I sigh, staring at the ceiling. That was not a very fun night. I thought since he was good looking, maybe he’d be good at sex, but what do I get? A two-inch dick and a thirty second finish. What. A. Man.

A loud snore breaks the silence in the room, and I groan in irritation. I didn’t even get to cum; he just went to fucking sleep after! What the hell! I let my head flop to the side, and I glare at him. He can’t even shut up in his sleep. I swear, with each microscopic thrust, he screamed like he was summoning Mary. He still is devilishly handsome though.

I pat my hands down around my body, causing the covers to tuck into my sides. I sigh again before I pull the covers off my naked body, slide off the bed, and start gathering my clothes from the floor. I jump into my skinny jeans and throw on my gray crop top, which I found near the bedroom door. I run my hand through my hair a few times and check that I have all my piercings. I have two in my upper cartilage and one in the lower of my left ear. A stud sits in the lobe. My right ear has a stud in the upper cartilage, and, in the lobe, I have a dangling earring of a downturned cross. Who am I kidding? The sex wasn’t long or rough enough to rip them out.

I shake my head and walk down the hallway to get my shoes by the door. I sit on the floor and pull on my converse, re-lacing them at the top. I hate how they do that. You pull them off too quickly and the laces whip out. Then, you’ve got to re-lace them, and it fucking sucks.

I finish tying up my shoes (because, for some reason, that always takes forever with converse), and as I stand up, something catches the corner of my eye. Who leaves their wallet out when they hook up with someone? We met at a bar; does he really trust that I wouldn’t rob him? Well, I tell you what, he’s in for a surprise.

I delicately pick up the leather billfold and take a look over my shoulder as I open it. I peer inside. There’s not too much, but consider it compensation for wasting my time. I pull out a twenty and tuck it in my pocket. I smile and leave, not bothering to be quiet with the door as I leave and letting it slam shut.

Okay, that last part was kind of fun. I know stealing isn’t the most moral thing, but it does give me a bit of a thrill. I walk down the hallway with a smirk on my face. A man is walking out of his apartment as I pass, and I notice him doing a double take. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away. I sway my hips a little more as I walk to keep his attention.

You’d think since I’ve dealt with this since I’ve matured that I’d be used to it by now, but not once in 5,000 years have I felt anything but confidence from lingering eyes, wet lips, and standing dicks.

It’s only natural that my presence gives men and women boners and wet panties; I’m an incubus. Well, sort of. I’m a cambion. My mother is a succubus, but my father was human. Still, I’m not like most other incubi. Most others I’ve met are strong and masculine. They’ve got bulging muscles and washboard abs, but that is not me. I am slender and feminine. I wear women’s clothes and suck dick. I have thighs thicker than maple syrup. I am what people now would call a femboy. I kind of like it that way too.

Although, my drool worthy body is not even my most intriguing attribute. I would say that would have to be my eyes. They change with my emotion. I can, of course, conceal this change, much like I do with my normal form, but I don’t like to. (Oh yeah, my “drool worthy body”? It’s hand-made... by me, of course.) In reality, I have milk white skin like other lesser demons which isn’t much different than my alternative body, but I guess this body is not that pale. I at least wanted to look natural, but anyway, my other body has a number of things humans don’t have. These things include a large 22’ wing-span, a slender serrated black tail, black claws, pointed ears, and black scales decorating the vulnerable parts of my body. Of course, I didn’t change all my traits. The multi-color eyes and black hair with the shaved sides stayed the same. Well, my body shape stayed the same too. I am 5’3” and 122 pounds of sex in both forms.

As I walk down the street, I savor the stares and attention. I hear a particularly bold person whistle at me, so I throw them a wink in return before I pull open the door to the shop on my right and walk inside. I stop for a minute when the door closes behind me to breathe in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and baked goods.

“Akuji!” I hear Das shout excitedly. He runs out from behind the counter and embraces me. Then he cringes away. “What is that smell?”

“Sex and the cologne of some micro-penis James Dean wannabe,” I joke in reply. Meet Das Jolon, one of my best friends. He works at this café called Café de Coxy. Who the fuck knows what that means?

Anyway, he’s a pretty average barista. Ever since I met him, I’ve always wondered if what they say about black men is true, but his repulsive personality has stifled any romantic or sexual interest since the moment he opened his weird ass mouth and started speaking with that shit brain of his. What I’m trying to say is that white girls saying they have crackhead energy isn’t comparable to this fucktard. I have to say, the only striking thing about him aside from that loud mouth of his are his stone-gray eyes. They are rather entrancing to look at, but I think in the same way I am longer attracted to him, he is no longer attracted to me after seeing my sexual history. He doesn’t know all of it though. That would mean exposing myself as a 5,000-year-old demon instead of a fabulously sexy twenty-one-year-old.

I walk with him back to the counter. “Your usual?” he asks, already putting in my order.

“Yep,” I confirm.

“I’ll bring it to you shortly, Akuji.”

I nod and go to take a seat at a small table by the window, staring out at the passing people. Some of them even stare back. I give a particularly attractive man a flirty smile back. I find it most humorous when they immediately pale and start questioning their sexuality. That sounds cruel, but it makes me feel nice about myself. And we all know self-care is the most important thing. :)

My thoughts are interrupted by Das setting down a coffee cup and a chocolate muffin. “A white chocolate mocha with two shots and whipped cream with extra vanilla powder and a fresh chocolate chunk muffin. Are you sure you aren’t getting fat?” he asks with a smile, taking a seat next to me.

I sneer at him. “Oh, ha-ha. Fuck off. Don’t you have a job to do?” I reply before taking a sip of my coffee and rolling my eyes. He laughs along with me.

“I got Malcolm to cover for me. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you, Akuji.”

“Same, babe.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Eh, places.” Hell. I’ve been in Hell. Literally. I went to visit my mother for a couple months, but I can’t tell him that. Well, I could, but then he would ask about the trip. Then what am I supposed to tell him? ‘Yeah, I took ecstasy with a High Demon, and then he fucked me so hard I couldn’t breathe through all the pleasure. Then I had a nice dinner with my mom that was interrupted by a large hydra tearing through the streets and gobbling up goblins.’ Yeah, no. I’m not going to be able to explain any of that.

“Well, Cecillia has a new sugar daddy,” he prompted, trying to continue the conversation. Cecillia was my other best friend. You know that movie Crazy Rich Asians? Well she’s crazy and Asian. Rich? Well, she gets sugar daddies instead. She doesn’t work. She’s just hot enough that people will pay to sleep with her. No, she’s not a hooker, just spoiled.

But why would this bother Das? Oh yeah, because he’s madly in love with her and refuses to admit it. He’ll just get crazy jealous and tear our group apart when we all try to hang out together.

“Good for her. I need one too,” I brush him off.

He sighs, “I forgot how much of a whore you were.”

I glare at him jokingly, and he smiles back. I love him so much that I can’t hold back the smile that breaks across my face in return.

Then, the sound of outraged screaming, like a Karen with expired coupons, takes my attention away.