Erotomaniac Read online

  Erotomaniac

  Jon Athan

  Copyright © 2017 Jon Athan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For more information on this book or the author, please visit www.jon-athan.com. General inquiries are welcome.

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  Twitter: @Jonny_Athan

  Email: [email protected]

  Book cover by Paramita: http://www.creativeparamita.com/

  Thank you for the support!

  First Edition

  WARNING

  This book contains scenes of intense violence and some disturbing themes. Some parts of this book may be considered violent, cruel, disturbing, or unusual. Certain implications may also trigger strong emotional responses. This book is also not intended for those easily offended or appalled. Please enjoy at your own discretion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  Pillow Talk

  The floorboards creaked, the sheets rustled, and the headboard thumped on the wall. A man grunted and groaned, a woman moaned and giggled. The sound of love echoed through the small home – a loud but tender symphony of sex.

  Ethan Miller lay atop his date in the missionary position, his body wavering like a snake as he thrust into her. Beads of sweat glistened across his muscular figure and dripped from his scruffy hair. His heart pounded in his chest, accelerating with each thrust. He could feel a warm sensation in his body – was it love?

  Veins bulging on his neck and brow, Ethan said, “I'm... cumming.” He loudly exhaled and grunted as he ejaculated in his date. As he caught his breath, he whispered, “Shit, I thought I would have lasted longer by now...”

  He dismounted and fell to his side. He rested on his back and wiped the sweat from his lean body. He vacantly stared at the ceiling as he thought about the sex: did I pleasure her? Was I premature? Those questions – those damn questions – always tormented him after sex. He glanced over at his date and nervously smiled.

  Karen Wright, his girlfriend, stared back at him. The woman was a bit older than Ethan – she was pushing thirty. Her long black hair was sprawled across her pillow. She didn't cover herself up, so her perky breasts and freshly-shaved crotch were displayed for the world to see. She didn't mind, either. She felt comfortable around her boyfriend.

  Karen said, “You were good, Ethan.” Those words made Ethan grin from ear-to-ear. The woman continued, “I mean, if it makes you feel better, you lasted longer than most men I've been with. Not bad for a 25-year-old.”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “What?”

  “Twenty-four. I'm 24 years old.”

  Karen nodded and said, “Yeah, you're right. It's not a big difference, though. You were better than, you know, people in their twenties. That range or whatever...”

  Ethan turned his attention to the ceiling. The shit-eating grin slowly vanished from his face. The warmth he felt in his body during sex was gone, replaced with a chilly sensation. Relationships were built on trust, loyalty, and respect – and that caused problems for Ethan.

  Karen was not pleasured during sex. She was lying to him, he could not trust her. The woman candidly spoke about her past sexual relationships, which made Ethan feel like she was not pure – like she was not loyal.

  And, worst of all, she forgot his birthday. What kind of person forgets their lover's birthday? A respectful person would never do such a thing.

  Karen tapped Ethan's shoulder and asked, “Are you okay, hun?”

  “I'm... I'm fine. I'm just thinking.”

  Indeed, Ethan was thinking – he wouldn't lie to his lover. The man was trapped in a torrent of disappointing thoughts. He didn't feel any magic while having sex with Karen. He didn't feel any love or passion after their sex. Sex without love was nothing to him.

  As Ethan brooded, Karen said, “I don't want you to feel bad, Ethan. I'm serious: it was good. You know, maybe we can try some foreplay next time. That way, you know, you wouldn't feel insecure or anything like that after. It's not like it's hard or anything. You just...”

  Ethan looked away and grimaced, frustrated. He couldn't bare to listen to Karen's sexual advice. He stared down at himself, disappointed. He stared past his bulging chest and well-defined abs. In terms of muscle, he overcompensated for his other shortcomings. He wasn't worried about his physique, though.

  He focused on his crotch.

  His penis was ten centimeters erect – about four inches. At best, he could pass for eleven centimeters with a good camera angle. To his dismay, his penis appeared to be shrinking before his very eyes. It shrank to the size of a shriveled grape. He could barely see it through his pubic hair.

  Teary-eyed, Ethan looked away and tried to stop himself from crying. He could feel vibrations in his ears – annoying thrumming, as if a fly were purposely pestering him by flying around his ears. I was wrong, he thought, she's not the one for me.

  As she glanced around the room, Karen said, “I think this is the first time I've ever looked around your room. Usually, you come to my place or we... we do a quickie, then I leave. It's... It's cool in here. You have a lot of movie posters on your walls.” She sat up and examined the desk across the room. She said, “You have a lot of movies and books, too. Are they all about horror stuff?”

  Trying to keep his composure, Ethan glanced around his room. Framed movie posters hung on the walls to his left and right – Aliens, The Thing, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and the gist. A stack of Blu-ray movies sat on his desk next to his computer. Horror novels sat on a shelf above the desk, too. He loved horror.

  In a cracking voice, Ethan said, “Yeah. They... They're horror movies and novels. They're my... my favorites. I have more in the closet.”

