“Witches” – NYC Midnight Short Story Submission 2021

One of my favorite past-times is to participate in flash fiction competitions through NYC Midnight. Each competitor is divided up into individual groups that are then assigned a specific genre, subject and character and then given a limited amount of time and words to create a cohesive short story. They have multiple types of contests, however the format is similar. I find it to be a fun little challenge and it gets my creative juices flowing.

For the first heat of this years competition I was given: genre – ghost story, subject – dancing, and character – an informant. The length was limited to 2,000 words and the time allotted to craft this entry was 3 days. While, I did not place in the top 5 of my group, and advance onto the next stage, I did at least earn a “third honorable mention.” So in my mind I got 8th place out of 28 other competitors. I am curious to know if I could or would have placed higher had I actually included ghosts in my “ghost story.” My interpretation of a “ghost story” is an other-worldly and spooky tale told around a campfire. It did not, for whatever reason, occur to me that the tale should in-fact contain a spiritual entity.

Below is the story I submitted and immediately following are the judges critiques. I feel their critical feedback is sound. However there were two points that I didn’t agree with, but it teaches me that next time I need to not be subtle with certain details, and really hammer the point home.



The word that witches had come to the hamlet of Milium spread through the village like a plague. The women gathered, adorned in their black dresses and white bonnets, in the muddy streets, to gossip about them in hushed tones.

“They only come out at night.”

“I heard they have magical abilities.”

“Not only that, but they eat children.”

“Not just the children.”

“They consume your flesh and soul so that they can wear it as their own.”

“They won’t stop until they get the entire village.”

The husbands weren’t taken as quickly by such prattle. They needed more than just rumors. As they worked in the tan wheat fields, the grain slapping at their waists, they shared their doubts. They chuckled at the absurdity as their scythes cut through the blades.

“But it’s true!”

“Elder Nixolas Venator was out on a hunt and stumbled upon a ritual circle in the woods.”

“There were animal carcasses.”



From the streets and the fields, the townspeople carried their worries through the week to the wooden pews. There they sat anxiously beneath the vaulted ceiling, before the towering pulpit, seething with anxiety.

Reverend Prandem attempted to ignore the shake and shivers of his flock; this is God’s time. It belonged to His worship. Try as he might to ignore them, one by one, they heaved their terror upon their spiritual leader.

“What of witches.”

“Why are they here?”

“They want to take us to hell!”

“Who here is a witch?”

“Show yourselves, you vile women!”

Reverend Prandem’s words cut through the chorus of voices.

“This is hallowed ground,” he leaned over his pulpit, gripping its edge, “In the house of the lord, no daughter of Satan would or could dare walk within.”

A high-pitched giggle punctured his words.

The townspeople got their feet, trembling as they looked for the source of the voice.

“Who was that? Did you hear who?”

“They’re far more powerful than we had thought.”

“We’re doomed!”

A chill ran up the Reverend’s body and clutched his heart. Listening to each line as it was hurled through the air, his thoughts spun into chaos. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“Silence, my brothers and sisters! Jesus Christ has all the power here. No need to fear. Now sit!”

There was a whisper of garments and murmur of creaks from pews as the congregation followed his order.

“I will get to the bottom of this.”

He stared out at the cluster of people.

“Who amongst us has any proof?”

A man and a woman stood, pointing to a frail man with straw hair and deep-set eyes. His gaunt face was etched in panic.

“Brother Venator, speak with me after the sermon.”

The man gulped and then nodded.

Those before him took the holy man’s plan of action and calmed, allowing the spiritual lessons that followed to pierce their hearts and souls. They left evermore glad than when they had arrived.

The two men converged in the quiet of the Reverend’s office, through a side door behind the pulpit. It was empty but for a desk and chair and a towering Bible resting on a pedestal. They stood before them.

“Brother Venator, I am thrusting upon you a holy quest,” the Reverend said.

Venator’s eyes doubled in size.

“You must be my informant. The Lord commands that you go to this font of wicked knowledge and bring back further proof and perhaps identities.”

“Reverend, I do not think that I am up to the task.”

“You must, for our safety. This incessant gossip has gotten out of hand.”

“Do you not believe that there are witches?”

“Did you not hear that unearthly sound during my sermon? Of course, I do.” He took a deep breath. “You witnessed proof of their existence. Go there, hide, and return to me your news. We must put a stop to it. Your testimony will bring the townsfolk resolve, and you will find your riches in heaven.”

