It's never difficult for me to find a man. Men want sex more than they want anything else, even money or power, for those are just ways to increase opportunities for sex. In my nearly twelve centuries on the globe, I'd never gone hungry for more than a few hours. No, I'm not a vampire, if that's what you're thinking, although they are out there. The world is full of things ordinary people think are mythical, if they think about them at all. Actually, the vampires have had it pretty easy of late, what with all their pop culture cache.
I'm a purer demon, a succubus. I feed on souls, not blood, and I don't do it with my mouth. In the simplest sense, I fuck men to death. As I reach climax, my pussy emits a hormone-like substance that almost immediately triggers orgasm in my victim. But it's no ordinary orgasm. It's more like an orgasm tsunami. It lasts several minutes, and is exponentially more intense and pleasurable than a regular climax. It also, essentially, converts their life essence—their soul—into ejaculate, which is poured forth in copious quantities, nearly three liters, in fact, before it's all over. It is this life essence that nourishes me and keeps me alive. Losing it, unfortunately, has quite the opposite effect on my partner. Still, it's pretty much the best way to die, as far as I can tell.
In my natural appearance, my skin is red (though skin tone varies among succubae), my hair black, and I've got little horns and a long pointed tail -- the very cliché image of a devil girl, in fact. That image didn't come from nowhere, after all. But except on Halloween, it's kind of tough to mingle when you look like that; fortunately, we can alter our appearance more or less at will. Not entirely, mind you—my basic features and size can't change. But skin tone, hair color and length, eye color, and the horns and tail, all these things I can alter or hide, right up until the moment I feed. Then I revert to my true form. I usually embrace a very pale white skin and keep my natural black hair while giving myself deep purple eyes and lips to match. Kind of a Goth look, as it's come to be known in recent years, although I was rocking it centuries ago, thank you very much.
Anyway, as I was saying, getting men has never been an issue. Love, on the other hand, well, that's another story. In fact, demons aren't supposed to care about love. Most of us have some sort of physical need upon which our survival depends -- blood, souls, pain, and so on. But emotions generally don't enter into it. Maslow's hierarchy definitely does not apply to demons. And yet, for whatever reason, I came to develop what you might call a conscience. It's this, I suppose, that allowed me to fall in love after so many years. I don't know, and I can't explain it. This is one of the common misperceptions about demons and other "supernatural" beings -- that we have some sort of insight into the true workings of the universe. It's not like I have the gods on speed dial. Although I do know several of them on a casual basis. That's neither here nor there. The fact is, I fell in love. And I fell in love with a woman. And about women, I knew next to nothing.
Her name was Charlotte. I saw her one night across a bar in London. I was smitten instantly. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Her face was perfect, like some sort of Roman statue, her skin flawless, pale, though less so than mine. Her dirty blonde hair, thick and lustrous, hung across her shoulders in gentle waves, parted in the middle. Her eyes were green, and I wanted more than anything to just fall into them—into her. She looked, somehow, equal parts vulnerable and completely self-assured. I would do anything for this woman; that much I knew within seconds of laying eyes on her. I didn't question it.
Twelve centuries of experience will give you some confidence, even if you've never tried to pick up a woman before. At least she looked like she was alone. I sidled up next to her.
"Hi. I'm Tristessa," I said with a not-too-seductive smile.
"Charlotte," she replied, not overly interested.
"Seems like a nice place."
"I guess. My first time here."
"Mine too," I said.
"Well, enjoy," she said as she waved to someone at a booth. I couldn't help but admire her curves as she walked away, her thin waist rolling out perfectly into ample hips and ass, all accentuated by the skin-tight black fabric of her dress. I could hardly believe my luck when I saw the man she sat across from in the booth. Everything happens for a reason, whether you know it right then or not.
I ordered another drink and watched them talk for a few minutes. Clearly a first date, I could tell from their body language, although I had other ways of knowing it was. Eventually I made my way over.
"Ellison," I said to the man. He looked like he was in his early 40s, very distinguished, with tan skin and a closely cropped goatee that showed just a hint of grey. The girls wouldn't notice the grey as much as they would notice his fifty-thousand dollar watch. I smiled down at Charlotte.
"Tristessa," Ellison said, doing his best to look cordial.
"You two know each other?" Charlotte asked.
"Do you mind?" I said, sitting next to her without waiting for an answer. "We're...acquaintances."
"I'd say we know each other by reputation and little else," Ellison said.
"We work in the same...industry," I offered Charlotte by way of explanation. "I haven't actually seen him since..."
"It's been a very long time," Ellison said. "San Francisco, if I recall."
"And you two look like you're just beginning to get to know each other," I said, smiling.
"We met the other day at a book store," Ellison said. "Charlotte had the graciousness to agree to meet me for a drink." He was directing all his charm at her.
"Well, I didn't mean to interrupt anything," I said. "Just wanted to say hi after so many years." To Charlotte I added playfully, "Nice to see you again. Be careful with this one—he's got a bit of a reputation."
Ninety minutes later, a valet brought around a very expensive black Mercedes, and Ellison and Charlotte came out of the bar. He held the door for her, quite gentlemanly right to the end, and then positioned himself behind the wheel. The advantages of demonhood are many, not least of which is the ability to climb, leap, and run with a degree of speed, silence, and dexterity of which even the most adroit human is bereft. From my vantage point on the roof opposite the bar, I could easily see the car turn north and then onto the New King's Road. After several minutes of pursuit, they turned into a garage beneath a posh flat in Belgravia. Three minutes later I saw the lights turn on in the top-floor apartment.
It was pretty obviously his place, I judged once I reached the balcony. The décor had nothing like a woman's touch, and most of it was old and overly distinguished. A number of medieval weapons festooned the walls, a very unsubtle touch on Ellison's part, I thought. I watched as he opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses, after which he led Charlotte to a well-appointed leather sofa, pausing only to turn on the fireplace with the flick of a switch. Their talk continued, Ellison ratcheting up the charm all the while. It wouldn't be long now before he made his move. If you haven't figured it out by now, Ellison was an incubus, my male counterpart. He did to human women what I did to human men.
Now, there are two ways to kill a demon, generally speaking. One involves very specific ritual and incantations, and often some mixtures of obscure ingredients. The other is to chop off our heads. I eyed a nice set of crossed axes that hung over the mantle. If they weren't just for show, they ought to do the job.
