Every relationship has a starting point. Many have ending points, too, but I didn't want to think about that. I was too busy remembering what a friend of mine had said about being in a conversation with a member of the opposite sex. “You don't have to be a great talker, just a great listener. Respond to what they’re saying and ask questions. They'll not only think you're interested in finding out about them but will appreciate your attention.”
Somehow, I managed to keep the conversation going for about an hour, which was about twenty minutes too long for me to make a class on time. I didn't care. I was too busy wondering why any girl—this beautiful and intelligent—would want to talk to a guy like me. Maybe I reminded her of an old third grade boyfriend—one she had before she became beautiful and her body developed. I knew that couldn’t be it. This girl had always been beautiful and probably needed to wear a bra as soon as she stopped wearing diapers.
Then, it hit me. It didn't matter. We were here conversing, laughing, and getting along well. Ulterior motives could lock themselves in the police files under “I Don't Give A Damn” and stay hidden forever. I simply wanted to enjoy the moment and pray it would never end. Some prayers are never answered.
She looked at her watch and said she had to get to class. My heart broke knowing my dream girl would be walking out of my world and into one filled with better looking guys. I guess that’s why I was amazed when she leaned over and took my hand, saying, “We will see each other again, won't we?”
Yeah, Mr. Cool scrambled for the right answer. I remembered an old movie line and said, “Whenever you wish.” I patted myself on the back knowing it would be a winner, unless she’d seen the movie—the two actors had never seen each other again in it.
Anyway, she looks deep into my eyes and, with a slight smile, replied, “Don't say that, you may get tired of me being around. See you soon.”
Flabbergasted, I watched as she jumped up and ran down the sidewalk, hoping she didn't turn around and see my tongue hanging out. I was on Cloud Nine … stunned that she hadn’t cast me aside. I knew I had very little to offer. She could have any football or basketball player she wanted. Maybe even a rocket scientist. But, for some reason, she selected me, instead. “Just what I need, a girl with low standards,” I said under my breath. “I hope she keeps them there.”
Then it hit me. I never got a phone number or address. I’d been so in the moment that I’d forgotten about the next one. I felt like I’d picked the right lottery numbers but lost the ticket on the way to claim my prize.
For three days, I searched. Mihaela had told me she lived off campus with her father. She had been in the United States for five years and lived in five or six different cities up and down the East Coast, from Milford to Miami. They moved often because of her father's work—some kind of educational contractor. She liked Americans, but not the way they gorged themselves on fast food, cursed too often, and took too many things for granted. Thinking back, I find it strange that she shared so much, but so little. She'd obviously had a lot of practice.
I caught up on homework over the weekend and slept late both days. I caught the end of a ballgame and the beginning of the local news. One story, in particular, blew me away. My biology class professor had been found dead. The guy had been in bed and was suspected of having had a heart attack. Circumstances surrounding the event were being investigated. To me, that meant he didn’t have a heart attack. Someone killed him, or he committed suicide. My guess was the former.
Monday, I went to biology class as if I didn’t know anything had happened. I figured an assistant would be teaching until the university decided on a replacement. Instead, a note taped to the door stated we’d be notified when class would resume.
The bottom dropped out and I had no parachute. This was a required class for me if I wanted to graduate this year. Last thing I wanted was to have to stick around for Summer Session because the university was screwing around. My mind was all wrapped up trying to figure out my next move when I heard a familiar voice say, “Hello, Stranger.”
“Well, hello to you,” I replied. At least one good thing was going to happen to me on this lousy afternoon. “I thought you'd been kidnapped by aliens or something.
Mihaela smiled. “I figured I'd find you here. Did you have a good weekend?”
“It would have been better if I could have spent it with you.” Whoa, where did that come from? “I mean ...”
She stopped me with an index finger to my lips and a light kiss to the cheek. “Don't worry, I had to finish some things up. Now, we can spend the time together I promised.”