The spiritual leader placed his hands on the edge of Venator’s shoulders.

“God will protect you. I give you His blessing.”

Nixolas Venator gathered up his coat, ax, blanket, and rations. His wife pecked him on the cheek and ushered him out into the woods as his heart pounded in his chest and echoed in his ears. Shivering, he forged the path until it ceased to exist and then wound his way through the briar and rock until he found his way to the clearing.

One would have missed it had they not been paying close attention. A ring of jagged stones cut the thicket from the clearing like talons. Dark earth and a smattering of pebbles filled the emptiness up to another circle of granite chunks in the center. Neither blood nor bone could be seen amongst the glade since he had last come upon it. Where it had gone, he did not know.

His eyes pierced through the dying light for any other entities, but he saw none.

Venator knew he had to work with haste as to not to be discovered. With careful haste, he trod lightly around the ritual grounds, as to not leave a print, and found a spot in the brush, just to the east. He made a hunter’s hiding place and waited.

For five nights, he did the same but witnessed nothing. Doubt crept into his thoughts, making him wonder if he had, in fact, seen the blood and bone. Perhaps it was his imagination. Maybe there were no witches after all.

At three in the morning, on the sixth night, Nixolas was awoken by a high-pitched giggle.

The brush about him shuddered as he sat upright. He peered through the leaves, and two rocks, at a fire that had been set in the middle ring.

His limbs went numb.

Six cloaked figures moved about the glade with their cowls over their head. From within the shadow of their hoods, they focused on the burning tips of the dried sprigs they held aloft. They made circular motions with them in the air, leaving behind a trail of serpentine smoke.

When each witch had passed by his view, they stopped and turned toward the fire.

A duo of drums erupted in the silence and beat a measured rhythm.

The figures swayed to it, from side to side, back forth, like a clock pendulum. And after each designated set, the tempo got faster. When it reached a furious throb, the witches kicked out their legs and threw out their hands. The movements were disjointed and unorganized.

The witches danced around the fire. They stabbed and cut through the night air.

The flames growing higher, filling the clearing with light and leaving everything beyond in shadow.

Another set of drummers joined the first two, deepening the rhythm. It was then that the figures shed their cloaks to reveal their naked, milky bodies beneath.

Nixolas instinctively averted his eyes from their sinfulness and blushed. As they were indeed not men. But he knew that he had to get their identities to save the village. He prayed a silent prayer for forgiveness before he turned back to their nude dancing. He squinted against the brightness of the flames as he tried to make out their faces, but the shadows cast by the flames danced across their facial features, changing them. They morphed from one to another. Ever shifting, never staying the same.

Brother Venator found it hard to breathe.

Another set of drums joined the chorus, and the witches started to chant. The words were garbled and guttural. Their voices bellowed from deep within their shapely bodies.

The flames got even taller, pouring out waves of heat over the circle.

The wind picked up, swaying the trees to the meter but not disturbing the growing conflagration.

The witches danced faster. Their movements were quick and sharp.

More drums joined. The percussion’s booms pierced Venator’s chest, taking hold of his heart and bending it to conform.

The chants grew louder until they were shrieking into the night—their words gibberish to the lone man’s ears.

Suddenly a bone-chilling scream silenced the chants and the dancers ceased their number, with their heads bowed. Nixolas convulsed.

The fire stretched up toward the night sky until it birthed from it an unearthly form. It took a step out of the flames with cloven feet. Two horns spiraled from the shaggy mane of hair that threatened to consume his flat face.

As he lifted a long bony arm that came to an end in long black talons, the women fell to the earth before him. They moaned in ecstasy.

His two pure black eyes, dissected with a long, thin, white pupil, surveyed those around him and up into the shadows of where Nixolas hid.

The devil sneered at him with dagger-like fangs.

The wind howled through the trees and extinguished the flames, submerging the clearing in total darkness.

The gusts had pummeled against the church for hours, whistling through the cracks in the structure, as Reverend Prandem worked diligently on this week’s sermon. His quill scratched

feverishly against the parchment, spewing forth his holy words of salvation and the promise of paradise—the time lost into the blackness of the night.

A slow, measured knock pulsed from the door of his study, pulling him from his work.

He set his quill to the desk and rushed to open the door.

In the flickering candlelight, he found Venator’s form in the doorway. His head tilted forward and a broad smile on his lips.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside, “What news have you?”

