Erotimaniac

The floorboards creaked, the sheets rustled, and the headboard thumped on

the wall. A man grunted and groaned, a woman moaned and giggled. The

sound of love echoed through the small home – a loud but tender symphony

of sex.

Ethan Miller lay atop his date in the missionary position, his body

wavering like a snake as he thrust into her. Beads of sweat glistened across

his muscular figure and dripped from his scruffy hair. His heart pounded in

his chest, accelerating with each thrust. He could feel a warm sensation in

his body – was it love?

Veins bulging on his neck and brow, Ethan said, "I'm... cumming." He

loudly exhaled and grunted as he ejaculated in his date. As he caught his

breath, he whispered, "Shit, I thought I would have lasted longer by now..."

He dismounted and fell to his side. He rested on his back and wiped the

sweat from his lean body. He vacantly stared at the ceiling as he thought

about the sex: did I pleasure her? Was I premature? Those questions –

those damn questions – always tormented him after sex. He glanced over at

his date and nervously smiled.

Karen Wright, his girlfriend, stared back at him. The woman was a bit

older than Ethan – she was pushing thirty. Her long black hair was sprawled

across her pillow. She didn't cover herself up, so her perky breasts and

freshly-shaved crotch were displayed for the world to see. She didn't mind,

either. She felt comfortable around her boyfriend.

Karen said, "You were good, Ethan." Those words made Ethan grin from

ear-to-ear. The woman continued, "I mean, if it makes you feel better, you

lasted longer than most men I've been with. Not bad for a 25-year-old."

"Twenty-four."

"What?"

"Twenty-four. I'm 24 years old."

Karen nodded and said, "Yeah, you're right. It's not a big difference,

though. You were better than, you know, people in their twenties. That

range or whatever..

Ethan turned his attention to the ceiling. The shit-eating grin slowly

vanished from his face. The warmth he felt in his body during sex was

gone, replaced with a chilly sensation. Relationships were built on trust,

loyalty, and respect – and that caused problems for Ethan.

Karen was not pleasured during sex. She was lying to him, he could not

trust her. The woman candidly spoke about her past sexual relationships,

which made Ethan feel like she was not pure – like she was not loyal.

And, worst of all, she forgot his birthday. What kind of person forgets

their lover's birthday? A respectful person would never do such a thing.

Karen tapped Ethan's shoulder and asked, "Are you okay, hun?"

"I'm... I'm fine. I'm just thinking."

Indeed, Ethan was thinking – he wouldn't lie to his lover. The man was

trapped in a torrent of disappointing thoughts. He didn't feel any magic

while having sex with Karen. He didn't feel any love or passion after their

sex. Sex without love was nothing to him.

As Ethan brooded, Karen said, "I don't want you to feel bad, Ethan. I'm

serious: it was good. You know, maybe we can try some foreplay next time.

That way, you know, you wouldn't feel insecure or anything like that after.

It's not like it's hard or anything. You just..."

Ethan looked away and grimaced, frustrated. He couldn't bare to listen to

Karen's sexual advice. He stared down at himself, disappointed. He stared

past his bulging chest and well-defined abs. In terms of muscle, he

overcompensated for his other shortcomings. He wasn't worried about his

physique, though.

He focused on his crotch.

His penis was ten centimeters erect – about four inches. At best, he could

pass for eleven centimeters with a good camera angle. To his dismay, his

penis appeared to be shrinking before his very eyes. It shrank to the size of

a shriveled grape. He could barely see it through his pubic hair.

Teary-eyed, Ethan looked away and tried to stop himself from crying. He

could feel vibrations in his ears – annoying thrumming, as if a fly were

purposely pestering him by flying around his ears. I was wrong, he thought,

she's not the one for me.

As she glanced around the room, Karen said, "I think this is the first time

I've ever looked around your room. Usually, you come to my place or we...

we do a quickie, then I leave. It's... It's cool in here. You have a lot of movie

posters on your walls." She sat up and examined the desk across the room.

She said, "You have a lot of movies and books, too. Are they all about

horror stuff?"

Trying to keep his composure, Ethan glanced around his room. Framed

movie posters hung on the walls to his left and right – Aliens, The Thing,

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and the gist. A stack of Blu-ray movies sat

on his desk next to his computer. Horror novels sat on a shelf above the

desk, too. He loved horror.

In a cracking voice, Ethan said, "Yeah. They... They're horror movies

and novels. They're my... my favorites. I have more in the closet."

"Cool. I like horror movies, too. I haven't watched any of these, though.

I usually watch, like, ghost movies and stuff. Maybe we can watch one

later?"

"Sure, sure..."

Karen squirmed closer to her boyfriend, then she placed her head on his

firm chest. She said, "I know we've been dating for a while, but I still don't

know what you do. You said you worked independently, right? Well, what

do you do, Mr. Miller?"

"What do I do? I'm... I'm a writer."

"A writer? Like a journalist? Or an author?"

"An author. I write horror books. I usually self-publish them because

they're a little... strange, but, every once in a while, someone wants to

publish my work. It's a good job for someone like me."

Someone like me – Karen didn't fully understand his statement. She

figured he meant he was an introvert and writing allowed him to work

alone. She ran her fingertips across his abs as she nuzzled his chest.

She said, "I wish I could have a job like that. Nine-to-five jobs are...

terrible. If you help me, maybe I can write something, too. I hear everyone

likes erotica..."

