"Aaaaah! God...KEIRA! My God! I am going to cum in you, sweetheart!!! Oh my God!" I cried, bracing myself as the refreshing feelings took over my whole being.
My brain began firing plentiful surges of dopamine, nothing mattered at this blissful moment. It was a moment of creation.
I would succumb to the paradise between Keira's sweet legs. I had lasted for as long as I could inside her. I gritted my teeth, now it was time to claim her with love.
"Please, please...last just a half-second longer for me, lover! ....pleassse!" I heard her implore lovingly with a gentle half-mumble as she patted my chest. Panting, I held my breath slowing down my pace at her humble request.
Her tender lips kept releasing the most delightful moans and wails against my hot ears every time I stuck my cock inside of her, claiming her. I was ready to explode inside of that heavenly body!
Once her skinny, porcelain arms began to push my black as molasses frame away from hers, slipping against my sweating muscles, I knew that I was bringing on her orgasm!
I brought her head away from our impassioned love-making session, clutching her by the nape of the neck. I then lightly took her whole neck in my right hand, like prey. I wanted to see her helpless fox-like face shrivel up in ecstasy before my eyes the moment I released my sperm into her.
I froze because this wasn't the face I expected to see. It had changed! It was Gracie looking back at me with my hand around her throat, not the actress whose face was in all the movie posters at the time! What the hell was happening?!!
Pillowed behind the sensual beauty of the thick curves of her Asian eyelids, Gracie's steely sequin eyes were staking me with rage. She was usually defiant, but in a flirty way that stemmed from insecurity, never filled with wrath like this. This couldn't be Gracie!
"Did I hurt you... B—o-y?" The face menacingly asked, scoffing.
"Gracie?!!!! It can't be! It just can't be you!" I cried, feeling petrified and uncentered.
The way she spoke to me was so disheartening. It was blood-curdling and metal-like, not human. I tried to pull my pelvis away, but I was still inside her! I was holding its jaws inches away from my face. The skin was scaly, hot and crawling with what appeared to be moving spiders as I escaped from the nightmare I was having.
Although the dream quickly passed, sleep paralysis kept me pinned to bed. It had to be the witching hour: when demons, phantoms and ghosts can slip between the worlds.
There was a presence in the cabin with me. Perhaps in the same room with me. I could sense it! Something was looking right at me...from somewhere. I could not move, only I was awake. It was catatonia in my own body! It was like being trapped in a coffin of flesh. Was I dead?
"Enter, the golem, no?" Interrupted Carlo...in a foreboding murmur.
I suddenly stopped narrating the story to him. Stopped telling him about the dream I had on the day that Keira Knightley, the real actress, was invited to stay at the ranch with the Hobbs and myself. It was about nineteen years ago.
Sun-beams were pampering us all like lazy kittens on the expansive, peaceful, paradise-like terrace of the Cafe Les Deux Magots in the city of lights...Paris. The morning was a few minutes away from becoming the afternoon with small crowds being seated around us for brunch.
"Exactly, only this was no goddamned golem. This was actually an incubus," I answered, Carlo's eyes widening with the information.
"You obviously found a way to communicate with it. What is their domain called? The place where all spirits gather at the witching hour, especially evil ones?" he added with curiosity.
"It is called Sitra Ahra, or more generally referred to as The Other Side," I answered.
"Like the song Jim Morrison wrote..."
"The reason why he's buried in Paris, my friend, is because he could write like that...about those topics," I replied in a tangent from the matters at hand.
A woman sitting near us out on the terrace began casually speaking to her waiter about the upcoming transit strike in Paris after settling her check.
Her license had been suspended she had said in her native tongue. She would have to find some people to carpool with for her trip south to Lyon. Carlo had been busy ogling all of her body parts since he sat down.
She was this extremely French, blonde-haired, alabaster beauty with rich blue eyes. We both became curious and followed their conversation for a bit until the waiter left.
"Did you know that the ancient Greeks inhaled the volcanic vapors to bring about a trance and communicate with the Gods? Jim Morrison did that with drugs." Interrupted Carlo, again.
"Well, Jim Morrison was truly a shaman, it wasn't all just an act for us!"
"And what about this Dolores again? That woman in the ghost town you were helping?" He probed.
From having my daily strolls under the clouds of Dolores's unconscious, I had been drawing a bit closer...closer to finding this malicious entity, this...thing!
I had been busy chasing this sprit-demon, or dybbuk as they are called, for a while. For almost twenty years now.
...It was still inside Dolores and had already caused far too much heartache on Earth. The tide would slowly turn for this...child-like human that was still on the loose...I thought to myself, before answering Carlo's question...
"Dolores? She will surely go insane if I don't hurry. I was in dire need of divine allies when the time arrived. Even a fallen angel could help. My confidence had been damaged by Gracie. I was weak. I figured some hustle could get me through this somehow...I turned to the incubus for help."
As a former all-American athlete winning had been everything to Carlo Vista; be it winning fair and square, winning ugly, or via a series of nasty fouls. You are remembered for the rules that you break, he often reminded me.
Sometimes I questioned why I liked him, yet here I was admitting to getting things done in exactly the same way.
He knew the word well...hustle.
We had both wanted to become guerrilla journalists then. In fact, after we first met and applied to La Sorbonne together, one of the first serious questions Carlo Vista put to me was...what my angle was, my masterplan.
But I was no grifter like him. My morals wouldn't let me cheat in that way except maybe if I had nothing left to lose which had sadly been the case ...then.
