Skip navigation

I was once a whore. I was Succubus to those men whom I have snared with such passion, lulling them in their tantric sleep before I devoured them many epochs ago. They were so gullible, so dim-witted in believing that I have finally fulfilled their twisted dreams of love. I laughed at such conquests; these minions would give all what they have, even their souls, to get a glimpse of me, to touch me, to bow and kiss my feet, thanking me that I, the Bitch Goddess have chosen them for my feast for the night.

It was ten years ago that my father, upon chastising me for having cavorted with an older victim, exclaimed that I have the devil’s eyes. I smiled. I realized I could seduce a saint had I wanted to. I held the key to men’s innermost desires. And I was more than willing, in fact, to give it to them. But I was a whore who remained in the shadows. I did not lurk the streets clad scantily. I was the subtlest of all whores. I commanded the labyrinth of unceasing deception, luring nameless, faceless men to their soul’s death.

Everything I felt and did, I never told anyone; the parchment was my best friend, the quill the extension of my hand. Only the pages of my diary knew how I have wandered from heart to heart, knocking on men’s hearts’ doors, holding what remained of my shattered heart, offering them like a vagabond, asking them to take it, begging them to love it. But they shunned me, laughed and mocked at me even. I have loved relentlessly, carelessly, tirelessly, hoping, they would love me too. Oh, cried I in buckets, wetting my pillows until I fell asleep, only to wake up again in the middle of the night, my big shadow staring back at me. I was silly, foolish and young.

These little demons called men possessed once my entire being; only for a moment they held me captive. I was enamored; my soul longed for them for they unforetold pain, seducing me with their hot fingers, their smooth voices upon my ears. But why did I continue to sleep with them? I was like a pendulum that cannot be put to a cease. I have done what they have asked me: poured wine in their wooden goblets, ate their rotten food, swallowed their words of pain. But I loved the pain they beheld me. Only then I knew I was truly alive.

I hunted when sheer loneliness overwhelmed me. And when this emotion assaulted my senses, I became relentless, cruel to these men. Poor creatures, they were-spent and used after a whole night’s coital encounter. I have held them captive upon my thorn grown walls, keeping them alive by my devilish gaze, feeding them their fantasies, prompting them to breathe as I was about to give myself as I promised.

I allowed myself to fall into the devil’s snare, into this realm of the darkness: a state of confusion where the damned longed for sanctity, the profane for serenity. I was too weak to object, letting them cradle me in their arms, soothing me with their deceitful words. Day by day, I listened, but my dark imagination was already sparked with raging plans of sweet, sweet revenge. For ire took me over, my anger became my life, my own strength led me to my own weakness.

Bliss, for once, released me, neglecting the moments when I climaxed. I turned to the past’s painful shadow only to find that all is lost. All is meaningless.

I saw her sometimes, her beguiled face haunting me. In my desolate state I turned to synthetic suspenders of time. Clouds of smoke would plummet in front of me, and heady as I was, I saw her small face beyond the haze. She still have her eyes closed, her fingers still clamped in that tiny fist. Befuddled, I would see her open her eyes and fix her gaze on me, and for a few precious illusive moments, I held the gaze of who could have been my own daughter, vainly attempting to apologize for what I have done to her. I robbed her of her own life and it wasn’t even mine to give. I was young, stupidly young.

I know I will burn in hell, the hounds would bury thousand gnaws upon my thick flesh. I would feel unspeakable pain, oh but would I cry? Tears would mean nothing to these dementors. I would still emerge triumphant, for it is I who fed upon these men, I, the Bitch Goddess.

Sometimes, I would indulge these men, yes, but not my entire being. It is just the body, I do not feel anything. They cannot have my mind. They cannot have my heart.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: