The desire within me was unbearably strong. I had much work to do, and yet my mind was clouded by the cravings I felt, the need for fulfillment. As frequently as it occurred, I was still overwhelmed by the strength of my longing, the completeness of its’ mastery over my entire being; I needed satisfaction. I could not concentrate on my research any longer.
I looked up from the book I’d been pouring myself over, glancing around the small room. I had hoped that by sequestering myself in this tiny cubicle I would have been able to conduct my research without the distractions so typical of my condition, but I knew that hope to be in vain. I left the book open on the table, my mind and body nearly quivering with need. The pile of books I had pulled from the various shelves of the library lay untouched on the table as I left the room, hunger driving me. There was only one course of action left to me, and I left the workspace as fast as my legs would carry me to find my solution. I hoped that my search would not take long.
The fact that I could not repress these needs any longer infuriated me, but I knew my limitations. I knew my power over this body would begin to wane if I did not recharge, and there was only one way. Since my return to the mundane world, the limitation of my power lay in this one particular fixation: the constant need for sexual pleasure. This need was irresistible, and I had no control over it when it took me. As surely as my dire enemy brought me back to this world, he had cursed me with this weakness. I was ancient when this world was young, and yet I was now bound by the basest of human instincts. My own sexual desires had been ignored for centuries; my people rose above our sordid lusts to a level humans may never achieve. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I could normally repress my attraction and sexual drive, but control of the bodies I took was limited in this one area. My desires were bred in the body I inhabited and were not my own.
Cursing the urges as they drove me on, I continued my search. The library was practically deserted as I stalked the aisles, looking for that which I sought. A young boy, in his early teens from the look of it, scanned the shelves in the fiction section. An elderly librarian sorted books behind the massive desk. Nothing here would satiate my craving. I walked into the elevator when the doors slid open, and suddenly my target was right before my eyes.
She was young, no more than twenty if I guessed correctly, and I saw at once that she was the shy, quiet type. She would not meet my gaze and she held several books tightly against her body, obscuring her womanly form. She looked as if she could have been pretty, perhaps beautiful, but she concealed it well behind thick framed glasses and a complete lack of cosmetics. Her hair was pulled roughly back into a ponytail, and loose strands of it hung out in odd places, as if she had put it up without the aid of a mirror. She was dressed conservatively in a tan blazer and ankle length black skirt with very little jewelry. I glanced at her curiously, attempting to control the lust that threatened to overtake me.
The only blessing of my condition is pheromones. Somehow, when the lust takes me, I trigger a release of pheromones in my host body. This is the only thing that makes this existence bearable. When they are released, members of the opposite sex are aroused, drawn to me as iron to a magnet. I have other things to study, and am not certain how this works, only that it does. It started working on her immediately, cramped in the small elevator as we were.
The doors slid closed and she glanced furtively towards me. I could see her eyes taking in the body I inhabited, flickering uncomfortably between staring straight ahead at the elevator doors and roving over my body. Our eyes met briefly, and we smiled at each other. She blushed. I stared at her, wanting her to meet my eyes again. She did, and I held her gaze slightly longer than was comfortable. She was fidgeting with the books she held as if trying to regain her composure. Her fingers plucked at the edge of the pages of one book, and she shifted her weight, looking away again. I reached out and touched her, running one hand lightly up her neck and tracing my fingers around her ear. She tilted her head slowly, eyes closing, lips parting and the books she held fell to the floor with a thud.