Ethan wasn't concerned with Karen's request – it was intrusive but

innocent. She really wasn't trying to use him to propel her own career.

Ethan just didn't love her, so he couldn't find a reason to help her. He was

hoping he'd be able to think rationally by the end of the night – to love her

as he did the day prior – but he didn't care about her anymore. The magic

was gone.

"A succubus," Ethan whispered.

"What?" Karen asked, baffled. "What did you say? Suc... Suck-u..."

Ethan stared at Karen with a steady glare as she struggled to identify the

word. He held his right hand to his face and sobbed – snorting, sniffling,

and moaning. I've missed my chance for true love again, he thought, she's

one of them, she's a succubus. He couldn't control himself.

Smiling, Karen sat up in bed and asked, "What's wrong, hun?" She

kissed his cheek and caressed his hair. In a soft tone, like a mother teasing

her baby, she asked, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you when we were fucking?

Hmm?"

Ethan grunted and shook his head. He vigorously rubbed his eyes, then

he wiped the tears from his rosy cheeks. He glanced over at his girlfriend

and nervously smiled – the corner of his mouth involuntarily twitching. He

leaned closer to the edge of the mattress.

As he gazed into Karen's gentle eyes, Ethan said, "Let me... Let me tell

you something, sweetie. There are two types of men who cry after sex.

Okay, maybe there are a few more, but these two are the most common."

Karen furrowed her brow and asked, "What are they?"

"There's the... the sensitive-type. A person with a lot of, um, emotion in

him. Too much for his own good, some would say. Then... there are those

who are about to kill."

Karen clenched her jaw and cocked her head back. She was caught off

guard by the second type. Yet, Ethan continued to smile and snivel. So, she

laughed in order to keep a semblance of control – everything is okay, it's

just a joke.

As he reached under the mattress with his right hand, Ethan said, "I'm

both."

He pulled a hatchet out from under the mattress. Karen trembled upon

spotting the deadly tool. Before she could utter a word, Ethan flipped her

onto her stomach. He grabbed the nape of her neck and pinned her to the

bed face-first. He straddled the small of her back, using his body to stop her

from squirming away.

Karen screamed, "Stop! Oh, God! Stop! What... What are you doing?!

Please, Ethan!"

Ethan released the nape of her neck, then he grabbed the back of her

head. He pushed down on her head, shoving her face into the fluffy pillow.

Her cries were muffled by the pillow.

Without releasing her head, Ethan held the hatchet over his head, then he

struck down at her neck. The sound of a dull, wet thud emerged with the strike. The mushy sound continued as he pulled the hatchet out of her neck.

Blood gushed from the laceration on her throat, spilling onto the white

pillow and bed sheets.

Ethan felt as if he were riding a mechanical bull as the woman squirmed

and flailed her limbs every which way. She violently convulsed, shocked by

the brutal attack. She couldn't throw the man off his balance, though.

In a hoarse tone, as if she were choking, Karen stuttered, "Pl–Please,

don't... I don't... I don't want to die. Help..."

The author held the hatchet over his head, then he struck down at her

neck again. He didn't waste any time, either. He pulled the hatchet out, then

he struck her again – and again. Blood splattered on his arms, chest, and

face as he repeatedly chopped at her neck. The tissue and bone were

difficult to cut through, but he was determined.

Karen stopped responding to the attack after the fifth strike, her face

buried in a bloody pillow. She only trembled due to the power behind the

strikes. The rest of her movements were involuntary. One, two, three... ten –

it took ten powerful chops to get to the center of her neck. It only took him

fifteen more chops to fully decapitate her.

Exhausted, Ethan tossed the hatchet on the floor. He leaned to his left,

then he pushed Karen's body off of the bed. The floorboards rattled as her

limp body fell to the ground. The killer fell to his side of the bed with his

girlfriend's decapitated head cradled in his arms. He wiped the strands of

hair away from her face, then he stared at her. He wasn't bothered by her

hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, or gaping mouth.

He leaned closer to her head, then he kissed her – a passionate kiss. He

licked her lips, he shoved his tongue into her mouth, then he bit her bottom

lip. No, her violent death did not bother him. As a matter of fact, it aroused

him. He stared down at his crotch and smiled. He was erect – and he looked

slightly larger than ten centimeters.

So, he placed Karen's decapitated head over his crotch. He jammed his

penis into her moist mouth – moist with saliva and blood – then he began to

thrust. She didn't suck on him, but he could feel the tip of his penis barely

scraping her uvula. That sensation made him feel big – it made him feel like

a man. He held his breath and his limbs tightened as he ejaculated into the

decapitated head.

Ethan sighed in relief, then he lifted her head back to the top of the bed.

He wiped the blood, saliva, and semen from her lips.

Teary-eyed, he said, "Thank you for that. I'm... I'm sorry it didn't work

out between us. I can't... I just can't be in a relationship with a creature like

you – a monster like you. Succubi and men, we don't mix well together."

He chuckled as tears streamed down his cheeks. He said, "Maybe in another

life, maybe if I'm reincarnated as an incubus. Yeah, maybe... Let's just go to

sleep now."

He held her head to his chest and placed his chin on her hair. He smiled

and closed his eyes. His lips quivered, he wanted to cry, but he focused on

sleeping. He counted sheep until he finally dozed off.