Nice to Know You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about a succubus.

Submitted: October 28, 2013

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Submitted: October 28, 2013

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Nice to Know You

I am a monster. I don’t mean that metaphorically – I am a real monster. I am a succubus, to be precise. According to Wikipedia, “a succubus is a female demon or supernatural entity that appears in dreams, who takes the form of a human woman in order to seduce men”.  This is only partially accurate. I do not appear in dreams (unless they dream about me on their own accord), but I am a female supernatural creature who takes the form of a human woman in order to seduce men. “Demon” might be an exaggeration or extrapolation or it may be the truth. As far as I know, I am not affiliated with Satan or anybody else for that matter.

I have done this for an eternity (and that is not an exaggeration unlike the demon thing). It is my one and only passion and purpose. I feed on men’s attention, on all the energy they expend so lavishly on me. It is both a drug and sustenance to me. I find out what they like and I become that. It is my special gift. I am every man’s dream woman; I am the cool girl they always wanted to get but never thought they could get. Whether they like tall blondes who read Sartre and talk about expressionism and existentialism or petite brunettes who love hockey and playing Assassin’s Creed, it makes no difference to me. I can easily become either and so much more. How do I find out what men like? It is all on Facebook. Ever since the invention of Facebook, my life has become so much easier. Men will tell you anything you want to know. I no longer have to go to bars, conventions, or Bacchanalias (okay, that last one I have not attended in quite some time anyway). Also, in case you’re wondering why I go through all that trouble to find out what they like, it is because I cannot read minds. I am highly intuitive and read people very well but that’s where it ends. That is alright, however, because men (and people in general) are very simple creatures. Or at least I used to think so but we’ll get to that later. It is all about either power, sex, money (another word humans have for power), or even rarely – love. Some of them like to pretend that all these hormones surging through their bodies are caused by this “love” condition.

This is how it goes usually – I friend them on Facebook using a made up profile, gain their trust, find out what they like and then all of a sudden, sometime in the near future (not too soon after the Facebook encounter or they might get suspicious), they get to meet their dream woman in real life. Not all are good candidates, however. They need to be full of life, full of energy (mine, all mine!). I can immediately see it on them - they literally give off a vibe. The air around them vibrates at a different frequency. After we have established what each of us wants (although they have no idea what I really want), the game begins. I am either coy or aggressive (or occasionally -both). I have either straight or curly hair. I am either a tomboy or a sex kitten. I drink either beer or chocolate martinis. We go to concerts, restaurants, clubs, shooting ranges, movie theaters, islands, etc. We talk about cars, music, movies, and dreams. They cannot believe they have finally found a woman who will listen, who is interested in the same things they are interested in. I never ask them to wash the dishes, I never want them to change and I am always there for them. Also, I am not opposed to the occasional threesome. What is so monstrous about all of this, you might ask? It sounds as if everyone wins. No, everyone most definitely does not win. Only I win. I get what I want and I move on. I get bored so easily. Also, the most energy is spent in the beginning. You know that feeling where you have butterflies in your stomach, you can’t live without one another (“You hang up” “No, you hang up”), and everything the other one does from smiling to saying LOL constantly is “the cutest thing ever”. That is pure energy. Once that fades away, I lose interest. Their feelings only get deeper. They start planning our lives together, I plan my escape. Usually, I just leave their lives without even a post-it note on the bed. One moment I am there, the next I am gone without a trace. It is not difficult. I change my address, my phone number, the way I look (it only takes a second). Sometimes I get curious about what happens after I leave, though. It is purely a professional curiosity, do not make the mistake of thinking I have feelings for them. They are my projects and I take pride in my work. The more devastated they are, the more satisfied I am. I pat myself mentally on the back. Technically speaking, I can make my arms long enough to actually pat myself on the back but I haven’t done that in a while – seems too self-indulgent. Every time is slightly different, but usually they go through the same stages grieving people go through. The first stage is always denial – “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation about why she’s gone. Maybe there was an accident and she is in the hospital. She will call me as soon as she can”. The second stage is anger – “I cannot believe it’s been three days and she still hasn’t called me. She told me she loves me and can’t wait for us to be together forever” (obviously, I am being overly dramatic here for emphasis but that is the general idea). The third stage is bargaining – “Please, God, let her come back to me and I will be the best person I can be. I will help old ladies across roads and mentor troubled youths every Sunday” (again, dramatic). The fourth stage is depression. They often quit their jobs, mope around the house looking at pictures of me, drink, stop calling their friends back, and leave their girlfriends or wives. The fifth stage is acceptance and most of them do reach it. Not all, though. In my extremely long career, I have caused 459 suicides (used to be mostly by hanging in the good old days but lately it’s been either firearms or gas). They say that men never use poison, but they do sometimes. I am something of a supernatural serial killer that leaves no trace. It is my ultimate achievement. Even though it shouldn’t mean anything to me because it is unrelated to the energy that sustains me, it still fills me with satisfaction to know that they could not stand to live without me.  Before you start feeling outraged, ask yourselves whether you feel outrage when you see a cheetah kill a gazelle on National Geographic. It is exactly like that.