  “Cool. I like horror movies, too. I haven't watched any of these, though. I usually watch, like, ghost movies and stuff. Maybe we can watch one later?”

  “Sure, sure...”

  Karen squirmed closer to her boyfriend, then she placed her head on his firm chest. She said, “I know we've been dating for a while, but I still don't know what you do. You said you worked independently, right? Well, what do you do, Mr. Miller?”

  “What do I do? I'm... I'm a writer.”

  “A writer? Like a journalist? Or an author?”

  “An author. I write horror books. I usually self-publish them because they're a little... strange, but, every once in a while, someone wants to publish my work. It's a good job for someone like me.”

  Someone like me – Karen didn't fully understand his statement. She figured he meant he was an introvert and writing allowed him to work alone. She ran her fingertips across his abs as she nuzzled his chest.

  She said, “I wish I could have a job like that. Nine-to-five jobs are... terrible. If you help me, maybe I can write something, too. I hear everyone likes erotica...”

  Ethan wasn't concerned with Karen's request – it was intrusive but innocent. She really wasn't trying to use him to
propel her own career. Ethan just didn't love her, so he couldn't find a reason to help her. He was hoping he'd be able to think rationally by the end of the night – to love her as he did the day prior – but he didn't care about her anymore. The magic was gone.

  “A succubus,” Ethan whispered.

  “What?” Karen asked, baffled. “What did you say? Suc... Suck-u...”

  Ethan stared at Karen with a steady glare as she struggled to identify the word. He held his right hand to his face and sobbed – snorting, sniffling, and moaning. I've missed my chance for true love again, he thought, she's one of them, she's a succubus. He couldn't control himself.

  Smiling, Karen sat up in bed and asked, “What's wrong, hun?” She kissed his cheek and caressed his hair. In a soft tone, like a mother teasing her baby, she asked, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you when we were fucking? Hmm?”

  Ethan grunted and shook his head. He vigorously rubbed his eyes, then he wiped the tears from his rosy cheeks. He glanced over at his girlfriend and nervously smiled – the corner of his mouth involuntarily twitching. He leaned closer to the edge of the mattress.

  As he gazed into Karen's gentle eyes, Ethan said, “Let me... Let me tell you something, sweetie. There are two types of men who cry after sex. Okay, maybe there are a few more, but these two are the most common.”

  Karen furrowed her brow and asked, “What are they?”

  “There's the... the sensitive-type. A person with a lot of, um, emotion in him. Too much for his own good, some would say. Then... there are those who are about to kill.”

  Karen clenched her jaw and cocked her head back. She was caught off guard by the second type. Yet, Ethan continued to smile and snivel. So, she laughed in order to keep a semblance of control – everything is okay, it's just a joke.

  As he reached under the mattress with his right hand, Ethan said, “I'm both.”

  He pulled a hatchet out from under the mattress. Karen trembled upon spotting the deadly tool. Before she could utter a word, Ethan flipped her onto her stomach. He grabbed the nape of her neck and pinned her to the bed face-first. He straddled the small of her back, using his body to stop her from squirming away.

  Karen screamed, “Stop! Oh, God! Stop! What... What are you doing?! Please, Ethan!”

  Ethan released the nape of her neck, then he grabbed the back of her head. He pushed down on her head, shoving her face into the fluffy pillow. Her cries were muffled by the pillow.

  Without releasing her head, Ethan held the hatchet over his head, then he struck down at her neck. The sound of a dull, wet thud emerged with the strike. The mushy sound continued as he pulled the hatchet out of her neck. Blood gushed from the laceration on her throat, spilling onto the white pillow and bed sheets.

  Ethan felt as if he were riding a mechanical bull as the woman squirmed and flailed her limbs every which way. She violently convulsed, shocked by the brutal attack. She couldn't throw the man off his balance, though.

  In a hoarse tone, as if she were choking, Karen stuttered, “Pl–Please, don't... I don't... I don't want to die. Help...”

  The author held the hatchet over his head, then he struck down at her neck again. He didn't waste any time, either. He pulled the hatchet out, then he struck her again – and again. Blood splattered on his arms, chest, and face as he repeatedly chopped at her neck. The tissue and bone were difficult to cut through, but he was determined.

  Karen stopped responding to the attack after the fifth strike, her face buried in a bloody pillow. She only trembled due to the power behind the strikes. The rest of her movements were involuntary. One, two, three... ten – it took ten powerful chops to get to the center of her neck. It only took him fifteen more chops to fully decapitate her.

  Exhausted, Ethan tossed the hatchet on the floor. He leaned to his left, then he pushed Karen's body off of the bed. The floorboards rattled as her limp body fell to the ground. The killer fell to his side of the bed with his girlfriend's decapitated head cradled in his arms. He wiped the strands of hair away from her face, then he stared at her. He wasn't bothered by her hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, or gaping mouth.

  He leaned closer to her head, then he kissed her – a passionate kiss. He licked her lips, he shoved his tongue into her mouth, then he bit her bottom lip. No, her violent death did not bother him. As a matter of fact, it aroused him. He stared down at his crotch and smiled. He was erect – and he looked slightly larger than ten centimeters.

