Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Oh, yeah, baby. Put that cock where it belongs.”

  “It belongs inside of you, sugar, that’s where it belongs.”

  “You got that right, Daddy. Give it to me.”

  “Why don’t you give me some of your secret sauce, baby?”

  I know what he wants. He wants some of my energy. I’m tired. I waver. Devon is a favorite. “It’s going to cost you extra, baby.”

  The green lights ding in the corner, letting me know he’s made a hefty deposit.

  I blow out my breath and relent, deciding to give him the twist of lime to my already mutant psychic skill set martini. “All right, Daddy, here it comes.” I close my eyes and access that sweet, ecstatic place inside. I can’t do this with everyone. If I didn’t like Devon so much, I’d never do it with him, either. It’s like an ecstasy trip, only without the drugs and side effects. It’s a way of connecting that’s so much more than skin and bones. It’s pure soul to soul heaven. I take a deep breath, pulse my inner muscles, draw a stream of bliss up my spine, and reach out with my mind to connect with his.

  When the energy hits him, his head falls back in rapture.

  My mind goes all trip-hop, dreamy high, in my own personal love buzz. It wouldn’t feel this good if Devon wasn’t such a great guy. This is better than any drug, synthetic or otherwise. Better than a night on ‘shrooms.

  “Yeah, baby,” Devon purrs, tripping with me. “So good. So damn good. You’re like the best drug ever.”

  This is why the money keeps rolling in. This is the rumor floating around the virtual fantasy world, that there’s this crazy chick with a pure bliss love potion and if she likes you, she’ll give you some and you’ll never be the same.

  “Shit.” Devon draws the word out, slow and fluid. “You’re incredible. More, baby. Give me some more of your intoxicating juice.”

  I know I shouldn’t. The last time I did this with him, he got so addicted to coming here, I worried he’d leave his wife. “I can’t, sugar, you know that.”

  The lights in the corner glint green with a boatload full of money.

  I sigh and give him some more energy. I know this might be a problem. But it’s Devon, and he’s a good guy, I tell myself.

  The game proceeds. He pushes my avatar against the wall. Yanks up her dress. Slides down her silky thong. Sticks his fingers into the dark, slick world of her secret garden. Pulls her brunette hair while he’s rocking his hips into her from the front, from behind, with her bent over. He’s experimental tonight. Trying out new positions. He pulls out, coaxes her back around to face him, takes his big, muscular arm and pins her to the wall. Makes her say his name over and over and over when she comes, like a chant for mercy.

  When she comes…my mind interjects. I only imagine it when it happens. I’ve seen enough movies and virtual slut shops and techno-sex to be able to master the moves. I’ve never known what it’s really like. For a moment, I close my eyes. I should never mentioned it to Jonas. Can he give me that longed for orgasm?

  The thought slithers from my mind like the snake in the Garden of Eden. Once again the room starts to fade. Damn, damn, and double damn! Zip it up, Vienna! “Oh, baby,” I moan, pushing those thoughts away, and the Devon and Katiana Headspace returns. “Oh, Devon, oh, Devon, oh, Devon! You get me so hot, I lose control.”

  “That’s right, baby. That’s how a man does it. A man knows how to get his girl off and good. Tell me how good it is.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe! This one was the best one yet!” In this Headspace, I scream and yell and moan and buck my avatar’s hips against Devon’s. He shoots into Katiana, gripping her ass. Only thing is, I’m lying on my little wooly rug, curled into a ball and he’s making love to a fantasy. When I’m in this Headspace, I can have whatever experience I like and I don’t have to move a muscle. And I also don’t get to have an orgasm, I pout. I hate to pout.

  Chapter 5

  “HELLO, GRAMMY,” I say to my elderly grandmother. She’s sitting in the corner of her room at the elder-care, adult-living facility, high on a hill overlooking downtown Seattle.

  “It’s just so sad,” she says. “Every day I look outside and every day I remember what it used to look like. Seattle used to be so pretty.”

  I’m feeling unsettled, restless, like I’m becoming unglued and parts are hanging, separated from each other like a broken dolly. “And it will be again.” I wander up and plant a kiss on top of her silvery hair. “Restoration teams are active everywhere.”