It was business as usual until I met him - my Nemesis.  A man so infuriating in his resistance to me I am reluctant to even tell you his name as it sends searing pain straight into my brain. Let’s call him Desmond. It started so well, too. I don’t think I have told you this but I have a day job. I find it is necessary to maintain the illusion that I am just a normal girl. I work in an office as a business development specialist. I develop business for a recruitment agency. To say that I am talented is an understatement. I use my intuition and knowledge of human nature to close more deals that anyone in my department ever has. I have about ten plaques on the wall that all say “Business Development Specialist of the Year” and once my boss sent me on an all-expense paid vacation to Bali (the men in Bali were delicious). Desmond was hired to work in my department about three months ago. At first, I barely noticed him. I was too busy with my current boyfriend/victim to pay attention to anyone else. I started noticing him when I was finished with my boyfriend and when he started closing almost as many deals as me. We had several conversations and all of them were strange. He always paid attention to small things – the colour of my nail polish or the length of my skirt. Once, out of the blue he asked me if I was married. “No”, I laughed. “I am too busy with my glamorous career.”

 He had this way of taking all the control away from me. Once he invited me for lunch (sushi – his favourite) and before I knew it, I was telling him things nobody knew and I realized he was not telling me things in return. Suddenly, he had turned the tables on me and I did not like it. I felt exposed. It was at that lunch that I noticed something else – he glowed. I told you how I can see the frequency with which people vibrate. He does not vibrate at all but a blue glow emanates from his eyes. His eyes…they’re large and black and warm and every time I look in them I feel like I start to shiver and dissolve. I felt like I was forgetting who I was. We started going for drinks and lunches almost every day because I was intrigued. Finally, I had a worthy challenge and I could not wait to taste his energy. It was bound to be different. As I was leaving after we had drinks once, he got up to say goodbye and as I was turning to leave, he kissed me. As he leaned in, I breathed him in. He smelled like leather and soap, no cologne or perfume. Just as I thought that was odd, he pressed his full and warm lips on mine I felt faint. I left without saying a word, blinking rapidly in confusion. What was going on with me? He messaged me later and said “You scare me. When you look at me, it’s like you can see into the soul of me”. I wanted to reply with “Well, that is odd because actually I cannot see anything and it is extremely unnerving.” I did not, of course, and so our game continued. I found myself thinking about him constantly. Mostly it was about how to get to him when he would not tell me almost anything about himself. In time, I did learn more about him but that did not help me very much. I was surprised to find out that he was a writer and a musician. Working as a salesman was only his day job. He once told me that if you do anything with confidence and conviction, you will be successful no matter what you do. It was not working out so well for me at the moment but the truth is I had lost a bit of my confidence. I felt like I was climbing and sliding down a slippery slope and I could not find my footing so I can reach the top. Every time I thought I had figured him out he threw me for a loop and I had to start over. One time he would be cold and distant, hardly saying a word the next he would be telling me all about his new album and filling my ears with his easy, mischievous laughter. He often spoke in riddles and left me guessing as to what they meant. I was frustrated to no end but loving it as well. I wasn’t even aware I could feel such things.