The man entered the room.

His voice was calm as he told him the details of what had transpired.

“Who were these women?”

“Get a paper,” Venator said.

The Reverend hustled around his desk, brushed aside his former notes to grab an unblemished piece of paper. He picked up his quill and waited.

“Genevieve Pater.”

The Reverend wrote the name in curling script.

“Charlotte Filius.”

The quill scratched on the paper.

“Seamus Prandem.”

The pastor stopped halfway through writing his own name. He looked up slowly into the face of a goat-man with black eyes. The creature bowed his head and charged.



”Witches” by Joshua Hensley –


{2124} “Witches” brims with visceral description. Lines like “as his heart pounded in his chest and echoed in his ears” and “The witches danced around the fire. They stabbed and cut through the night air” evoke a dark, frantic mood throughout the story. It’s easy to see why the whole village fears the witches, especially Venator. The ending feels fitting and deliciously grim.

{1970} I think that you have delivered everything a spooky tale reader would love. As I read “Witches” I found myself quite satisfied with the period feel and way the characters relate to each other. The pervasive, oppressive nature of old school religious dogma and strict belief is palpable. Thanks for that, it makes for a gripping tale. I feel for Nixolas as he is sent out, reluctant in is task, to find proof that witches are indeed in town. Chilling tale, thanks.

{1772} The story has a frightening premise that turns from a quest of religious fervor to a darker supernatural tale. Venator has a clear goal to shape his characters. Vivid detail and action bring the plot to life.


{2124} It’s clear that the witches in this story are powerful and threaten the community. What’s less clear is why this matters. Should the readers care that this town could be annihilated? Are the identities of the witches important? If not, what core emotion or idea is this story trying to convey beyond a good fright? Is it related to the priest’s perceived security and power? Consider what ideas you want to further explore in this story, how they mesh with the dialogue and description already present, and what details you could weave in to further bring them out.

{1970} I’m not so sure that this story needs work. You’ve checked off so many boxes. It would be nice to know why the couple stood a point specifically to Nixolas, why did they choose him for the task, what proof does he have? This is a bit confusing because the reverend asks who has proof, the couple points to Nixolas, he’s not happy about it, and then he is sent to find proof. He doesn’t have it already. Anyhoo, this said, it’s a chilling story, so thanks again.

{1772} To help the resolution feel fully earned, it might be worth further exploring Prandem and Venator. At what lengths are they willing to go to find the witches? Do they have ulterior motives? By giving them more inner needs or conflicts, it might help to add another layer to their characters and the plot. For example, Prandem might struggle with a personal wish to rid himself of the women in absence of witchcraft.

NaNoWriMo – Chapter 3

Mark looked at his phone one more time, just to see if his message had been read. He opened up stream of messages and saw his lone message “wanna breed this hole.” Down at the bottom, above the keyboard, showed the notification that it had been read, yet there was no response. His face flushed red hot as he closed it and chose to open one of the others, reading the same message. Each one showed the same thing. The only one who had responded had declined his offer.

He locked his phone and threw it across the bed.

Fuck these guys, he said, exhaling all the breath out of his nose.

It was just going to be a dull night, once again. All he wanted to do was get fucked. Isn’t that what the app is for, he kept telling himself. Recycling it through his mind until his rage grew in his chest. What was even the point?

He stood up, undressed and crossed the room to his computer. He had just resigned to the fact that he would have to help himself out. No one else was even going to bother. He opened the browser and type in a single w and the bar was filled with his usual go-to, amateur site. There he found messages. His heart gave a leap. As he scanned them, each one telling him how hot his videos were, but all of them were either in another state or a separate country altogether.

He opened up a video he had uploaded a couple weeks ago. He watched himself laying on his bed with his near naked body, lay on all fours, for the stranger to enter the room. His dick stirred to life. There was nothing he loved more than watching himself get used by an anonymous stranger.

A memory sparked at the back of his mind, the video from a week ago. He hadn’t even had the chance to watch it, what with his boyfriend coming home almost immediately after. That had been a close call. He didn’t know what Sergio would have done if he had come in at that exact moment.

The video was hidden deep in a Russian doll of files. At the very bottom he opened up the video and leaned back in the computer chair with a creak.

He watched himself in the usual pose, the orange glow of the street light filling his room more than the light on his nightstand. He got harder.

