Halloween is upon us… All Hallow’s Eve… something so mysterious and sexy about that, and I guess the fact that I like pumpkins kind of helps as well. Anyway, here’s a flash fiction piece with Halloween in mind: just a dash of fantasy/fantastical elements. Be spooked, be turned on!
(Pic credit: Bigstock photos)
I have thick lips. My mouth is small but my lips are full and thick, with my upper lip slightly thicker than my lower lip. According to ancient Chinese face-reading wisdom, that means I cherish both love (upper lip) and sex (lower lip) but value love over carnal pleasure. That is evidently bull crap. I don’t believe in love that can’t be consummated in ardent sex.
In fact, normal sex has become tedious. I want and need more to satisfy myself. BDSM was fun for a while, but I hated it whenever the dominating partner really believed that I must submit to him body and soul. Soul? I don’t even own or recognize my own thoughts half the time, how the heck could I hand over my soul?
Most of them were just control freaks in disguise anyway; gross.
I treated myself to a vampire lord once. He was good, very satisfying. It especially helped that he could read minds but was chivalrous enough to pretend that he respected my wishes and made an effort to lure my secrets out. That was fun. But being immortal, he had kind of a weird psyche. His long history and super powers made him ultra cool to spend time with, and I learned quite a few tricks from that encounter, but it was not really my thing.
Dragons though, dragons drive me insane. They are notoriously bad-tempered and very picky; they are truly passionate creatures and they seldom have sex with just anyone, they must have feelings for you to take you to bed. I am of course referring to dragons when they are in human form. Most of them have learned by birth the first magic of invisibility so that they are always safe. But after that, most of them have learned to take the human form by age fifty. Fifty may sound old to you, but for dragons that have life-spans of up to one thousand years, fifty is technically toddler-age.
My first dragon was very human; he felt kinship enough with us to have already lived five full cycles of human life. When I met him, he was a history professor. Guess what his specialty was? Dinosaurs. Such a nice touch. With dragons’ phenomenal memory, it was more than a breeze, it was a joke how easy it was for him.
We had sixty years of happiness, which wasn’t bad in human terms, but for him, it was short and I left him emotionally quite bruised. My bad.
In case you’re wondering how old I am now, I’m two-seventy. Yes, two hundred and seventy. I belong to the second clan of hybrid witches. We are not immortal: we age, only much slower than normal, and of course we never die of traditional illnesses or poor health: even the most fundamental herbalism covered way more than that.
I am currently single and definitely looking. Call me crazy but I like the dirty and accident-prone world of normal humans. You mustn’t judge, but I’m now posing as a stripper and hoping to hunt for my next romantic adventure. What other dark creatures lurk in the night, pretending to be human? Would I finally find my monster match in passion, evil intent and knowledge of the other world?