My mother always told me, "Never go monogamous with a succubus." A
wise woman, Mom. I wish she were still
alive or otherwise available to
chat. I miss her advice. She never should have remarried.
Vampire
was such an ugly word to Mom, and had too much fictional
history to be more use than con-fuse. For instance, as
Mom well knew,
succubi are fantastic in the sack. If you're young enough and she or he's
old enough,
the energies involved are actually favorable to both parties,
even from a tantric point of view. As long as you're
not her only Happy
Meal.
So I really had few qualms when I met Lorien. I was scoping out
the new
goth club on 14th Street. Actually, I date myself a bit here -- the club was
that more contemporary
mishmash of industrial, goth and any other music
which compels you to dress black and kinky. Funny how little the
participants
understand the underlying principles of their rituals. Any good
Taoist initiate could explain the origins and purposes
of the black attire,
cave-like atmosphere and even the bat symbolism. Not that the favorable
energetics
do the young and the gloomy much good, 'cause they're deficit
spending their life forces on intoxicants old and
new and in dancing of
dubious skill and grace.
Anyway, Lorien was hanging at the club,
like you do when you want a
laugh or perhaps to snack on the youthful sex-charged spectra. Seldom
a full
meal, unless extremely well-researched: most everybody has
somebody who'll miss them, particularly if they have
any scrumptious
chakras at all.
I had been on a health regimen -- meditation, running,
veggie diet -- and
was radiating strongly across all bands. She drew a bead on me across
the dance floor.
The sallow-complexioned writhing junkies were
translucent to her. I saw her Pavlovian response to me and her
predatory-style
circuitous approach long before she got to the bar. She
was taller than me, hair presently red, model-like in frame
but healthy
curves. A black leather form-hugging top bared her shoulders -- damn, I
hate it when they
do that to me. She had a tongue stud, which is not
good for the energetics but we all make some concessions to
fashion.
She moved next to me at the bar and pretended to be concerned about
getting a
silly blue drink. "Beware of Romulans bearing gifts," I smirked,
giving her the pretense for starting conversation.
"Oh, a Trekkie geek,
great," she said with excessive sarcasm.
I cut to the bottom line,
my style. "You feeling a bit peckish, eh?" Her
eyes went a bit wide at this before she remasked her face. "Is
that a
Trek reference, too?" Still the sarcasm.
"Hey, relax," I said, trying to smile
in my most open manner and applying
biofeedback to keep my skin tension down, breathing regular and energy
flow
good. "I could probably guess your lineage if you gave me a few
minutes."
She looked me
over, Kether to Malkuth, appetite now mixed with animal
suspicion. "People end up hurt, talking like that," she
growled low.
"Sure," I laughed, "dumb normals who overhear this stuff and try to bluff
about
with it. Look, I'm from a friendly family, and I think you're pretty
cute."
Her look softened
a bit and she sniffed at me so that only I noticed it, then
beamed with a girlish smile. "Well, I'll be damned.
Let's blow this
corpsicle stand and exchange curriculum vitae someplace more private."
We
strode about the property-valueless desert near the club, exchanging
stories. That's always my favorite part really.
Even in a major city, there
aren't that many folks I can be myself with, and DC could be such a small
town.
We relaxed with each other, and I could feel just the slightest
stroke of her static electricity down my arm.
I
looked at her with mirth and tenderness, saying softly, "Well, it's not
polite to keep a lady waiting." We found
a cab and went to my home.
I'm assuming that my tale is only for friendly distribution, but in our
IT age
leaks are unavoidable. That's why I haven't said much about myself or
my place. Those who need
to ask, shouldn't know and perhaps should
be quietly killed.
Just kidding. Little familia
amica humor there. If you're reading this by
accident, just assume you'd miss me in a crowd, 'cause you probably
already
have.
Anyway, I assume that anything I write down could be in the Post
tomorrow, so I'm
going to get a little graphic now. This is for the benefit of
the normals, so they know just how demanding the
scene is before they
risk it, and for those of you on the feeding end of the equation, as I think
sometimes
you don't understand and even more often don't appreciate
what we go through for our little trysts.
Lorien
and I had avoided touching till we were comfortably seated on my
old couch. (The residual energy there relaxed
her better than any
cocktail would.) The physical progression with succubi is not noticeably
different
in gross than that with a normal, but the devil is in the details.
Almost as soon as our lips touched,
the electricity started flowing between
us, and her fingers began seeking skin to scratch, and her mouth sought
flesh
to bite. This, despite anything they may tell you to the contrary, is
not what a succubus really needs, though
it has certainly led to much of
their fictional history. Though she didn't need it, she thought she wanted
it,
and it took considerable physical strength to convince her otherwise.
Silent negotiations ensued,
which if translated would read "allow me to
pin both your hands with my left, and with my right I'll expose more
bare
skin" or "limit your bites to a gentle gnaw on my hand and I'll remove more
clothing."