The lady didn’t lie. That night, with one candle illuminating the room, we made love in my cheap efficiency apartment. For me it was great. Mihaela seemed to enjoy herself as well. She was a beast in bed, filled with more energy than a fake bunny with new batteries.
She pushed me until I had no more to give and then made me take out a loan for more. I finally had to surrender and say, “No mas.” I was used to being the horny one. This girl made me look like a wimp.
She'd drained me. Being the typical male, I passed out. I woke once during the night to go to the bathroom. The bed was empty beside me. Then, I spied her on the other side of the room watching some late-night horror movie. She was wearing only my unbuttoned flannel shirt—nothing else. After the bathroom, she helped me take the shirt off.
I didn't go to classes the next day, or the next. Mihaela kept me busy. I was her slave, there only to serve her need for sex. For a young man of nineteen, she was a dream come true. Her body took me on a world cruise and showed me all the sites. I enjoyed being a tourist.
I stayed exhausted. Even after sleep, my body couldn't cope with the amount of activity Mihaela demanded. I tried to ease my aches in a full tub of hot water. I was doing okay until she joined me there. The water didn’t get cold fast enough.
By the end of the third day, I didn't care if I ever had sex again. I needed food and rest. This “No Stop Marathon” was becoming more of a task than a pleasure. My sexual appetite was full but my stomach empty. Plus, I was missing class after class—not a way to achieve passing grades.
The bathroom provided me with my only escape. By the end of the third day, I stood at the sink and saw myself in the mirror. I’d become a skeleton of myself. My transformation exceeded the realm of reality. Besides losing over twenty pounds, my hair was thinning … turning gray, and my face had wrinkles. I looked like an old man! One didn't have to be a genius to know there was more than sex involved here.
I'd been in a daze most of those three days. Mihaela’s eyes had been hypnotic—big, black optic drills boring deep and removing my sense of will. She assumed complete control—taking me down a road of deadly pleasure as a kidnapped participant.
I knew it had to change and bolted to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I grabbed an old package of hamburger, tore away the wrapper, and stuffed my mouth full.
Ignoring Mihaela’s efforts to draw my attention, I attacked a package of lunch meat next. Strength was returning to my body. Mihaela’s hands tugged at my shoulders, trying to spin me around. I cast her off and dug into a week-old pizza.
The more I ate, the stronger I got. The protein was being digested and racing to all parts of my emaciated self. I knew it wouldn't be long before I was back to normal strength.
“I've got to give you credit,” Mihaela conceded, “You're mentally stronger than any nerdy loser I ever met. And, that includes that fat slob biology professor. Look at me, damn it!”
I felt the power of her command but ignored it. Continuing to stare into my empty fridge, I asked, “You're a succubus, aren't you?” I had no doubt of the fact, but I wanted to see if she'd admit it.
“So, you've guessed my secret,” Mihaela replied, sounding aggravated. “Yes, I'm a succubus. If you'd look at me, you could see how much my body has improved since we started together. And, now that you’re almost back in shape, it could get even better. Won't you peek?”
&nbs
p; “Only if you poke out your hypnotizing eyes.” I was offended by her feeble effort. “The professor … you were with him last weekend? So, it wasn't a heart attack.”
“The bastard had it coming. He had been to a reception for my father and made some lewd passes. I told my father about his remarks and he told me to do what I do best. So, I did. You were such a change—lean, kind of like two percent milk. Tasty, but little fat.”
“I suppose you're going to try to kill me to keep me quiet. How do you propose to do it? You already failed once.”
“Actually, I'm going to keep you around,” she growled out, like a Siamese cat in heat. I know I can always come back and finish the job later. You'll want me again. All men want me. You’re all the same.”
I heard her getting dressed and shut the front door. I listened to see if she'd really gone or was playing games—hoping I’d turn around and she could catch me with those eyes. After a few minutes I aimed my eyes at feet level and shot out a few glances. Mihaela had either left or was standing on the ceiling—my guess wasn’t the ceiling.
