Episode 193: August 13, 2021

The Vineyards of the Soul
by Albert N. Katz

Today Mara and I have crossed paths, as happens occasionally in that space between light and dark where incubi and succubae gravitate. She seems pleased to see me, if pleasure is something she can feel from mere acquaintances of my kind. Regardless,  I am glad of her presence and of the stories she will share of the men she has perverted. Stories and watching are the only two true forms of eroticism we can experience. And though not recognized by our victims we too have our base needs.   As much as I want her stories, she will want to hear of the women I have violated. That is the way of our kind.

She is eager to start. “My tastes have changed since last we met up. Now I prefer the middle-aged.”

“Why not the elderly, as in the past?”

“It is true I still enjoy knowing that I might be providing the last burst of pleasure they will have before their death. But I now find them too thin, too vinegary.”

“Vinegary? What an interesting description. And what about the young?”

“Alas, they need me not. To them I add little to the hormones that course through their bodies. But, ah, the middle-aged, they have body and spirit that matches my own. They have thoughts and secrets and perversions that delight.”

“So, have you stories to tell that will excite me?”

“Excite you, yes but teach you also. I have learned that men are tied to their land, their terroir, more deeply than I had realized.”

“Bah, a man is a man just as a woman is a woman, wherever you find them. They have their needs; we have ours.”

“Not so. Since last we met up in this place I have started to discern differences. For instance, the men of the southern regions, taste of the barnyard, are sharp, with a taste of iron. Mexican men especially are strong in that way.  All they want is to take, so I try to leave them crying, empty shells, wanting more. In contrast the men of France for instance have a full body. Those of Italian possess, a sense of herbs.” 

Seeing my hunger grow she went into details of entering their beds, their bodies, the sounds they made, how their bodies moved to her demands, She smiled at the success of her recounting. This is, after all, the only pornography our kind can experience.  

“And what of you incubus? I too I have my needs.”

“Let me start by repeating what you know already because my tastes in woman have not changed. I still prefer them young and nubile. It is a weakness, I know, but the thought that I bring to their vulnerabilities, a flush of sensuality, opening their sexuality gives me still great satisfaction. They have not yet experienced betrayal and disillusionment, though I know they will. When I go to the middle-aged, I prefer those who did the betrayal than those who were betrayed. There is a darkness that I prefer. As for the elderly, I limit myself to those who took vows of chastity because they have a reservoir that needs emptying.” And stating such I, like her, told of my conquests in much the same detail as Mara did for me. I was pleased to see her face flushed, her breadth uneven. 

“So all women are the same, despite place, unlike their men?”

At that I had to think and saw her observations of men were true of human women as well. “Interesting, but no they are not. It is true the young are all juicy and green but there are differences. In Mexico they taste of flowers and herbs. In France, they leave a fruity aftertaste. In Italy there is a complexity that pleases both the palate and the mind.”

Suddenly, she made an unusual suggestion, with the hint of the wicked in her eyes, and a laugh in her voice “Let us eat together tonight.” And then, as a joke, “ What do you prefer for dinner: Mexican, Italian or French?”

We had never eaten together after all these years but tonight I thought that would be an interesting experience. We made a bet regarding the success of our ministrations. We decided Mexican would work for us best because that is a country where many older men marry younger women. Mara will wear virginal white, I the costume of a bandit. We will find the perfect couple, wait until they fall asleep and enter their house. Once asleep we will sit on their chests, she on the man, me on that young creature besides him. Paralyzed and afraid they will be helpless as we enter their dreams and debase them in all ways thinkable. And Mara and I will eat until we can eat no more.

They will not see us when they awaken, but we will watch them to see whether it is the man or wife who will initiate sexual congress, their lust fueled by us the night before. And we will watch attentively.  Watching is, after all, only one of the two forms of eroticism our kind can experience. And we had made a bet after all who would leave their prey the more hungry.

Albert N. Katz is a retired Canadian cognitive scientist and currently published writer of poetry and short fiction.
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