  “Yes, but there just aren’t enough of them to go around.” She sighs and turns to me. “We lost so many from the illnesses in 2045. Entire cities were virtually destroyed.”

  “I know. I know, Grammy.”

  “That global purge of wilderness areas in favor of millionaire resorts really got my goat. Gaudy, opulent, over-the-top dwellings sprouting on top of Half Dome in Yosemite? The Alaskan wilderness turned into a hunting paradise and luxury lodge for bored, wealthy businessmen with time on their fat hands?” Grammy shakes her head. “And the oil spills and natural disasters of the early twenty-first century seemed like childish precursors to the devastation that followed. It’s a wonder any of us lived through those sorry years.” Grammy and I had been two of the “lucky” survivors. The rest of my family had been wiped out, leaving me and Grammy clinging to each other for family support. Thank God I have Jonas. He’s always felt like family.

  All the turmoil left our political system in shattered ruination. The left blamed the right and the right blamed the left. Everywhere, politicians bickered while the people pulled up their bootstraps and got to work with restoration. The general public lost itself in debauchery and wild, crazy behavior—like my Headspace affords them. We endured so much tragedy for so long, we all seem to live as if there’s no tomorrow.

  My thoughts drift back to Jonas. After the destruction of life as we knew it, Jonas’s work boomed. He’s good at what he does, honest and fair. And he’s always in demand. And he’s so fucking hot I want to climb on top of him and fuck him until…

  “You look upset today, dear. What’s up?”

  My grammy always senses when something is up. And, man, oh, man is something up. It’s probably huge and extends from between Jonas legs. Or, at least, I want it to be. “You know my friend Jonas.”

  “Yes,” she says, looking over the top of her reading glasses. “Go on…”

  “He came over yesterday and was all, ‘I want to leave my girlfriend,’ and ‘you and I should be together,’ and crap like that. You know how I feel about guys and gals hooking up when they’re already mid-flight.” I swallow, hard, hoping my naughty thoughts of Jonas disappear into my blood system.

  “Yes, dear. You have a good strong value about that. It’s admirable.”

  “I do, but…” My voice trails off and I stare out the window. The Space Needle stands in the distance, dark and vacant. It’s like a ghost town in that part of the city.

  “But Jonas is one fine piece of ass, isn’t he?”

  I nearly fall out of my seat. “Grammy! I can’t believe you said that!”

  “What, you think I don’t have eyes? Whenever you bring that boy over, I think to myself, ‘that’s the kind of boy my Vienna needs.’”

  A red flush creeps up my face. Where’s a gun when you need one? “What makes you think I need a boy, Grammy?”

  “I don’t mean it that way. I know you’re independent. I just meant that you rarely date these days.”

  “I just haven’t found anyone date-worthy lately. The good ones are all taken.” Plus, there’s that little issue of mine.

  “You think I believe that for a second? Vienna Katrina Venetta, you could have any man you want. You’re gorgeous, you’re barely thirty, you’re fun, funny, creative—you are one catch of a girl.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m just not in the mood to date.” Not after experiencing all the kink I see at night. Seriously, my various avatars have been flogged, whipped, and gagged. I’ve b
een made into a dinner plate laden with gourmet delights for my lover to choose from. Fantasy versions of me have been powdered, oiled, hung from chains, tortured, and shackled. I’ve been hoisted onto a pedestal and worshipped, then literally pushed from the pedestal and made to grovel at the guy’s feet. I’ve done three-ways, two-ways, six-ways. I’ve done it on the virtual beach, in the middle of a crowded fantasy baseball stand, on a train, at a carnival, in the middle of Times Square. People are strange. And when they’re safely behind the virtual wall, the sky’s the limit. And I know this is merely fantasy, but since I’m so sensitive—I mean, I wouldn’t be this good if I weren’t—it takes a toll on me.

  Sometimes, after a particularly intense session, I have to lie low and sleep for days, only getting up to feed Nigel and relieve myself. Then, it’s back to my sanctuary boudoir I go to rest up for Headspace time.

