The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy Novellas 2015

by Paula Guran

  There are things the news people tell you and there are things they don’t tell you. Song and I had a lot of fun with the things they don’t tell you. In addition to changing into a new girl every week, Song was able to precisely manipulate every muscle of her entire body. By extension, she was able to precisely manipulate my body as well.

  The weeks and months following the night I first learned what she was flew by. Every Wednesday night she kissed me good-bye as one amazing woman and, the next night, kissed me hello as another.

  4. Succubus

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession.”

  “Tell me your sins, my child. There is such pain in your voice. Unburden yourself to me.”

  She always comes on days when Father Landau is taking confession. She sneaks into the confessional so he never sees her. He doesn’t know she has a different face and a different body every time. She uses the same voice. He never calls her by name, but that doesn’t matter. He hears her voice and he talks to her. Song presses the palm of her hand against the partition between her and Father Landau.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked Song, after one night of play. “When you transform, I mean.”

  “Don’t ask me that.”

  “But I want to know. I care about you. Do you care about me?”

  “I like fucking you, Alex. I hope you like fucking me. Have you noticed we always do it here, at your place? Have you wondered yet why I never invite you over to my home? I have my own condo, paid for by Uncle Sam. I’ve fucked a few guys but I’ve never had anyone over. You know why I’ve never had anyone over? It’s because I haven’t felt ready to be intimate. I have feelings for you, beyond fucking. I like talking with you and I like that you see past all these bodily forms I put on. But we’re not intimate, not really, not yet. Don’t start asking questions like, ‘Does transforming hurt,’ unless you want more than fucking and hanging out and going to museums.”

  “Maybe I do want more.”

  “Don’t push it! For fuck’s sake, just leave well enough alone. Don’t we have a good thing going? Every week you get a different set of lips to suck you off. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that fucking peachy? You get to strut around town with an endless procession of hot babes, be the big stud of the museum. Isn’t that enough?”

  “But I love—”

  She slapped me. Hard.

  “Fall in love on your own time. We’re having fun together just like we are, right? We both got somebody to hold on to. There is a door I haven’t brought you through. I haven’t brought anybody through it. Sometimes I want to bring you. But I’m afraid. Please don’t rush me. Go slow, Alex. Go slow.”

  I thought back to my long-ago archaeological dig and how content I was to slowly, carefully remove sediment from bone shards. Some things truly are worth taking your time with.

  So we went on as we were: making love, going to museums, eating out, talking, kissing, cuddling on my couch. Never her couch, never her place. It was always my Gold Coast condo we returned to. For that matter, I didn’t even know what neighborhood she lived in. She wouldn’t tell me. There was so much I still didn’t know about her.

  Sometimes we watched movies all night, with a big bowl of popcorn—she had an incredible appetite—and blankets piled all over us. We both loved monster movies, our guilty little pleasure. Sometimes we’d come to a werewolf transformation scene and Song would perk right up. Then she’d hit reverse on the remote and watch it again. And again and again, the whole time absolutely riveted.

  The first time she did this, I found myself a bit worried.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Fine, Alex. Just sort of taking notes,” she said.

  Sometimes she cried in my arms for reasons I could only guess.

  “I don’t exactly have a lot of friends,” she told me one night. “I don’t dare tell people what I am. So where does that leave me? I’d like to get a job, just for something to do and to be around people, but I can’t.”

  “Couldn’t you stay the same for a while?” I asked. “I mean, I understand that you have to morph, but couldn’t you just sort of change back to what you looked like before?”

  “No,” she said. “Maybe I could, but that goes against my very being. When I was a girl—”

  I held my breath. For Song to talk about her past was unheard of. I expected her to change the subject, but she didn’t.

  “When I was little, I kept my face somewhat the same. Recognizable. I contented myself with altering the shape of my arms and my legs and my hands. Mostly to please my father, and to be able to stay in school. But then again, my ability was a long ways from what it is now.”

  When we went out together, Song would whisper, “Look at her, that girl over there, you think she’s sexy?” In restaurants, in museums, on the street, wherever. A gentle nudge, a discreet nod. Or a not-so-discreet nod. Song was not exactly the most subtle female on the planet. “Is she doable? Is she hot? Would you jerk off to her?” With any other woman, the Correct Response would be, “She’s attractive, but not as hot as you.”

  With Song, it’s different. Although the first response is actually true: no other woman could be as sexy, hot, and dynamic as Song, not when Song can morph into any form she chooses. But the proper response with Song was simple observation and honesty. “Hmmm, her butt is nice, but her tits are too big for her body type.” Something like that. Then Song would file it away for future reference, for, well, for Thursday.

  Sometimes she would have me meet her at a bar, late Thursday evening, and hunt her down. She could be anyone. I’d stroll through the crowd, paying attention to body language and keeping a sharp ear out for her favorite words: “enigmatic,” “myriad,” “ersatz.” And for profanity, of course.

  She can change her voice. She has one very pleasant voice she usually reverts to. But for the purposes of our hunts, she would alter her vocal apparatus enough to throw me off.