Somewhere in the distance the microphone picked up the soft click and shut of the door. Just like he got aroused at the anticipation of the stranger then he did again. Then there would footsteps and the slim frame came into view, the frame ending at shoulder length. The man removed only his jacket, and laid a hand onto his plump left cheek. He caressed it, while reaching out to grip the waist band of his jock.

Mark mirrored his moves of the video and wrapped his long fingers around his cock.

The man on the glowing computer screen, got to his knees and pressed his shadowed face in between Mark’s butt cheeks. The silhouette of the man ever-so-slightly rimmed him. Mark went into euphoric recall. He remembered what his wet tongue had felt like as he gently probed in and out of his hole.

The man reached under and up and began to slowly jerk him off.

Video Mark stretched his arms above his bowed head. He heard himself moan on the video and he could feel himself getting closer.

The stranger continued on in the same manner, until Mark’s voice and moans grew in frequency and pitch. He watched his back arching as he pushed himself against the stranger’s face.

Damn I was loving it, Mark thought as his hand picked up speed.

Just as he rose about to cum in person so did his video self. The only difference was he was beginning to glow yellow. His hand slowly came to stop as he watched himself turn into a light bulb, that then froze in time. The light that had shone from his skin leapt into the air forming a billowing cloud above him.

Mark watched with wide eyes as the stranger stood and scooped a handful of the gold into his hand and into his mouth.

Mark’s heart hammered in his rib cage.

The man went to take another swipe at the air, but stopped. He shook his head and returned to what he had been doing before. He resumed his actions and the light was pulled back into Mark’s body like someone releasing a tensed rubberband.

The room went dark and the camera went in and out of focus multiple times before the man finished Mark off, donned his coat, and left without saying a word.

The video stopped.

Mark stared at the still, final image of himself turning off the camera, not knowing what had at all just happened.

His mind whirred to life as he struggled to make sense of it. Who had that man been. His hand went to the mouse and he slid the single dot along the player bar. The stills of the video flashed by in jerky awkward shapes. He stopped right At the moment when the light had left his body. For a split second he saw the man’s profile, but nothing that jogged his memory.

Mark spun around in the chair and grabbed his phone from the edge of the bed. He opened up the hook-up app and began rooting through the messages. The video was two weeks old. He ran through the rolodex of images, and could only think of three men that it could have been.

This was the only time he wished he hadn’t messaged multiple people in one go.

He returned to the computer and watched it one more time, trying to make heads or tails of it as he watched it. He slowed it down, examined every scene pixel by pixel. But nothing he could think of made sense.

Opening a new browser, he typed in the scene that had unfolded and searched for any results but there was nothing. At least nothing that made sense.

Finally he returned to the amateur porn site and created a new file. All he could think of was that there was someone, anyone that could explain what had happened to him.

He titled his newest clip, “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” In the short description he outlined the details to best of his abilities. Once he was satisfied with his explanation he sent it out into the electronic ether. There it would get the attention and answer he long craved.

Mark stood and looked around his room. Whatever had happened he found himself no longer trusting that he was by himself. He could sense that something had been taken from him, but what he wasn’t sure. The anger and frustration pulsed through him as he looked for some way to feel safe. For a brief moment he thought about contacting the police, but he waved it away almost immediately. What were they going to do? He couldn’t even tell them who it had been.

The only thought he could do was bunker himself down. He locked the deadbolt and the slid the chian, checked all of his windows and grabbed a knife from the kitchen. Placing it on the bedside table he grabbed his found and wrapped himself up in his blanket. Once again, he returned to the trail of messages and he went through each and every one of them. One of the men there had to be the stranger.

He knew it was only a matter of time until the video was seen by the world. He would get his answer. It was just the waiting that cloaked him an overwhelming sense of dread.

Did they know I was filming? He thought to himself. And that single thought lit a fuse through his mind sending fearful question after another to his mind. He grabbed the knife at his bedside table and laid under the cloak of the blanket. There was no doubt in his mind he wasn’t going to sleep that night.

In the morning, as the sun was peeking between the high rises of the city, a key worked it’s way through the pins of the lock. The door thudded against the door.

“Mark,” said the voice of his boyfriend, “Open the door.”

Delirious from the lack of sleep Mark sat frozen in fear.

“Mark, open the chain now. I want to know what this video is about.”

