Succubus

Lilith wears twin bandages high on her forehead to hide the wounds where her horns have been removed. It had been a difficult decision. In the past, men had clutched at her like a fallen angel, a sensual vision. But in the last several decades, she found men had developed a preference for women with an artificial, almost sterile, finish - nothing so goatish as herself. She was quite beautiful, just not in a Barbie-doll-centrefold-twenty-first-century-wet-dream kind of way. Lilith was more au naturel and now she felt compelled to modify. She had to face facts; she was pushing six hundred and it was time for a change.

After the incisions had healed somewhat, Lily had her legs waxed. She had to go to three salons before anyone would even attempt to remove the coarse white goat hair from her thighs. After the irritation had subsided, they were just as pink and smooth as any Barbie doll's. Modern urban humans were so readily disgusted by anything even remotely animal. Who did they think they were? Gods? Lilith didn't have cloven hooves or misshapen legs, but the horns and goat hair were the bestial legacy of her genetic heritage.

Her mother had started dropping broad hints like, "You're the same age I was when I met your father." Her mother still didn't seem to realize that her father, a satyr, was a perfect match for a succubus, and that, well, they just didn't come like that anymore. Her father was a distinct breed and so Lily felt a certain obligation to continue the lineage, but with whom?

Lily practised hiding the scars with a little make-up. She went out, scouring the city for a viable mate. Being a succubus had seemed easier when she was young, when her intended targets were so full of mystical religious fear, so prone to her advances, so accepting. Now the general public had lost its imagination, didn't believe in the existence of her kind. She had lost her advantage and now had to fit their ideals, no matter how distasteful.

Lily wandered the aisles of a grocery store, the few items in her cart providing cover. The man was middle aged and robust. His suit was obviously expensive, as was the wedding ring on his finger. A successful businessman. He seemed the type to indulge in a little extra-marital ego boosting.

As he reached for the milk, Lilith stood so that his hand couldn't avoid brushing across her breast, lightly but apparently. He looked at her as his hand closed around the carton, weighed the situation for a second, grabbed the milk, turned and dashed away.

Initially, Lily was disappointed at the rejection. Then she rationalized that because of the stress apparent in his conduct, his sperm count was probably inadequate to the task anyway.

As the day passed unsuccessfully, Lily became more desperate, more willing to compromise. The bar's interior was dark after the bright afternoon sun. It smelled of many previous nights of cigarettes and stale spilt beer. The woman strutting her stuff on stage was a dollar-store Barbie doll, her augmented breasts unrealistically perky and round, while the rest of her perfection slowly succumbed to gravity. As she gyrated, scant clothing fell away revealing a body with no erotic intrigue left. Strip clubs in the afternoon tend to attract hard-core drunks with no place else to go. But Lily thought she might get lucky. And she did.

He was sitting at the bar drinking beer, his back to the stage. A big man with a tool belt. Lily approached, making herself seem misleadingly delicate, knowing it would appeal to his kind of dominant male expectation.

"Hi," she said, blinking a little.

He gave her a quick full-body assessment. "Buy you a drink?"

"Sure." She slid smoothly onto the stool next to him.

He kept glancing at her. "How old are you?"

The abrupt question startled Lilith. Maybe he thought she was too young to be there. She had to fabricate something quickly. At five-hundred-and-seventy-eight, it's never polite to be honest with a mortal about age. She fell back on the standard female lie.

"Twenty-nine."

He smiled, satisfied.

The interior of his truck smelled of hard industry. His hands were heavy and demanding. Lilith hated it when mortals thought they could dominate her.

He suddenly broke and asked, "You got a condom?"

Already frustrated by his approach, Lily blurted out, "No!"

His demeanour immediately changed. He backed off. "You tryin' to give me the clap? Get out." Lily redistributed her clothes and left the truck, swearing under her breath.

Now, Lilith boards the bus for a ride home to a long soak in the tub, maybe a little TV, some chocolate ripple ice cream. On the train, she spots a young man. He's immersed in a book, one hand playing with his dark curled hair. Lilith thinks, He's looking for horns. At the next stop, she moves to the seat directly behind him. His book is a medical text, its illustrations carefully constructed line drawings with bright colours denoting different systems. He's studying reproduction. Dissections of various stages of foetal development. How appropriate. Lilith has a sudden urge to reach over his shoulder and draw little horns on a diagram. A serious student. Active mind. Young. Not bad looking. A little goatish even. Nothing about him smells female. No ring. Lilith can read his repressed sexuality in every flinching muscle.

Obeying the unwritten law of public transit, no words pass Lilith's lips. Instead, she reaches toward the young man's tense shoulders and firmly kneads the knotted flesh. His initial start is calmed by her touch. His head falls forward, his breathing slows and Lily knows, he's all hers. At the announcement of a stop, he looks up, closes the book on his lap, thrusts it into a canvas bag and knows he must stand, must leave the miraculous hands soothing and smoothing his muscles.

Lilith starts gently licking the back of his neck.

Fighting an obvious internal battle, the student stands and makes his way to the door. Lily stands too, moves beside him and takes his hand. Only then does she look at him and smile in a dangerously sexy kind of way. She has to admit to feeling more shy since shedding her horns, not as sure of her power in a situation - especially after the day she's had. But the student is an easy target. He doesn't know what to say and Lilith isn't about to start a conversation. She can tell by the feel of the skin on his hand, the rate of his pulse, his breathing, that he's ready.

Not knowing what else to do, the student makes his way homeward with Lily at his side. He glances at her occasionally, a mixture of desire and fear flitting in his eyes. Lilith already knows which emotion will prevail.

It's an old building. They walk up creaky stairs painted brown with black rubber runners and months of accumulated dust and street dirt. On the third floor, he has to let go of Lily's hand to get his keys. He's in a sweat of panic and desire and his movements are clumsy.

As Lilith rides him toward climax, she plants her strong goat heels firmly under the small of his back. And as she feels his sperm race toward the single magic pearl of her ovum, she hears, or rather feels, an ominous crack beneath her. The boy's body goes slack, his head droops to one side. A drop of blood on his lip accents the satisfied smile on his open mouth.

"Damn," Lilith says, sliding off him. "I hate it when that happens."

But already she can feel the barrage of sperm storming the gates. Dull bullet heads ramming at the walls that will make one of them immortal. She wastes no time, but dresses quickly, closes the apartment door behind her and moves down the stairs and into the red glow of evening. Already, there is magic happening. Deep inside her belly, the dance of division has begun.

Eleven months later, an exquisite pain beats at her uterus. A head rams a path out of her dark interior and is born. Two hard lumps already discolour the skin high on the baby's forehead. And Lilith has a glint in her eyes, just below two round scars.