  She could be alone or in a group. Song can mingle as easily as other people breathe, it is a part of the shape-shifter way of life: camouflage oneself by blending into the social fabric. Clothes can be a clue: a familiar pair of jeans or her favorite red tennis shoes. Other times, she might be the one woman in the place with all new clothes.

  But the big giveaway would be her eyes.

  Always her eyes.

  I would see her eyes and walk right up to this stranger and kiss her and sing, “You’re every woman in the world, to me.”

  One Thursday, she sent me a text: NOT TONIGHT.

  I texted back to find out if something was wrong. No response. I tried calling. No answer. I stayed up past two hoping to hear back, but no luck.

  I don’t know how she bypassed security and broke into my condo, but I awoke with her hands over my eyes. “It’s me,” she whispered in my ear. “Keep your eyes closed.”

  I did as she said while she wrapped a bandana over my eyes.

  “What are you doing, Song?”

  “Here, give me your hand.”

  She put my hand on one of her breasts. It was slightly smaller than those she normally grew, but very pert. I played with it. She reached down, took me in her hand, stroked me.

  “How do you know it’s me?”

  My heart raced. I didn’t know, not for sure, but who else would it be?

  “What do you think of when you think of me? My lips, my nose, my hair, my ass? That’s all interchangeable. It’s nothing to me. Here, I’ll grow you a nice, big pair of tits to play with. Come on, tell me, what’s your reference point?”

  “Your eyes,” I tell her. “Is that a good answer?”

  “Don’t act so fucking insecure, Alex. It doesn’t become you. Do you think of me differently when I have a big pair of titties than when I have an itty-bitty pair? I bet you do, you fucking pervert.”

  I tried to take the bandana off my eyes but she stopped me with ease.

  “Let’s just talk in the dark. We can say things we would never utt
er in the light. I bet I could make you come, even if you tried not to. I could hold you down and jerk you off, even if you struggled. What do you think of that? I’m very strong, you know. Or I could climb right on top of you and you wouldn’t even be sure it was me fucking you. You can’t see my eyes, blindfolded in the dark, can you? Does the idea of having a stranger fuck you in the middle of the night excite you? You’re right on the verge of coming right now, aren’t you? You fucking pervert. I bet it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes to get you off. You know what a succubus is?”

  “Yes. A demon woman.”

  “That’s right. She takes a poor, helpless man in his sleep. I could be a succubus. How do you really know I’m your precious Song?”

  “It can only be you,” I said. “The way you talk. Your filthy mouth. Only you, Song, only you would act this way. You want to know what I think of when I think of you? I think of you as an unknown quantity. Anything is possible with you. I never know your limits. Just when I think you’re one way, I find out you’re completely different. I always want to fuck you but I also want to protect you, hold you, love you, plumb your depths.”

  She straddled me, lowered herself onto me. My arms went around a slender body and slid down to the swell of her ass. She raised and lowered herself so slowly it was almost torture.

  “Do you like the butt? I’ve added some extra padding to it. You like?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “You like a big ass. Tell me why.”

  “When I grab an ass, I like to feel flesh, Song. Not skin pulled tight over bone, not buns of steel, but flesh.”

  “Talk to me some more. Now, while you’re inside me but can’t see. Tell me why you have this sick idea that you love me. Tell me why.”

  “There is something sad and vulnerable about you, Song, and a part of you that is always off-limits. Everything is different with you. I have no desire to own you or control you or tie you down. I only want to experience you, in whatever form you take.”

  “Go on.”

  “But no matter how deep I go, no matter how much I experience you, there is something in you I cannot reach. I want to know what you think of, when you think of yourself.”

  “Who says I think of myself? I have very little sense of self. When I look at myself, I see an amorphous blob. I see clay. That’s why I like it when you tell me what you like. Don’t come yet!”

  She paused in her slow up-and-down slide.

  With effort, I held back. She resumed fucking me, very slow. She said, “I like it when you look at another woman’s ass, because it’s a challenge to me. Can I grow a better ass? What’s the ideal angle for an ass? I want to grow the perfect ass. I want to grow an ass that’s just right, that has curves and dips so insanely irresistible that when you see it, you just have to throw me down and fuck me right there. That’s my goal. I’ve always liked geometry and now I am in search of the geometric equation for the ultimate ass. I have pride in my looks because it took me a long time to be able to morph into the exact form I set out to achieve. I will grow you the ultimate ass one day, my filthy little ass-man. Now don’t you dare get off, not yet.”

  My mind whirled. Trying to carry on a rational conversation while deep inside Song was a supreme test of willpower, but I soldiered on.

  “But what do you want, Song? You do all this stuff for me, but what about you?”

  “You don’t get it, do you? I like pleasing you. I like pleasing my man. Does that make me old-fashioned? Does it make me weak? Does it make me a second-class citizen if I put on a sexy dress for you? I grow nice, thick cocksucker lips for you. It’s the same thing.”

  “I’ll take the lips over a dress anytime.”

  “I know you will. Pervert.”

  “But, Song, I like to please you, too. That’s why men do all the shit they do.”

