Succuba

"Who's there?"

A startled cry, torn from erotic dreams that immediately slip away. Silence. Darkness. A breath held.

"Is someone there?"

Unsure now, feeling foolish for addressing the darkness. But I can't shake the feeling that someone is sitting there in the darkness, watching me.

"Is someone else in this room?"

A long wait, eyes and ears straining. Then the held breath released, a sigh ending in a nervous laugh. Bemused at my sudden fear of the dark, I roll on my side and pull the blankets up to my chin. Try to return to my lost dream.

"Yes."

The whispered word shocks me awake, adrenaline squirting into my veins. I thrash free of the covers and fumble with the light switch. Darkness. I flick the switch back and forth furiously.

"Who are you?"

"I am 'she.'" The voice female, low and very soft, yet clear, as if her lips are at my ear. I wave my arm around my head to find her. Nothing.

"What are you doing in my room? What's going on?"

"I came to see you."

I try the light switch again.

"How about turning on the lights so we can see each other?"

"I like the darkness."

"Who are you?"

"I told you. I am 'she'".

"I don't understand. What's your name?"

"I don't have a name. You didn't give me one."

"I didn't give... what do you mean?"

"You never named me. I was always just 'she' - 'She stepped into a totally dark room... She tugged at the velvet ropes, trying to pull free."

"What do you... wait a minute. Those are lines from my story."

"Yes."

"From Fantaserial, my domination fantasy."

"Yes." The voice is breathy, languorous as a cat stretching.

"How did you read it? I've never been able to get it published."

"I didn't read it."

"Then how do you know about it?"

"I told you. I am 'she'".

"You're the woman from the story?"

"Yes."

"But it's a work of fiction."

"I know."

"No, you don't understand. I made it up. It's a fantasy, nothing more. That woman never existed."

"I do now."

I'm more than a little frightened. The woman is obviously mad. How could she have gotten into my room? What does she intend to do to me? I creep silently down the bed, feeling for her, but there's no one there. Naked, I feel very vulnerable.

"Will you turn on the light so I can see you?"

"Why, are you afraid of the dark?"

"I just feel a little uncomfortable not knowing who you are or where you are."

"Now you know how I felt. It's a strange feeling, isn't it - being naked and helpless, totally in someone else's power, not knowing what's going to happen. You feel vulnerable, frightened, maybe a bit trembly in the knees. But there's also a little frisson of excitement, don't you find?"

"I find it unpleasant. Would you turn on the light now?"

"No."

"What do you want with me?"

"I want to discuss your story. My story."

"Fine. Always happy to talk about my writing. Come see me in the morning."

"I can only come at night."

There is a long pause as I try to decide what I can do. Should I make a break for the door? Jump to the window and open the drapes? Could she be armed? I must know more about her first.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

"Why did you write Fantaserial?"

"It turned me on. I sent it, one page a day, to my girlfriend at the time. I wrote it to turn her on, too."

"Did it?"

"Very much so."

"So even though it was about a woman being tied up and ravished, she still liked it?"

"Yes. Hey, it's just a fantasy. I wasn't suggesting that we really do it to anybody."

"Aren't I anybody? What about my feelings?"

"Fictional characters don't have feelings."

"You gave me feelings. I was embarrassed, frightened, frustrated, angry."

"Fictional characters do not come to life."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Hey, wait a minute. Are you some kind of feminist terrorist or something, coming to exact revenge on me for something I wrote?"

"No, I told you who I was. I just want to know why you did all those things to me."

"I told you. It turned us both on. It's a simple as that."

"So for that I was tied up in front of an audience, stripped, and ravished repeatedly in every orifice except my nostrils by a whole roomful of men and women?"

"Well... uh, yeah."

"How do you think that made me feel?"

"Well, in my story, the woman came to enjoy it. She was liberated by it. She realized that had been the intent of her ravishers all along. In the end she joined their club. The last scene was meant to imply that she was going to be mistress of ceremonies for the next victim."

"So the whole episode was merely to help a repressed woman get in touch with her sexual impulses?"

"Yeah, I guess so. That was the dénouement, anyway. Like I said, mostly it was just a turn-on story."

"I see."

Another long silence. I want to keep her talking. At least when she's talking I know where she is.

"So if you're the woman from the story, you tell me. Did she like it?"

A pause. Was she considering, or was she too embarrassed to answer?

"Not at first. At first it was just frightening. I didn't know what was going to happen. But then later it became exciting. Very exciting. At the end, I think I felt mostly pride."

"Pride?"

"Yes. I was proud that I could take everything you had dished out and survive. And I was proud that I had been able to give so much pleasure to so many people."

"Really? That's hard to believe."

"Maybe it's a girl thing."

I waited in the darkness, listening, but she didn't say anything more.

"So is that it? Is that what you wanted to know?"

"I guess so."

"So what now?"

Another pause. When her voice comes again it is barely audible, a little girl's whisper in my ear.

"We could make love."

"What!? I don't even know who you are!"

"Of course you do. You created me. And I've always wanted to do it with you. See if you're as good as your creations."

"Listen, lady, whoever you are. I'm just an author. If I was as good as the characters I make up, I wouldn't have to write pornography to get off."

"So you're not interested?" A pouting voice, teasing. She really does have a very sexy voice.

"I don't know. I haven't even seen you. How about turning on the light now?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I only exist in the dark."

"Come on. You aren't fooling me. You are not a fictional character come to life."

She waits a moment before answering.

"No, you're right. I was lying to you."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. So who are you, really?"

"Do you know what a succuba is?"

"A what?!"

"A succuba."

"If that means what I think it does..."

"It doesn't. The word is a lot older than that crude four-letter Saxon word. It's from Latin, meaning to lie under."

"To lie under what?"

"A man. A succuba is a female spirit that comes to a man in his sleep."

"Why?"

"To seduce him. Just as an incubus is a male spirit that comes to lie on a woman in her sleep."

"And that's what you are - a succuba?"

"Yes."

"And you've come to seduce me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm a succuba. It's what we do."

"No. I mean, why me?"

"I liked your story."

"And that made you want to make love to me?"

"Yes."

"But I can't see you?"

"No."

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, please," she whispers, and then she's in my arms.