Despite
the risks and the seemingly counter-intuitive phagism, I couldn't
skimp on licking her other mouth with which she
would complete our
circuit. Everybody knows that more moisture conducts the current better.
When
the circuit of mouth to mouth and loin to loin was completed, she
wanted to discharge the potential right away,
despite knowing that that
would be fast food. I employed the usual tantric techniques, but with
violent
physicality to build up the potentials. This in itself takes
considerable muscle energy, and she bathed gladly
in the bio infrared.
Her predatory clawings became less urgent, even tender. My chakras
began to open
one by one, and I was alight and aflame, melting and
fusing happily into her. Yet I kept going. I felt generous,
as she was then
using all her arts on my nervous system for which her kind are famous. I'd
give her an
hour of juice, but no more.
Her physical climaxes progressively entreated me to reply in kind, and
at
the hour I gladly accepted. The circuit discharged in such fierce
incandescence that she squeezed
her eyes shut against the blinding
frequencies.
I retreated carefully to avoid any casual
fingernail strikes, but with
apparently no need. She was purring contentedly. I placed a sheet
between
us and we embraced. I recited the old formula: "May our
families always be such friends to each other," and she
broke formula to
say "You and I certainly shall be." Thus it has been between our kinds
for millennia
-- wild, mystic fun.
I felt drained but exultant. A healthy human can recharge these
succubi-tapped
energies in two days (the physical follows the same
cycles as with normals). No permanent damage, and the experience
promised
to get better with repetition as we align. I was pleased as
spiked punch, and I think she was too, but I didn't
let her sleep over on
the first night. You just never know these days.
Before she left,
I assured myself that she had other safe energy sources
here in town, and then offered her another feeding tryst
in a couple of
days. She just smiled and hugged me.
And so it went for several months,
couldn't have been happier. We came
to a remarkable alignment, and soon I was scouring the old family lore for
energy
tricks and magics for further fun and profit. She was far from
domesticated, but I felt her predations have become
less dangerous. I
starting allowing her in my bed for the night.
But that winter something
went deep shit south. Being a model of
self-preservation, I first noticed the change in me. Lorien was tapping
me
deeper, without much recompense. I was feeling tired and less charming
between trysts, and the next
tryst always seemed to come too soon. After
a narcissistic self-evaluation, or NSE as Mom would say, I was much
relieved
to find that I was not the problem. But that left Lorien.
And Lorien was hurting, hurting bad. I
think I missed it because it had
started so slow, and because Lorien herself was slow to notice the
change.
But I could now see how she was showing up more and more
hungry to our trysts, anxious and more predatory. And
afraid, I think.
Afraid she might really hurt me. Our alignment was shot.
Reasoning with
succubi isn't their strong suit, but my ancestors didn't get
to be a friendly family on charm alone. So, after
one particularly desperate
tryst where I could only take the barest edge off her hunger, I had a word
with
her.
I told her what Mom said about monogamy and succubi. She laughed
meekly, "Oh, that's
not it, my Irish dumpling, that's not it. I've got a couple
other boys and girls I play with, I assure you." Then,
after a heartbeat,
"But some of them have been voicing doubts about continuing."
"You've
been this way with all of them?"
She hesitated for another heartbeat. "Yes, I think so." But her
eyes were
doubtful.
I knew right then what was probably going on. Heuristic solutions
to
hermeneutic problems R us, and going over the old lore had helped too.
But I couldn't tell her, or
even ask her any more questions in her current
state. She was too far under he/she/it. So, the indirect approach.
"I
can help you, I think. I have something that'll help your energy flow.
You'll need to wear it all the time, including
play time. Capice?"
I went upstairs to my third floor sanctum sanctorum. Returning, I handed
her
a necklace of exquisitely carved jade, obtained with its twin in the
mountains near Kyoto by my grandmother at great
cost -- fortunately, not
my mother.
She accepted the necklace passively. She was far gone
or she would
have noticed the deception. It's usually not so easy to bug a succubus.
The other part
would be more difficult, whatever her condition. I would
have to track her to her trysts, 'cause the twin would
only work at the
range of a cordless phone, at best.
The next two days were not completely
fruitless. Normals who were
managing to hold their own with a famished succubus were usually at
least
interesting people to know (and generally cute besides), but they
weren't who I was looking for. It wasn't until
the night of the second day
that the twin gave off a faint heat. She was going into an old three-story
turreted
stone house. A tall Nordic fellow was at the door -- he must be
the problem.
I had come
girded to the gills with weaponry from the family armory. My
possession or even understanding of such anti-succubi
devices I had
kept well hidden from Lorien in particular and all others from a cornucopia
of caution.
Item
one was a set of cables that would appear to the uninitiated to be for
battery jumping (and they looked like that
to me too, but I knew the alloys
employed were unique, thank you Society of the Rosy Cross). Looking at
this
dream date for Hitler, I doubted I would get close enough for a jump
start in reverse. I also brought some gold-plated
spikes under my belt on
each hip, in case the old-fashioned ways proved best. Probably so in
spades.