  So, he placed Karen's decapitated head over his crotch. He jammed his penis into her moist mouth – moist with saliva and blood – then he began to thrust. She didn't suck on him, but he could feel the tip of his penis barely scraping her uvula. That sensation made him feel big – it made him feel like a man. He held his breath and his limbs tightened as he ejaculated into the decapitated head.

  Ethan sighed in relief, then he lifted her head back to the top of the bed. He wiped the blood, saliva, and semen from her lips.

  Teary-eyed, he said, “Thank you for that. I'm... I'm sorry it didn't work out between us. I can't... I just can't be in a relationship with a creature like you – a monster like you. Succubi and men, we don't mix well together.” He chuckled as tears streamed down his cheeks. He said, “Maybe in another life, maybe if I'm reincarnated as an incubus. Yeah, maybe... Let's just go to sleep now.”

  He held her head to his chest and placed his chin on her hair. He smiled and closed his eyes. His lips quivered, he wanted to cry, but he focused on sleeping. He counted sheep until he finally dozed off.

  Chapter Two

  It Didn't Work Out

  “Saying goodbye is always the hardest,” Ethan whispered as he walked up the stairs, dejected. He wiped the blood off of his hands and forearms using a white towel. He muttered, “Cleaning the mess is harder than making it, too.”

  The young man stopped at the top of the stairs. He found himself standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder and gazed down the stairs leading into the basement. It was melancholic down there – depressing and dark.

  He stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He turned towards the mirror hanging on the wall beside the door. He checked his hands – clean as a whistle – then he adjusted his clothing.

  He wore a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He carefully buttoned and adjusted his shirt. He also wore jeans and boots – nothing out of the ordinary. He had a few curls in his messy hair, but it never bothered him before. His stubble was fine, too. Women seemed to like it. He wasn't worried about his appearance.

  Still, his reflection was pitiful – a broken man roaming a broken world.

  With a disappointed expression, a frown and a set of glum eyes, Ethan said, “Look at yourself, Ethan. They like you out there, but they don't love you. The succubi... They want to destroy you. They want to drag you along, acting like they love you, but they don't care. You have to be more careful about who you choose to love 'cause they won't love you back. You hear me?”

  As he continued to fasten his buttons, Ethan's reflection stopped moving. His reflection grinned from ear-to-ear as he leaned closer – while Ethan remained glum. The young author was well-aware of his reflection's ability to move without him. He thought of his reflection as a doppelganger – and it seemed normal to him.

  The doppelganger sighed, then he said, “You failed again, pal. You had yourself something special, but you let her slip through your grasp. It's pathetic, isn't it? It's like you want to be alone for the rest of your life.”

  Ethan erratically blinked and stared down at himself, trying to stop himself from crying. He was alone in his home, trapped with his cynical thoughts, but he still did not want to be seen crying. He didn't want to appear weak – even to himself.

  He cracked a fake smile and said, “I don't care. I... I wanted it this way anyway. I wanted to... to... to live a bachelor lifestyle for a little longer, you know? I mean, at least I got laid last night, right?”

  “Got laid?
” his reflection repeated. The doppelganger chuckled and shook his head, then he said, “You're not in college anymore, Ethan. It's not about getting 'laid' or slaying as much pussy as possible. It's about finding love. You're a grown man who has never experienced real love. You realize that, don't you?”

  “I'm only 24.”

  “So? Mom and dad were in love since they were in high school. They're still together today, too. You're late. You understand me? Where is your love, pal? Where is your princess?”

  Ethan stopped fiddling with his buttons, flustered. He dropped his arms to his side and glared at his reflection. His first thought: let him have it and smash the mirror. He knew his doppelganger would simply find another reflective surface to contact him, though. He didn't want to cut his hand or elbow, either.

  Ethan said, “My love, my true love, is out there. Okay? She's waiting for me to find her. So... I just have to find her.”

  “I'm not trying to hurt you. That would be stupid. I mean, I'd just be hurting myself if I did that, right? You have to understand something, though: you're running out of time. Soon, all of the good girls will be gone and you'll be left with nothing but succubi. You'll only have 'used-up' women if you don't find the one soon.”

  Ethan absently stared down at his boots, stunned by the blunt truth. He tried to keep his composure, but he couldn't keep his facade afloat. He wasn't lying during the previous night: he was sensitive and he was murderous. He held his hand to his face and grimaced. Tears gushed from his eyes and mucus poured from his nostrils as he sniveled.

  He slammed his fist on the wall. The mirror bounced and swayed with the strike. He grunted as he struck the wall again, infuriated.

  Saliva spurting from his mouth, Ethan hit the wall and barked, “I will find her! No matter where she's hiding or who she's with, I will find her! Do you hear me? I don't care if it takes me forever. Even if I'm fifty and she's fifteen, if she's meant to be mine, she will be mine. I will find my true love. I... I can't die alone! I can't–”