Temptation Of The Incubus

an excerpt

Hello Kittens!

Watching my words appear across the computer screen thrills me almost as much as a good fuck. I can delete them, make them reappear and disappear at will. Tap click fuckity whee-ye-hah! Imagine, even if I butcher a word until the letters imitate obscene gutter Greek, my spell-check corrects my stupidity, or at least the dear thing tries its best. Quite fabulous of it to conquer my many blunders. I need to treat my spell-check to an expensive spa weekend complete with nubile young masseuses.

There, I deleted something rude; no sense in shocking any innocents too soon. In truth, we hardly know each other. For now, we stand across a vast room flirting with one another. Picture us suffering through a boring wedding. We sip drinks, turn, and make delicious eye contact. Phase one, eh? But you will know me. When we reach the end of this special ride, you will know me well enough to kiss me.


Wow, typing turns me on. What a geek. I love making words dance for me. Back in my dreary day, a poor sap would be burnt at the stake for such hilarious now-you-see-it, now-you-don't written magic. Learned scribes couldn't make precious ink disappear from their careful, hand-applied parchments.

Of course, I understand the computer is just a mechanical means to an end, but the sleek contraption supplies me hours of research hilarity. Why I resisted purchasing one of these electronic marvels mystifies me. Other modern sensations like iPods, TVs, and fancy smart phones litter my life, but I feared the computer's futuristic workings tap-danced far beyond my ancient mental grasp. Now I adore this glowing gem--the Eve-related imagery on the case is cute--and the mysteries rolling within the sleek confines. True, the web delights don't lurk inside the computer--I'm not stupid enough to make such a silly assumption. But hearing the term airport in tandem with computer confused me. Pop quiz: can I land a plane? Answer: no. Let someone take over the dangerous responsibility. Thanks, auto spell-check!

Imagine, this ancient one learned to tap at the keyboard in a reckless two-fingered manner. My spelling is atrocious. Eeeks, confess, spelling atrocious took four tries. Please, this ex-incubus doesn't have seasoned secretarial skills. My talented fingers understand wet, earthy pleasures. I can stroke until you choke in aching rapture. I can…

How rude of me. Shameful. I, Amando Renato, am sexy but not rude, well, not intentionally. I blame my long life for any rude slips. You see, my epic life offers an endless series of mental derailments. I own the attention span of a horny gnat. Forgive me for swerving on and off topic.

Sorry, here's a new topic. I warned you.

I'm amazed at how much information lurks online--piles, more piles, vast heaps of fascinating nonsense is there for the giddy reading. Perusing the historical misinformation supplied by self-proclaimed scholars drives me to giggles. Please, I lived through too many historic eras. This snoop heard how Pope La-Di-Dah died--he didn't pass snoring in his canopied bed. More like he gasped out his last in a papacy privy accompanied by a young goat, a pretty male whore, and I'll let you guess the final messy, outrageous puzzle piece. Priceless and painful enough to induce a fatal heart attack! Splat in spades.

Lucifer loves those magic moments. When Lucifer drags a compromised holy soul into his flaming abyss, his excited laughter almost extinguishes his own flames. Big Red is a drama queen--yes, a vindictive drama queen. If he hears anyone using the dreaded Big Red nickname, prepare to roast for a few tedious centuries. Trust me, Hell deserves every last speck of negative press due to Big Red's foul temper. The eternally sexy angel never recovered from his ignoble banishment. Big Red is big and bad in the proper masculine ways. Think about the phrase 'raising hell.'

Are you with me? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink? I rest my case.

Speaking of religion--or what people regard as religion--this afternoon, I read sites purported to offer expert information on incubi. The ultra-religious sites featuring hysterical declarations of powerful faith invoke gasping for breath hilarity. Been there, done that, and this ex-incubus continues breathing in fine, frivolous fashion. Go ahead, try and force me away until you turn vermillion. Holy water and feverish chants won't help you now. Deliverance and spiritual warfare? Against little old me? Not working!

Reading the riotous nonsense has coaxed me into telling you my delicious love story. Today I want to whisper tales from my turbulent past into your innocent ears. True tales, oh yes--I did type tale--good. I also understand seductive tail, but the news is a given. My tail, well, describing it as world-class comes close.

Please don't regard me as egotistical, but my own story is quite fascinating. Come now, how can you resist an incubus's tale? Erm, yes, I spelled the word correctly again. My pert physical tail is also hard to resist.

By now you understand you can't resist me. Good old Big Red--Heavens, I love calling Lucifer the hated nickname--nailed down the significant detail for me. Bright, beautiful Lucifer owns the ultimate allure. The whole rebellious fallen angel story plays fine with the traditional religious crowd, but we know the Old One tossed out Lucifer because everyone adored the mad, bad, and stupendously gorgeous spirit. Lucifer is, when he's not acting sullen, the Merry Party Angel. Lucifer's wild popularity did not sit well with the Old One's pristine new concept. The original Mr. Horny Happy Hour ended up hosting the fiery downstairs accommodations.

The Old One has always existed. One celestial day, the controlling force decided, "time to solidify the power base in a sweeping manner." Enter the whole Heaven and Hell concept. Light and dark rules, gray need not apply for work here. Nice trick, eh? Lucifer developed too much personality for the Old One's taste. After Lucifer's departure, the angels quickly learned to fly the tedious straight and narrow.

I don't have to explain who the Old One is, do I? Good. Even thinking a certain three-letter word still makes me uncomfortable. The avoidance is sheer nonsense, but ingrained habits are tough to shatter. Should I type the Old One's real name from ages ago? Egad, avoid such foolhardiness. This minor speck understands certain set-in-stone rules. You never mess with them, unless you want to vanish from the eternal sphere. Poof, gone, erased for eternity. Snap, gone--I mean nothing left, not even a smoke wisp. The Old One owns one Heaven of a temper.

Scary, eh?

There I go, wandering off on another spiritual tangent. Sorry. My allure power existed in its potent glory before my, ahem, Major Career Event. Now I am different, far more different than I ever imagined possible.

The tale I want to tell you concerns the amazing months preceding my hybrid years' unusual conclusion. I use the term "hybrid," because before the year 1361, I enjoyed true basic humanity for twenty-five brief years. After enduring disgusting years as an incubus, I appropriated my current sexy human shape in 1470. I'm not like the ancients drifting around since Sumerian times. Yuck, those brooding, dark creatures make this sedate ex-incubus's former life seem angelic.

Even in my hybrid phase, I appeared frightening only if pushed too hard by dire circumstances. I tried fitting into humanity. Wandering through the centuries told me I still appreciated humans. I dropped into this wicked old world as a battered human, so of course I understand their many quirks, foibles, pains, and triumphs. To me, possessing vibrant human form is a treat. How I maintained my hybrid body was not. Well, to be honest, I enjoyed the special fleshy aspects. Nothing matched calling a sex-dripping boy into my arms and biting off a small, savory pinch of his life force. Yum, and no real harm done. Please, said boy might live until 88.915 instead of 88.919. I might not be big on math, but I understand life force pulse. I understand the give and take flow volume. I never want to harm the innocents. Imagine, this moral demon used control.

Wait, I already give too much away. Time to stop chatting and dive into my tale; yes, correct usage again. Super.

Hold on. Should I preface my story with an evil teaser? Do you expect anything less from wicked old me?

No, even I understand not to give too much away at first.

Time to relax and revisit my recent history. Let Amando amuse you.