The change was close by now. My skin was tightening along my arms, stiffening across my shoulders and tickling my scalp, threatening to push my hair out in clumps. If I didn’t have sex with a guy in the next hour, I’d begin the transformation into a TauCetean, complete with leathery skin and hard ridges along my limbs.
I glanced around the crowded bar. Mostly guys, I was spoiled for choice, immersed in a ‘target-rich environment,’ to quote from one of my favorite classic movies. My butt began to itch, emphasizing my lack of time. If I didn’t want to grow a tail, I’d better hurry the hell up. Strands of blonde hair were already landing on my shoulders, evidence of my alien heritage trying to re-establish itself.
Okay, Aurora, prioritize quickly. I rejected any guy who had a girl with him. It would take too long to persuade them away. Pity, because there were some real lookers tonight. Scratch any guy over sixty. Eww… I might be desperate, but I wasn’t that desperate.
Okay, that leaves me with twelve. Three were regulars and they’d be suspicious if I persuaded one of them away for twenty minutes. Not a chance. Four were sitting together and were drunk as skunks on whiskey shots. Has anyone seen a drunk skunk? Maybe. I might check YouTube later and see if…
Concentrate, you idiot! Okay, of the remaining five, one was impotent. His friends had implied that much. Two were gay, but still very much inside the closet. That left me with only Max, who I’d used before, and Sven, a blond, blue-eyed hunk with Norwegian parents. If we’d lived in L.A., he might have auditioned for the part of Thor. But this was Massachusetts and he was stuck working with fish. I kept my eye on both guys as I served up another round of beers, dodging around Fraser and Roxy behind the narrow bar.
Two minutes later, Max rose from his seat and headed for the bathroom. Perfect. I’d just handed over the change and was free to move. I called to Roxy over the hubbub.
“What’s up, Rory?” she yelled back.
“I need to take five. Can you keep an eye on?”
“Sure!” She grinned. “As long as I get to take ten later!” Roxy loved her weed and would need ten minutes to finish off one of her home-rolled joints. I had no problem with that, as long as she was ready to work when she returned. I gave her a thumbs-up and hurried off, hoping to intercept Max as he left the bathroom. I was already counting out the moments from when he’d disappeared inside. Ten seconds to reach the pot, twenty seconds to do his business, ten seconds to adjust himself and head for the sink. I stepped out from behind the bar, squeezed through the jostling crowd and headed along the wall. By now, Max would be washing his hands—at least, I hoped he was the hygienic sort—and would be thinking about which hand dryer to use. I was ten steps from the washroom door, twenty from the rear exit of the bar. I slowed my pace. The dryer would take twenty seconds, perhaps, depending on how eager Max was to return to his friends. I closed in on the bathroom. No-one was paying any attention to me.
Good. Don’t notice me, don’t notice me…
I reached the door as it began to open. Max came into view. He stepped past the door. I caught his arm and steered him toward the exit. Bemused, he tried to focus on me, decided I was no threat and allowed me to urge him through the exit and out into the yard behind the bar.
“Rory,” he managed finally, “what are you—”
I breathed in his face and he stopped talking. A quiet sigh escaped his lungs and he relaxed against the brickwork. I glanced along the alley to be sure we were alone, something which was a very low risk, but why take any chances? I had perhaps fifteen minutes before the effects of my ‘passion breath’ lost potency, plenty of time to get the dirty deed done. Max would function as a normal guy, although he would remember nothing of our encounter.
“Hello again, Max.” I slid my arms around my victim’s neck. “You did well last week.”
“…thank you, Miss…” he said in a quiet voice.
“So if you’re a good boy, we can both have a little fun and then I’ll get you back to your friends.”
“…yes, Miss…” That was the downside of passion breath. It pretty much switched off the personality. Better than my early attempts which had completely knocked out my targets. Having sex with an unconscious guy was problematic. I’d been experimenting with the breath, trying to fine-tune it a little. The fact that Max was still talking was a testament to those efforts. So, with our brief conversation concluded, I pressed my lips to his. He responded immediately, opening his mouth. Our tongues met, dancing around as they met for the second time in a month. Max’s hands rose to find my waist, then slipped around it. I smiled in the knowledge that my fine-tuning had left his masculine responses intact. I’d managed to have sex with unanimated guys before, but it had been a dull, clinical experience. If I could at least get some enjoyment from my condition, that had to be worth pursuing.