Mark through the blanket off of him, set the knife on the beside table, and rushed to the door. His fingers fumbled awkwardly with the chain. He opened the door and hugged his boyfriend, happy he was finally not alone. Sergio, stood rigid for a brief moment before he pulled himself from his embrace and stomped into the apartment, dragging Mark with him.

“What the fuck is this video?”

Mark shook his head.

“Tarryn sent a video to me a guy fucking you.”

“Did you see what else happened?” his voice broke.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Sergio said, “You’ve been cheating on me. I saw the rest of your fucking videos.”

“But did you see what he did!”

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re a slut and I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

Sergio ran through the apartment in flurry, grabbing whatever was around and shoving it into the gym bag he had retrieved from the bedroom closet.

Mark ran to the computer and pulled up the website. Down below the video it showed a total of a million views, over night. The comments below ranged from shock and utter disbelief. Some even claimed that he had better special effects than most big budget movies.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Sergio said from the bathroom. Rattling objects along the glass shelves.

“How did Tarryn find it?” Mark called.

“Check the fucking news.”

Mark instinctively opened another browser and there, for the whole world to see, was a story about his video begging for questions.

Word Count: 5,896/50,000

NaNoWriMo – Chapter 1

              Aiden sat on his bed, his back up against the bedroom wall, hunched over his two generations old smartphone. His emerald eyes scanned the grid of serious faces and torso shots as his thumb slowly pushed them up on the screen, hoping that he could find the one that could be his next. Usually he never shopped for a suitor and instead chose to lie in wait and have them come to him, but he was hungry and could wait any longer. It had been almost three weeks since his last hook-up.

              His finger stopped, halfway up the phone screen, and then stabbed at the miniscule thumbnail for a larger look.  The photo of the man filled the screen. He had mahogany eyes, thick eyebrows, unruly black hair, and a thick bear that hid the furtive smile on his thin lips. Aiden’s mouth watered.

              He jabbed his thumb at the chat icon, curled himself forward over the glowing screen and moved his fingers into position.

              What do I say? Aiden thought. His brows met over the bridge of his pointed nose, as his right eye tugged at his cheek.

              There were endless options, he knew. He could be playful and see where that took him, or he could do what he had done countless time before, with amazing results, and just be sexually aggressive. He flicked back to the photo again and stared into his face.

              Nothing came to mind. With the swipe of his thumb the photo was shadowed by the text of the man’s profile. Littered beneath the bold, white headings were movie and pop culture references, the usual snide remarks about the superficiality of the app, and the most damning of all statements at the bottom “no hook-ups.”

              Aiden rolled his eyes and sneered.

              “Bullshit,” he snorted.

              He loved the challenge of pushing against the notions of one’s perceived moral standards. It made the prize all the sweeter.

              The phone vibrated and a banner appeared across the top of the screen, a new message from “DTFBTTM.”

              Instinctively Aiden went to the new message and read it, “Wanna breed my hole?” The disgust Aiden felt echoed out of his mouth as a groan. He shook his head. There was nothing he found less appealing than desperation. And this boy was the picture of it. Coincidentally he was also one of Aiden’s formers. This “Mark” and he had met a few times before. Aiden knew that another trist would push this kid over an edge he wouldn’t recover from.

              “Back-up” Aiden said.

              With a few taps he returned to the bearded face of “Jon” and his profile to read it once more. In those few moments a new quote appeared, a string of vaguely familiar song lyrics. Possibly from the musical Hamilton and the song “Helpess;” if Aiden remembered correctly.

              “Oh, look at those eyes, the skies the limit,” Aiden typed out and sent his message.

              He spun around and laid down on the bed, and rested his legs against the wall, as he waited.

              As the moments ticked by he felt a sense of dread well in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it wouldn’t work, he thought. Or maybe he had gotten the song confused with another musical and botched his entry point all together. But his inner self reminded him of the “hungry hole” waiting on the back burner. Pressing his lips together he shook his head. That would have to be a last-last choice he told himself. An eager companion was one thing, but leaving them a hollow and empty shell of a man was not ever an option for him.

              The phone shook and his heart leapt from his chest. His fingers fumbling as he grabbed the phone from his stomach and read the reply from “jon.”

              “Boy, you got me helpless,” the blue bubble held.

              Aiden knew he was in.

              “Down for the count and I’m drowining in it,” he texted back.

              The next came before he could send another.

              “Hamilton fan?” Jon wrote.

              Thank, Luce, I was right.