  “Let’s get you into your walker and scoot, Grammy. We don’t want to be late to your appointment.”

  “Oh, my, no, we wouldn’t want that,” she scoffs. “Not that it matters. These parts have had their heyday.” She gestures to her body.

  We’re going for her yearly checkup today. It doesn’t really matter when her appointment is. She knows as well as I, with the limited medical care we have in this city these days, it will take an act of God to get in and get out in less than four hours. People line up, try to bribe the staff. Some have even stabbed themselves to get seen for something else—blood-letting always gets to the front of the line. I help her to her feet and she shuffles along in her colorful walker. It’s got bells and all kinds of danglies hanging from it. She likes to make a grand appearance wherever she is.

  A half hour later, I pull up to the medical facility, hop out, and race around to open the door for Grammy. “Now you just sit over there—right there, Grammy, on that bench. I’ll park the car and be right back.” After circling the lot for ten minutes, I snag a spot, park, and race back to get my grandmother.

  “There she is now,” Grammy’s saying to someone.

  I’m looking right and left to find safe passage through the circling vehicles. When I make my way past the cars, I look up to see Jonas helping my grammy to her feet. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Is he trying to torture me? Is this some kind of sick game?

  My heart does a pitter-pat and other parts of me do things they’re not supposed to do—like get all moist and slick and scream, “In here, get in here now and show me what you mean by ‘I’m going to have an orgasm by my birthday.’”

  I dash across the asphalt to Grammy’s side. “What are you doing here?” I ask Jonas. The words emerge in a more accusatory tone than I’ve intended.

  He gives me a curious “what the fuck is wrong with you” look as if he can see my thoughts. A grin flashes across his handsome face. “Wrist sprain.” He holds his right arm aloft. “This isn’t my week.”

  The look he’s rocking says maybe it is his week and he’s scored a kilo of satisfaction, big time. Asshole. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. It’s part of the job. We’re so short staffed, I have to oversee the projects and work the jobs sometimes. Can I assist you two ladies? Help you in any way?” His eyelids lower to half-mast and a small smile curves the corner of his sexy mouth.

  Oh, yeah. The words he’s saying sound innocent enough but I know he knows more than he should about me. “Nah, I’ve got this.” I move between Grammy and him possessively. I wish I’d never told him my secret. “Well, I’ll see you around. Good luck with your sprain.” I practically shove him away and try to hustle my grandmother through the double doors.

  “My legs don’t go that fast, Vienna. Slow down!”

  “Sorry, Grammy.”

  Jonas chuckles behind me. “You know as well as I do this always takes time. Let me help.”

  “You’ve already done enough,” I call over my shoulder, referring to his offer to help me with achieving an orgasm. “I’ve got this.”

  “Really? You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He laughs and strides away.

  “Gah! He’s everywhere now. We used to only see each other…oh, never mind, we always see each other. We just don’t usually bump into each other.”

  “He’s in your radar, girlie. He’s done something to catch your attention.” She reaches for the elevator button.

  The barely functional contraption shudders to a stop. The doors open and more people than should be allowed in there burst from the opening, like freed rats. They speed around my grandmother and me as if we’re boulders in a stream. Once the elevator has emptied, I help my grandmother into the lift, followed by a few other people.

  “Hold up!” a male voice calls. Jonas joins us. “I’ve been redirected.”

  Come on! Who or what is playing with me? I want to pound my forehead into the dented, metal wall of the elevator. “Let me guess…third floor?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So women’s health has merged with general medical?”

  “So it seems.” He stands next to Grammy and punches the elevator button for the third floor. At the second floor the lift stops and oodles of people get on, pushing us against the back wall. Jonas quickly moves ahead of my grandma to keep her from being crushed in the throng of people.

  I’m pressed into the back corner, but I peer over the head of a woman to smile gratefully at Jonas for protecting my grandma.

  He catches my eyes and lingers, lost in serious thought. Again, his fucking, goddamned tongue slides slowly along his lips.

  His gaze makes my breath catch. That same warm sensation from earlier spills through me, like someone knocked a glass of warm, creamy honey all over my insides.

  Once the doors open, we all discharge into the waiting area, eager to get out of the stifling space.

  I need a drink. I need a job around the city. I need to lay with Jonas and…

  “Here, I’ll wait with Evelyn while you check her in. That will be quicker and easier on her. Then, when you’re done, I’ll head up to check myself in.”

  “What, so you don’t have anything to do today?” Why is he being so nice to me? Does he feel sorry for me now?

  “Sheesh, V, whatever I’ve got to do can wait. Your grandma’s needs are more important than mine. Women’s needs are important. She’s like royalty.” He smiles at her.

  “You’d better believe it.” She grins back at him. “Now, fetch my tiara.”

  “Plus, she’s fed me enough dinners, I owe her, big time.” He winks at Grammy and puts his arm around her shoulders.

  He’s never put his arm around my shoulders. I blink like a moron. “Uh, thanks, Jonas.” I smile gratefully, thinking of all the meals we’ve shared. When Grammy had an actual house, she used to cook for Jonas and me, our friends, her friends, whoever was in the neighborhood, whoever was in need. Jenner even came over a couple of times but her smart, bitchy mouth collided with Grammy’s no-nonsense, straightforward sense of manners. Grammy chided her, Jenner bristled, and she never came back.

  Once I’ve got Grammy checked in, Jonas goes to stand in line. I stare at his well-shaped ass until he turns to look at me, like he can sense my gaze. He smirks.

  I force my gaze to skitter past him, pretending to look at the nurse’s station before picking up a pair of well-used SkinScreen displayers and place them on my scalp. I adjust the volume and twirl a dial to focus the screen display on my forearm.

  I scan the contents by running my fingers over my wrist. There’s a revised edition of a book called Women’s Sexuality. I glance at my grandmother. Grammy struggles to stay awake. I idly flip through the pages. There are clinical drawings of penises and vaginas and black-and-white photos of men on top of women and women on top of men being projected onto my skin. The whole thing looks so clean-cut and sterile, it makes me laugh.

  Grammy jerks and glances at my forearm. “What’s so funny?” she asks.

  “Oh, this book makes it sound so apple pie wholesome. Sex, I mean.”

  “Here, let me see
.” She reaches for her purse and retrieves her reading glasses. “Well, that’s how the parts fit together. After you master that, the real fun begins.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?” I ask, starting to feel nervous.

  “Depends on what kind of partner you have.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She eyes me speculatively. “You have had sex before, right?”

  I scoff. “What do you think?”

  “You seem pretty savvy to me, Vienna. I’d say yes.” Her eyes drift shut.

  I sigh. You have no idea. Grammy and I share a lot about a lot, but my business is my business. Plus, this sex issue I’ve let out of the bag is nobody’s business but mine. Yeah, right. Only now it’s mine and Jonas’s. I flip another display of the book by stroking my fingers across my tender skin and my eyes land on an article called “Haven’t Doesn’t Mean Can’t: On Women and Orgasm.”

  I quickly look up to make sure Jonas is nowhere near me. I spy him still standing in line. I turn so Grammy can’t see what I’m looking at, should she awaken from her doze. I read, If a hypothetical woman and her partner only have intercourse for thirty seconds, without any other sexual touching, kissing or buildup—and with no focus on stimulating her in ways that are likely to lead to orgasm—then our hypothetical woman is unlikely to experience orgasm. That doesn’t mean she’s dysfunctional; it just means she and her partner are not doing much to produce orgasm.

  “So now I’m a hypothetical,” I mutter.

  “What did you say, dear?”

  “Nothing, Grammy, resume your doze.” I continue reading: Now we know that virtually any woman can climax–and indeed have multiple climaxes–if the circumstances of her life are right. But the truth is “coming” isn't that easy if you're a woman. Nearly all men can come without difficulty, but women aren't built that way. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It just means you need more practice. This one makes me burst out laughing. They have no idea how much “practice” I get, at least when I’m in my Headspace. I lift my gaze. My eyes track Jonas striding over to me, grinning like he’s holding the keys to the universe.