I sat naked on a kitchen chair, reminiscing about her beauty and demeanor. I could've stayed with her forever under normal circumstances. But, the bitch had played me. I was nothing but food on a menu, and she could make any selection she wanted. The more I thought about it the angrier I got. She'd taken without mercy and sneered at me in the end. Completely unacceptable.
I slid on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and hurried out the door. I ran out of the apartment complex parking lot, and after a couple of blocks, saw her walking toward campus.
Propelling forward on the balls of my bare feet, noise and vibration stayed at a minimum. I had to be careful. Mihaela wasn’t the normal female. She had some of my life’s energy still in her. No telling what she could do.
Less than half a block away from her, I ducked behind a Sycamore tree and shed my clothes. Once I had changed, it was easy to catch up and lurk in the bushes beside the sidewalk. As I had guessed, she was taking the shortcut through the park. That would make things easy.
I attacked her in the darkness between streetlights. My weight, landing atop Mihaela’s shoulders, shoved her face into the fresh mowed grass. I slammed my fangs deep into the nape of her neck. Reaching around to her face, my claws ripped her hypnotic eyes from their sockets. She managed to let out a partial scream before my claws tore out her throat.
Still ravenous from her three days of sucking my energy levels dry, I shredded Mihaela’s flesh, consuming most of her vital organs, until my stomach could hold no more. Before returning to my human form, I had one last use for my claws. Cutting out Mahaela’s uterus may have seemed morbid and unnecessary to those finding and investigating her remains, but it made perfect sense to me.
For the next few days, local news broadcasts were filled with details about a savage attack and the mangled body discovered. Fear ruled the city and locked doors were repeatedly checked as many attempted to ensure their safety from an unknown and violent beast. Owners of larger dog breeds were questioned, public and private keepers of exotic animals investigated, and mental institutions put on alert for missing patients, but no avenue provided answers.
Besides me, only my mother knows what really happened that night. She was the only person I could trust to tell. After all, she had to know what I wanted her to do with Mihaela's uterus.
Mother’s a scientist who used to perform research experiments at the university in the Biology Department. I was majoring in the subject to follow in her footsteps. She believed she could incubate a fertilized egg, nurture it outside the womb, and create a living being. Unfortunately, grant money ran out and university politics shut down her work.
I never used protection with Mihaela—she never gave me a chance. My kind has always been extremely fertile, as are those wearing the “Succubus” title. Figuring an egg had been fertilized, I did what I did.
I’ve always respected my mother and her work. And, she’s a good mother, too. I've always loved her. And, now, so does my son!
We were talking about my childhood. the other night. She laughed about how difficult it had been to keep the whiskers out of my mouth when I’d been eating--before I'd learned how to control my changing. At the time of our conversation, I was pulling one of my son's whiskers out from inside his mouth, just as she had done to mine two decades before.
It's a common problem for werewolves.
* * * * *
“I do have to admit, I like a werewolf story. But, don’t they need a full moon to change?”
“Did I say there wasn’t a full moon that night?”
Thinking back, she was right. She hadn’t mentioned it one way or the other. “So, do you need a break or are you ready to tell me another one?”
“If you’re ready, I’m ready,” she hissed. “You want another monster tale or something else. You know, maybe the story about a boy and his cow and this giant Kudzu plant in his backyard.”
“You mean the one where the cat is sleeping and the cow steps on her crushing her spine?”
“No, that’s another one I’ll save for later. God, millions of writers alive today and I end up with this smartass.”
Help Me
I should have my head examined for thinking I could make this trip in a sports car. Dean McKenna shook his head as the car scraped bottom. Please don’t let me get stuck, not out here. It’s too late to think about finding a phone to call a tow truck.