              “Isn’t it obvious? I sometimes hold sould out shows in my living room with exclusive, one show only, choreohgraphy.”

              “LOL” jon sent back, “Mine are usually poorly attended. Just have the one patron, and he just sticks around cause if he didn’t he might not get fed.”

              “Dog or cat”

              “Cat, his name is Senor Gatito.”

              “Any pics?” Aiden asked, confident of the answer. Sure enough a photo of a long haired feline with an unenthused expression appeared before him.

              “That was taken during encores. He wasn’t too happy.”

              Aiden’s brows lifted at the proper use of the word ‘too.’

              Another blue balloon appeared, “He was hoping for ‘Memories.’” There was a pause and a separate message appeared, “He was high on the nip.”

              Aiden waited, his mind trying to come up with a snappy response before he was beaten to the punch.

              “Any pics?” Jon sent. “The torso is nice but hopefully there’s more.” The next blue bubble said, “Unless you’re the headless horseman.”

              “No, they’re usually asexual,” Aiden responded, mentally patting himself on the back.


              Aiden sent his most mediocre face picture, with a smirk on his face and his green eyes reading ‘obviously.’

              It only took a second for a reply to appear, “Very handsome.”

              “Right back at ya,” Aiden wrote back with more confidence than he felt.

Then the conversation lulled. Aiden opened and closed the chat screen hoping that there was a just a lag, but nothing. He was beginning to worry that this might not happen.

“What’re you doing?” Jon wrote.

Aiden’s heart went into overdrive, that echoed reverberated through his limbs.

              “Chillin at home.” He replied, trying to come off aloof. “You?”

              “Preparing for the late night show, that is, if Senor shows.”

              Aiden smiled at the screen.

              This guy can commit.

              “Want to make it an ensemble piece?” Aiden responded without thinking.

              “Fuck,” he whispered, as he read and re-read his message.

              Minutes dragged by  before Jon finally replied, “As long as you don’t upstage me,” which was immediately followed with a screenshot of a map, and a red push pin showing his location.

              Aiden dropped his phone onto the bed and leapt from the bed and bounded into the bathroom where he hurriedly showered, brushed his pearly teeth, and doused himself in Burberry Brit cologne. He dressed in his most slimming and showcasing ensemble, for once foregoing the notion of underwear for a quick and easy reveal. Giving himself a look over in his cracked full length mirror, he dashed out the front door and down to the ground floor.

              “I’m on my way,” he texted back.

              On the street he hailed a yellow cab and once inside set off.

              Anticipation, adrenaline, and hunger flooded every inch of his body, his heart drummed against his rib cage, and his nose ran. Aiden brushed it away from the back of his cold index finger and sniffed the rest back up into his sinuses.

              The cab pulled in front of the brownstone builder and Aiden handed the man the cash, without even counting, and got out.

              Aiden opened up the app once more and found that Jon had messaged during the quick cab ride to add, “Third floor, #6.”

              The front door to the complex was locked, but adjacent to the door was a panel of names and numbers. Illuminated next to number six read the name “Jon Goshen.” Aiden buzzed the unit number and deep voice answered back, “Come on up.”

              The complex door clicked open and Aiden entered.

              The rhythm of his heart pounded harder up into his ears. His mouth went dry and his stomach started to turn. In only a few moments he would be full.

              Jon answered the door before Aiden could knock.

              “Hello,” he said with a false bravado that made Aiden chuckle and blush.

              “Evening,” Aiden said, tipping his head foreward to his host. “Did you audience show?”

              Aiden stepped inside the apartment.

              “I think he had other arrangements.”

              Aiden met Jon’s gaze and smiled. He tried to up the charm radiating from his chest, but when he looked into Jon’s eyes his heart skipped a beat.

              “Do you want something to drink?” Jon said. He turned and headed for the small kitchen.

              “Sure, whatever you got.”

              “Whiskey neat, okay?”


              Aiden spun on his heel to examine the space. A shag rug of gray and a darker gray took up the center of the room. Movie posters of every decade of cinema decorated the walls, and underneath the window to the fire escape, stretched a long, stout bookcase filled with a mixture of books, movies, and action figures. Most of the toys primarily villains, Aiden noted.

              Aiden turned around to find Jon carrying two tumblrs filled with the amber liquid.

              The host walked past his guest and took a seat, with a squeak of the springs, on the plum suede sofa. Jon set the glasses down on the coffee table, one in front of the empty spot next to him on the couch. Aiden took the hint and sat.

