Incubi

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Though in debt to many, I’d like to thank the following for their support, inspiration, and efforts: Ginjer Buchanan, for buying the original Berkley paperback; Adele Leone, for selling it; Dave Barnett, for publishing this edition; Tim McGinnis, Dallas Mayr, Erik Wilson, Bob Strauss, Tim O’Rawe, Chara Mattingly, Mary Trott, and Craig Jenkins. For further support, coolness, and ineffability: Amy, Billy, Christy, Julie, R.J., Scott, and Stephanie. Thanks also to Tony & Kim at Camelot and Larry Roberts. For eleven-year-old existential absolution, thank you, Howard Devoto. I’m free.

Aorista, the man thought.

“Did you say something?” the girl asked.

Her breasts were erect chiffon orbs. She lay back on the bed, displaying the trimmed, dark plot of her sex. The man gazed openly, and again he thought: Aorista.

“I said you’re very beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful too.” Desire drenched her voice, or distilled it. “Don’t make me wait,” she murmured, and squirmed a little.

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