He quit his job two weeks ago and moved to “the big city” to pursue a career in music. He called me the night before he did and made me promise we’ll always be friends. I could hear the faint sound of a guitar on the phone – he was playing while talking to me. I promised him. I felt crushing defeat and confusion. Not only was he not enthralled by me, he wanted to be away from me. Yesterday I got a text message from him: “Come visit me tomorrow night. We have so much to talk about. I will take you out to my favourite club and then we will go for a proper dinner.” If I had a heart it would have leapt out of my chest. Finally, I would have a chance to know more, to get under his skin. I said yes, of course. I asked where I was going to sleep to which he replied: “At my apartment. My roommate is going to be away.” As I read it, electric shivers ran down my skin. I felt like a ravenous animal that was finally going to be fed. The next day it took me four hours to get ready. I wanted to be perfect. From what little I was able to find out I knew he was attracted to women with curves who wore dresses and heels. I wore my brand new Agent Provocateur bra, Manolo Blahnik black pumps and a gorgeous oxblood Dior dress. I straightened my hair. There definitely are perks to being me – I have never needed this medieval torture device that women call a flatiron. My makeup was pin up style – smoky black cat eye and crimson lipstick. A dab of D & G’s “By” was the finishing touch. I looked stunning if I may say so myself.

The club we went to was called “Cherry Cola”. I absolutely loved it. It looked like a gothic cabaret. I am pretty sure the house I owned a few hundred years ago was decorated in a similar style. The walls were covered with Victorian mirrors, blood red wallpaper and vintage rock’n’ roll posters. The lights were dim and red. We sat at a table near the indie band which was playing a cover of some Queens of the Stone Age song extremely loudly. I had about five Cherry Cola cocktails. They were a delicious mixture of cherry coke (how did they even get ahold of it?), cherry schnapps, rum, ice and maraschino cherries. I did not get drunk of course – I could not even if I wanted to. He had two Guinness and did not look even tipsy. We could not hear each other over the music so we just kept looking at each other’s eyes. It was like some strange game to see who will look away first. We decided to skip the “proper” dinner and go straight to his apartment. It looked exactly like I had imagined it – a large bookcase that was bursting at the seams, a vast collection of LPs (he seemed to be especially fond of the Beetles) and movie posters (all either Tarantino or Kurosawa). He turned his sound system on and started playing a song that sounded very familiar but I could not quite remember the band that played it or its name. I was under the illusion that we were going to talk but just was I was reading the titles of his books and trying to remember their titles so I can read them later, I felt his arms encircling my waist from behind. “This is not how it usually goes, you know. I’m breaking all the rules”. I realized how weird that must have sounded to him. “Chaos Reigns. Embrace it.”, he murmured in my ear as he started kissing my neck. I felt strangely warm and dazed. I imagine that this is what being drunk or drugged must feel like. “Don’t fight it”, he said softly and took off my dress. I tried to break free of his spell but I couldn’t. It was like I was a spectator, trapped in my body but unable to do anything. He took off his clothes and I noticed how solid he was, like a rock. His whole body was covered in hard, perfectly defined muscles. He picked me up and carried me to the bed as easily as if he were carrying a paper doll. I felt his weight on top of me, warm and insistent. As he entered me, I felt the last remnants of my strength drain from me. I felt strangely euphoric even as my senses began to abandon me. Before my vision faded I saw that his whole body was emanating a blue glow so strong that the room was aglow with a twilight luminescence.  I finally recognized the song that was playing. It was “Nice to Know You” by Incubus. “I am not alone”, was the last thought I had before my consciousness dissolved. I felt…both amused and satisfied. This must be what happiness feels like.

 

 


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