The Good Succubus

DW (my significant other) passes me pictures all the time and says, "I want their story."

"Okay," I say.

At first I was singing along with Sara Bareilles...

"I'm not going to write you a love song, cause you need one, cause you asked for it..."

Then I realized, I don't have to write an 80K novel. He said story, not novella, not novel, not tome.

Story.

A story is anywhere from a sentence to the largest printed word ever in the history of man.

No I was not going to write a book the size of the food and drug regulations.

But I can write something! So, with the top picture in mind I present to you, and DW...

The Good Succubus

Any guy this side of twenty, or that side of forty-five, would not pass up the chance to create their own woman like build-a-bear. Chicks do it to men. Don't lie. Women are always looking for that "trainable" guy. The one they can fix up. Dress like a Ken doll.

Women see this as taking care of their guy, but really, it's their way of creating their fantasy man. So when the gates of hell opened up and up came wings, horns, chains and boobs I decided I might as well die happy. I knew what was in store for me. I was never going to heaven. Not with my reputation. No white wings for me--unless they were bat wings. Nope, I wouldn't be flying anywhere. Not with this gorgeousness in front of me.

She slapped her hip with the whip in her hand and she squealed. Instaboner. Bad for the soul, good for the ego. Everything warned me not to touch but the chain leash around her neck proved tempting. Her eyes beckoned me to claim her. But if I did, going back was not an option. The road to hell was trying to sit in my lap.    

What do you do next? Grab the chain or banish the succubus?

Leave a comment on which one you'd choose.