The First Few Times Always Hurt…

“The first few times always hurt,” mama said, “it’s terrible, I know, but you have to endure. It will get easier.”

That’s what she said once it was over.

I’d turned eighteen in August. There was no big celebration, no party, no friends and no presents. Instead, mama told me, that it was time for me to learn how to provide for myself.

I was terribly afraid.

“Please mama, don’t make me do it, I can’t!” I clung to her pleading as the tears streamed down my cheeks.

“It’s wrong,” I told her over and over again.

Mama ignored it all.

“There is no other way, dear,” she said in her soft and caring voice.

With that, she led me over to the bedroom in which a young man was already waiting for me. He looked nice enough, but I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The moment he saw me, his glassy eyes turned hungry as he measured me up and down. He smiled a bit when he saw me, but it wasn’t friendly. Instead, it was ripe with anticipation of what was to come. It looked almost like a grin of a predator before he devours his prey.

Mama told me it was about time. I started crying again and said there was no way I could do it, but yet again my plea fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing my dear. Everything is going to be fine, it will be over quickly. It only hurts the first few times…”

Oh, how right she was. It did hurt. I don’t want to think back at all the screaming, the pain, the way he beat me and hit me. Worst of all though, was the blood. There was so much. I had no idea that so much could come from such a small, little spot.

Once it was all over, I was a shivering, shaking mess. I lay on the bloodied, soiled bed curled up into a ball, crying. I was so ashamed of myself for what had happened. I felt dirty and worthless. I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to feel any of it and just wanted to forget.

It must have been hours that I lay there, maybe even days.

Finally, mama came into the room and sat down on the bed next to me. She hugged me whispered into my ear to calm me down.

After a few more minutes, when the tears stopped, she helped me up and led me to the bathroom to clean myself up.

She said nothing about the blood or the state the room was in. There was nothing to worry about, she said.

Mama waited for me to get out of the bath. I was still wearing my bathrobe when she motioned for me to sit down next to her.

“You know, I’ve gotten a bit too old for this,” she started explaining.

“With an old body such as mine, it is hard to find anyone willing to come with me.”

“But mama, you are still pretty and-”

“Not as pretty as you, dear,” she cut me off smiling.

“It’s time for you to learn our trade. You’re in your prime. A young, pretty thing like you. You are even more beautiful than I was in my days.”

That was about a month ago.

By now mama had brought over three young men for me. I hated it every single time. It still hurt. I was still ashamed of myself and disgusted by what I’d become. How could anyone get used to… to this!?

Today though, things were different. I’d been anticipating mama bringing someone over all day, but that didn’t happen. Instead, she told me it was now my turn to go out into the streets.

We picked out an outfit together. I guess this is what prom feels like to other young girls. At least if prom took place out on the streets and every girl dressed like a slut.

Oh, but it wasn’t so bad. It was even kind of fun to dress up and put on all that make-up. Once we were done, I felt pretty, no beautiful. Mama said I was all sex and temptation.

Out on the street, I realized how right she was. I noticed the glances people gave me. The eyes of the man lit up when they saw me. The lust on their faces as their eyes wandered over my body, undressing me with their eyes. I could almost feel their blood boiling.

It wasn’t only the men who eyed me. Some women seemed to lust after me as much as the men. Others didn’t bother to mask their disdain and jealousy. It wasn’t just once that I heard words like whore or slut.

The worst ones were those out on the street with me. I could see their rage and hatred.

I was young and pretty, while most of them looked worse than mama. Old, shriveled up things, with sagging skin and empty eyes, packed tightly into fancy second-rate clothes.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long before a young man approached me. He was quite a bit older than me. I saw the first signs of a receding hairline, the growing gut and the tiny wrinkles on his face. He was shy and awkward, but friendly enough. Before he could even ask me, I walked up to him and whispered those sweet dreams mama had taught me into his ears.

I led him back along the street. On the outside, I was strong and confident, but inside I was as afraid and awkward as he seemed.

It took no more than five minutes before we reached the alleyway that led to the small apartment mama and I lived in. I could hear him inhale and see his smile when I opened the door. He looked almost ecstatic.

The moment we entered, mama looked up from the living room and smiled at the man and me.

“You are back so quickly, dear.”

I smiled at her and nodded.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” I said to our guest.

For a few moments, he looked over towards mama, most likely wondering what was going on. Once his eyes had wandered back to my body, he already seemed to have forgotten about her.

I took his hand and led him to my room. Mama had filled it with flower petals and candles. It was beautiful.

The two of us stepped inside and he sat down on the bed, looking at me.

“So, how are you,” he started but I put a finger on his mouth.

“I am going to freshen up a bit, you wait right here,” I said in my most sensual voice.

I noticed how red his face was as he looked at me. I saw the sweat on his hands, the quivering of his lips and the bulge in his pants. Then he nodded.

In the bathroom, I took off my cloth and carefully put them aside. Then I washed off the smell and dirt of the city outside.

He honestly seemed to be a nice and shy guy, I thought to myself. I knew they were all beasts though. They all changed. They all got wild and angry. All of them scream, hit and beat me.

Once I’d dried off, I stepped back into the room.

The moment he saw my naked body his mouth fell open.

“You are absolutely perfect,” he finally pressed out.

“Take your cloth off,” I commanded him.

Without his clothes, I could see how flabby and hairy he was. I saw his huge gut, his pudgy skin and of course his erection.

For a moment I shuddered before I looked back into his eyes.

I stepped forward, pressing my body against his and putting my arms around him.

“Relax,” I whispered.

Then I drove my fangs into his neck.

I was right. He was the same as all the rest. He started screaming like all the others. He beat me and hit me, trying to get free, but it was futile.

With each passing second, I sucked more of the lifeblood out of his body. After no more than a minute all that remained of him was a withered husk.

He was my fourth victim, my fourth meal.

Mama was right. It only hurt the first few times. By now, I’d gotten used to it. I didn’t feel anything for them anymore, nor did I pity them.

Now I saw them as what they truly were: Nothing but prey.

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