His poor car was packed. From the passenger seat and floor to the trunk, he had stuffed it with all he would need for his short stay in the woods. Dean’s frustration was aggravated by the thought of the pick-up truck he’d reserved at the rental office, still sitting there. Thanks to a work emergency, he had arrived late to find the office closed. Refusing to wait until they opened in the morning, he decided to make do with his two-seater. Deep rutted dirt and gravel roads filled with crater sized potholes were making him regret his decision.
A few years before, Dean had purchased a plot of land and a small cabin. Set deep in the forest, civilization was left behind—along with all the stress and pressure he dealt with daily. The three-hour drive there was a pain in the ass, as was the gratuitous cleaning that started each of his semiannual visits. He had a new roof put on to keep out the rains and snows, and new heavy doors to keep out trespassers and hopefully, bears. His fortress of solitude was an expensive venture.
For all the cabin’s trouble, it was a relaxing place. The quiet of the forest allowed him to meditate and the fresh air cleaned the city smog from his lungs. He needed it to refresh his brain—to clear out the frustrating office politics and constant fear of false allegations from those looking to make a quick buck from the company’s fear of challenging accusations.
Dean usually made the journey earlier in the day so that he could enjoy the sights along the way. The transition from city to country brought about a relief in him—one that said, “Goodbye, I’m officially out of here. You idiots enjoy the chaos while I’m gone!”
Tonight was the first time he had traveled these dirt roads through the dense woods in the darkness. He felt a sort of uneasiness, a feeling of being watched from the shadows behind the trees that lined his way. Shaking off a shiver, he smiled to himself, “Get it together—it’s only your imagination, old man.”
Another scrape of the car’s undercarriage against hidden rock in the weeds brought his attention back to the road. You should have got the pick-up last night, you dumbass. Pay a hundred grand for a sports car and ruin it driving to a cabin. And, what if it rains? I’ll be stuck here until the roads dry out. Got any other smart moves planned?
Finally, the red mailbox that marked his driveway showed up in the headlights. Turning in, the car bounced up the overgrown path and stopped thirty feet from the cabin. Sitting back, Dean cut off the engine and took a deep breath. In the beams illuminating the front of the cabin, he noticed something wrong—the front door of the cabin was wide open.
What the hell, d
id someone break in? I don’t need this, not now, not tonight. If all my stuff is gone I’m screwed. No way I can take this car back and forth trying to restock everything. Hope no bears or snakes have made it their home.
Grabbing his .45 automatic out of the glove compartment, Dean stepped out of the car and listened for any signs of movement. Nothing. Deciding a warning might save him a close encounter, he shouted out, “If there's anyone inside, let me know now or you will be shot on sight!”
His voice sounded as if reverb had been added as it echoed through the woods. There seemed to be only silence—no sign of movement in or outside the cabin. Even the crickets had stopped singing for the moment. “I'm not kidding. Come out of there.”
Nothing. He looked at the pistol in his hand, knowing the last thing he wanted to do was use it on someone or something. Yet, he didn’t have a lot of options. There was no way he was going to drive fifteen miles back down that hellish road to get to a store and call the police. What could he tell them, that the door was open? The store would be closed anyway. Besides, what could be in there that his pistol couldn’t handle?
Reaching into the door pocket, Dean grabbed his tactical flashlight and switched it on high. Along with his headlights, the front of the cabin was completely lit up. Flashlight in one hand and gun in the other, he advanced up the front steps to the open door. “One last time, I’m armed and will shoot to kill. If anyone’s in there let me know now and I’ll let you go free.”
Using Hollywood movie police tactics, Dean entered, swinging the pistol and light from side to side. Having checked out the cabin to find it empty, he lit up the three oil lanterns and set them around the inside. Shadows eliminated, he could relax a bit while he took inventory.
The cabin was as it had been left. Dusty cans of soup and vegetables lined the two by four shelves he'd nailed up in the corner. Below them, a pot, skillet, and a couple of pans hung from their nails. Even the metal tub he used for washing stood undisturbed on the wooden table in the center of the room. As far as he could tell, nothing had been stolen.
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