              “So, do you do any performances other than Hamilton?” Jon asked.

              The bearded man sipped his drink.

              “Sometimes I swing for the cast of Wicked or Bare. My favorites are the jazzy numbers.”

              Jon flashed a bright smile of perfect teeth.

              Aiden’s eyes locked gazes with him. It was then that he pushed the energy from his chest out to fill the room to it’s brim, that way there was no escape. He had to hurry, he could feel himself getting weak.

              Seizing his opportunity Aiden moved forward and locked his lips against Jon’s. A cool chill ran over his body as he opened his mouth and slithered his tongue into Jon’s warm mouth.

              Jon lifted his hand and cupped Aiden’s cheek, and matched his move with an arm around his back.

              There kisses rose in force and entensity as the found and fell into the other’s rhythm.

              Aiden, not breaking their bond, moved his knee onto the couch and laid Jon onto his back, he head rested on the arm of the sofa. Pressing just enough of his weight against his partners body to feel the jump of excitement. Aiden knew there was no turning back. The power of his lips was working. He could feel Jon’s energy and temperature rise. Their dance rose in measure.

              Jon tried to parry Aiden back, but it was then that he found his partner removing his shirt to reveal the thick, soft black hair on his chest and small belly.

              Aiden straightened his back and removed his own, taking note of Jon’s intense gaze on him.

              Next were the pants.

              “Wow,” Jon whispered, as he found his partner already bare.

              Aiden rushed to remove the final garment.

              The two wrapped their libs around the other, locking the kiss.

              Aiden rushed with relief, he knew that there was enough for a large piece in the end.  This could hold him over for month. The prospect accelerated the excitement.

              Aiden broke their lip-lock and kissed a path down Jon’s chest to one his soft brown nipples. His tongue slid out and over it, sliding a thin coat of saliva in a counter-clockwise circles. He jumped to the other for only a moment, and then continued kissing him down his stomach.

              Jon gave a breathy laugh and jerked upward as if shocked.

              Aiden continued undeterred to Jon’s swarm cock, pressing against Aiden’s smooth chest. The head of which bumped into Aiden’s chin as he looked up into Jon’s eyes. He flashed a half grin before looking down and taking him into his mouth.

              Jon writhed beneath him. His long fingers and sweaty palm fell onto the back of Aiden’s head, guiding him up and down.

Jon’s tempo rose and Aiden knew the moment was close. He glanced up at his face with an expression of excited calm, his eyes closed.

Aiden moved faster and faster and as he did the body before him began to emit a faint glow that rose. The gold light seemed to darken the room around them, submerging the pair into a spotlight.

Jon took charge for a brief moment and said, “I’m going to come.”

In a flash of light Jon filled Aiden’s warm mouth with himself and time froze. The golden glow that had risen from the depths of Jon exploded from him and gathered in a haze around him.

Aiden swallowed, straightened his back and then stood above Jon’s still form in mid coitus. On his handsome face a look of pure joy. Aiden ran a hand on his bearded cheek and then bent to plant a single kiss.

Aiden stood straight and gathered a small collection of the golden light and balled it into a bite size snack. He tossed it back and swallowed. A warmth spread from his chest like a summer breeze down his limbs to the tips of his fingers and toes. He gauged the remains of the golden haze and, determining that there was more than enough there, he made one more morsel and ate.

The incubus sighed in relief and closed his eyes, enjoying the pieces of Jon’s soul.

Aiden returned to the apex of Jon’s legs. Once again he wrapped his mouth around his still stiff dick and continued where he had left off. As his head slid up and down time resumed and what light was left was sucked back into Jon’s body as if it had never been removed, returning the room to a darker dim than it had been before.

“Whoa, whoa,” Jon said with a laugh, pushing Aiden away from him.

Like every man the incubus had met, he was sensitive after climax. Aiden smiled a playful, wicked smile and sat back, as he surveyed the beautiful man that laid before him; his head against the arm rest, his arms limp at his side. It was bitter sweet because he knew the end was at hand. Aiden smiled and started to gather his clothes.

Jon sat upright and grabbed Aiden’s hand.

“What’re you doing?”

Aiden furrowed his brow. “I’m leaving?”

Jon smiles and shakes his head.

“That’s not how this works,” he says, as he rises and spins Aiden around and nudges him onto the couch.

Wordcount: 2,390/50,000