Finally, brought my very illegal .44 magnum in its stylish Italian
leather shoulder holster. That wouldn't kill
him -- somehow the bullets
would always be finessed away from anything vital. But laws of physics
still
applied with these guys, so I could sure slow him down some. I would
need to catch his initial rush, or I would
be toast. Insulated gloves?
Check. Rubber soles and rubber soul? Check and always check.
Now
for an overdue word of explanation. You succubi take notes.
There's nothing so big-assed tough and predatory that
it doesn't have
something that will eat it, given the opportunity. If it's a standard
predator-prey relationship,
there's the usual population pyramid. That
means you've got only a few folks out there who are succubi to succubi.
But
they're out there alright, and they are damned tough. Vampire might
not be too ugly a word for them. They never
go symbiotic with normals,
and seldom hesitate to take some full normal meals in-between their
succubi
hunts. Worse for you succubi, they're able to mask their nature,
pretending to be normals, and mess with your heads
so you don't notice
when the energy is going or who's getting it. I'd be doing everybody a
favor getting
rid of this Deiter.
I gave the trysters some time to get going. Every lion in Africa knows it's
always
easier to kill something while it's eating.
I broke in silently and quickly, hoping he's too involved
to pick me up on
his bio bandwidths. They were making happy noises upstairs. I slunk
lightly up to the
bedroom door, and set down most of my gear at the
threshold, 'cept for the magnum and a couple gold spikes. Then
I rushed
in where wise men shit and run.
I'm as frosty as a plastic snowman, but seeing
two succubi going at it
even gave me a moment's sweat. Even normals can see the glow of that
kind of
energy, stored up for decades, resonating back and forth between
ageless and beautiful forms. And yet at the core
of this vision was the
fixed steel gray gaze of the vampire up at Lorien, a gaze which mixed
natural hunger
with the malice that only sentience brings to simple acts of
survival. And the naked yet still necklaced Lorien,
so full of greedy life at
our encounters, was oblivious to everything, including my entry into the
room.
You
see, Herr Nosferatu had had the good grace and confidence to allow
Lorien to be on top (position having very little
to do with flow) and facing
the door, a deceptive deference to succubi paranoia which made my job
more
and less difficult. I can't get a clean shot in, but I can get pretty
close for the spiking before Fritz notices.
Or
so I thought. As I approached, Nordic jumped his track and jerked into
awareness. Without pause or effort he flung
Lorien off him and into me. I
back pedaled quick, letting Lorien face plant onto the floor, but then he's
up
and charging, steel gaze now on me. I avoided his stare and gave
him a few rounds of the .44. He was put back
on his heels, but his eyes
were still drilling me for life stuff, tapping into me from across the room.
Didn't
think that was possible, but he was doing it, and I was scared and
righteously pissed.
I
wasn't about to give his damn eyes more time, but just as I was about to
follow through with a spike, a reanimated
Lorien grabbed me from behind,
all teeth and nails, not realizing that I was there to help, probably not even
remembering
who I was. Eyes never blinking, Mr. Nordic smiled, his grin
shiny with saliva, and moved in for dessert.
Fortunately,
this was not a completely unanticipated turn of events.
Freeing one hand, I gave the jade twin a violent squeeze,
and Lorien is
down, screaming at her burning necklace. The vampire's gaze wavered
towards Lorien. Another
round from the magnum, and the surprise as
much as anything halted our blond friend. I flew at him with everything
I
had left.
I was lucky. The stupid bastard had never used his eons of spare time to
train
beyond physical combat 101. His powerful arms swung to ward me
off, but I finessed and dismissed his blows. The
first spike I hit him with in
the neck. That took the wind and some blood out of him and let me get
the
second one into his solar plexus. Not the heart, which is a fine but
vital distinction in terms of placement. (And
now all you succubi readers
know that I know, and mutual respect may ensue.)
He was down,
eyes blank, his energies flowing out so quickly he wouldn't
last longer than a D-cell in building-size boom box.
The blood just pools
on his stomach, listless for the first time in perhaps many centuries. I
scrambled
for the alchemical battery cords and gloves and had the now
sedate Lorien wired onto him in no time. Hate to see
good juice go to waste.
Recharged, Lorien dressed with silent speed, like an actress between
scenes.
She took off the jade necklace and handed it back to me
without a word. I asked her if she needed a lift, but
she was already
walking out of the bedroom, out of the house, outta my life. I didn't try to
follow or
stop her. Aristocrats have nothing on succubus pride.
If Lorien's feelings about these awkward events
are understandable, so
are mine. Word of my escapade got out, with the usual exaggerations,
long before
I scribbled this little family journal entry. Despite my slacker
ethic, my reputation was finally made among the
succubi and the families.
Thanks Mom.
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