorry it’s a bit untidy.” I said, as I let us in. That was probably an understatement. But I hadn’t expected to bring anybody home, in my defence. Sefira didn’t seem bothered by the mess. She led me into the bedroom.

   She stripped off her clothing. Her skin was pale, but her body was otherwise perfect. As I had thought, no bra and no knickers. Her nipples had gold rings through them. There were also gold rings through her outer labia, two each side.

   “This is where you take your clothes off.” she said. I was still fully dressed. I had been staring at Sefira. I quickly got undressed, and joined Sefira on my unmade bed.

   We made love – by which I mean that her very skilled tongue brought me to orgasm after orgasm. She was the best love I ever had. Her tongue knew just how I liked to be licked. I tried to return the favour, but I felt like an amateur or a virgin next to her. But why should I car? It was the best sex of my life.

   The only thing was that her body was a little cool to the touch. But I’d heard that people’s body temperatures could vary. Not everybody was 97.2, or whatever it was supposed to be. I guessed that she was just one of those people with a naturally low temperature.

   I felt the coolness when she slid two fingers in my pussy. It wasn’t like an icicle. But I did wish that she had warmer hands. Two fingers became three, became four, and suddenly she was fisting me. She was possessing me utterly.

   I turned my head to look in her black eyes. I think that she smiled at me just then. But I couldn’t look away from those mesmerising eyes.

   “Relax.” she said. “This won’t hurt.”

   She bit the lobe of one of my ears, drawing blood. I felt her sharp little teeth sink into the flesh. But she was right – it hadn’t hurt. I felt her teeth, but it was like I was abstracted from my senses. All that I could really feel was the pleasure as her hand pounded in and out of my dripping pussy. It was going deeper and deeper, further inside me than anything had ever gone before. But her gaze brooked no fear of complaint, only surrender to whatever she wanted to do to me. Had she said that she was going to torture me to death I would have happily agreed, as long as she kept fisting me.

   Her sharp little teeth bit into the side of my neck. I felt my blood running into her mouth, fixed on my neck like some limpet. At the moment her fist opened up new flesh to her welcome assault, and I came and fainted at the same time.

When I woke up, late on the Saturday morning I felt tired and a little faint (and I had only had the single Bloody Mary). Sefira had gone, some time during the time I’d been asleep. She’d written me a note, saying Thanks for the night.

   I noticed two little holes on the side of my neck, where she had bitten me. They were almost healed. It didn’t occur to me then that she had been a vampire. Vampires didn’t exist, ha ha.

   It was only later, when I went out into the sun and found it too bright for my eyes (without sunglasses); when I found that I had a desire for blood; when I found that my body temperature had dropped that I realised what had occurred. I was now a vampire of sorts, too. Not like the myths: I have a reflection, can’t turn into a bat, and I can satisfy my desires for fresh blood with steak a la tartare. But I am a vampire nevertheless. My body chemistry has changed. It was not one of the diseases I ever expected to get from sex.

   Am I angry? No, for I could never be angry with Sefira. I am hers, body and soul. Every Friday night I go to the pub, waiting and hoping to see her again. And I will do that forever.