  Her language was starting to rub off on me.

  “We build cities and write poetry and fight wars just to get a woman’s approval.”

  “Is that so? I don’t remember you building me a city. Or even writing me a poem. Slacker.”

  “So tell me what you want. Let me do something for you.”

  “Very well, then. Next Thursday, you will get your wish. I will change into a woman like you have never seen before, but it will be totally for my own pleasure. You will be astounded. I absolutely fucking guarantee it. Hold on now, babe, I’m going to make you come.”

  She squeezed me tight inside herself, bounced hard on top of me, and I exploded.

  Then she jumped off and slipped out of my condo and into the night before I could even get a glimpse of her.

  5. A Woman Like You’ve Never Seen

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession.”

  Father Landau blessed her and asked what were her sins.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore, Father. I have something going on, a relationship, and it’s good. But there’s a part of myself that wants to ruin it all. I know this isn’t really a proper confession, but I have nobody else to talk to. It’s like there’s another person inside me, ready to jump out and fuck it all up. I’m sorry about the swearing, Father. It’s a bad habit.”

  “Satan tempts us in the good times as well as the bad, my child. When you are happy, the devil gets very restless.”

  “Yes. That’s what’s happening. I can feel him stirring around inside me. I’ve stopped being promiscuous, Father, and he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that I want a normal life. I hear him, sometimes. I can’t understand what he’s saying but he’s upset, he’s mad. I’m afraid he’s going to do something to ruin everything. I’m very scared, Father.”

  “You must put your faith in the Lord. Let it be His fight, not yours. You are no match for Satan but He is. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “He’s trying to get out, Father. God help me, he’s trying to get out.”

  It was Thursday. The Thursday I had been waiting for, the night Song had promised to transform into a woman like I had never seen before. She had already blown my mind with so many other incarnations that now I had no idea what to expect. She had come through her Thursday transformations as sultry seductresses and elegant ladies. For a change of pace, she occasionally morphed into something “a little more trashy.” She could grow a ghetto booty to drive me crazy.

  I found myself wondering, Just how the hell will she outdo herself?

  She had promised a woman like I had never seen before. She absolutely fucking guaranteed it. I could not concentrate for anything at work. By this time, everyone at the museum thought I was some sort of player, they saw me with so many different women. Song strictly forbade me to tell them the truth.

  “Privacy is important to me,” she had said. “Not just privacy. Secrecy. I can’t let what I am get around. Sorry, but you are just going to have to go on being a super-stud.”

  Evening came. Seven-thirty, eight o’clock.

  I called and it went straight to voice mail.

  The evening rolled on into night. Was she okay? Did something happen? Did she change her mind? I left voice-mail messages. A lot of them. Call me pathetic.

  It wasn’t until Friday morning that I finally heard back from her. A single text message: Soooo sorry, my love, my pervert, last night’s transformation really took it out of me. But you will be pleased with the result. At least, I sure am!

  I was all but useless again at work. Rumors started going around that I was moonlighting as a gigolo. I think it was just a joke. The day crawled by. I sent a pathetic number of text messages to Song asking when and where we should meet. Finally, around quitting time, she texted me the address of a bar in the north Loop. Meet me at seven.

  Seven!!

  I was a wreck by the time I arrived. I stepped into the bar and she caught my eye. Those eyes! She waved me over. I went. I felt a bit confused. She was quite presentable. Pleasant. But plain.

  Still, I was glad to see her in whatever incarnation she chose
. I embraced her and kissed her and bought her an appletini. She watched me with a little smirk on her face.

  “Say it,” she said, still smirking.

  “Hello.”

  “Not that. Tell me what you think of tonight’s form.”

  “Oh, that.” I took a long pull of my Miller. “Yeah. Nice, nice.”

  Then it hit me: maybe she had grown that ultimate ass she had been talking about. I told her to stand up and turn around so I could really see her. She complied, graciously enough.

  Hardly any ass at all. Downright flat, actually.

  She sat back down and still that smirk persisted.

  “Oh, poor, confused Alex,” she cooed. “Poor, poor pervert. So used to everything being all about him, him, him!”

  I started to object but, truly, she had a point.

  “I told you that I’d become a woman like you had never seen before, and I meant it. Not all changes are things you can see. Do you remember what else I said?”

  I wracked my addled brain until it came to me.

  “You said this time it would be for you. For your pleasure.”

  “Yay! Got it in one, swish, nothing but net! And truly, this body is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. You just don’t know it yet. But it’s for my pleasure. Isn’t that what you wanted? You said you wanted to do something for me, am I right? Fight a war, build a city, something like that?”

  “Yes! I meant it, too. Still do.”

  “Well then, now is your chance, pervert. Tonight you are going to fulfill one of my daring fantasies.”

  Smirk.

  “Anything,” I said. “Whatever you want.”

  “Promise?”

  Did I dare?

  Yes, I dared.

  “Yes.”

  “Good answer. Look around this place. Good crowd here, more people coming in. And tonight, you are going to fuck me. Right here in this bar, right in front of all these fine people.”