No one ever expects to die. It is just not a common thought to enter the mind of a person that is 100 percent healthy. The thought or possibility of a premature demise is the farthest thing from the mind of a twenty-nine year old woman. There are more important, more realistic issues to focus on. Promotions at work, purchasing the car of your dreams, stock investments, or preparations for a business dinner on Friday evening that could very well pave the way to achieving all of these. You give more thought to the mounting credit card debts, and the constant reminders that rest in unopened envelopes in the coffee table.
I did not plan to die. I am not my own victim to the selfish and cowardly act of suicide. I did not expect to be standing here in my bedroom at my bedside viewing my lifeless body resting in my bed. However, here I am. I was a young, vibrant, and once full of life twenty-nine year old woman. It only took a few brief moments of contemplation for me to realize that I am dead. I will never marry, have children, or buy that big house on the end of Chestnut Avenue. The only comfort I can find at this present time in my after life is the knowledge that my credit card debts are no longer an issue. However, to be perfectly honest, I would much rather be alive to stress over them.
I can recall all to well the moment three months prior that had been the marker for the starting point of my downward spiral. I purchased a studio apartment complex in Cartersville. It was old, and at first glance, nearly dilapidated. Thankfully, I knew better than to judge a book by its cover. The property had been abandoned for years, and the neglect that the building had suffered was obvious even to the vision impaired. But I saw its potential to provide a substantial income. Hell, I even cashed out my savings bonds, sold my stock shares, and even charged all of my credit cards to the maximum limit. It took every asset I possessed to purchase and repair the place, but life is a gamble, and I play the stakes high.
I hired the best contractor in Bartow County to take on the project. Chad Griffin was his name. He was one hell of a businessman, and known for utilizing services that most independent contractors didn’t. One of these services was the night crew. It was an ingenious idea, and it made possible the swift completion of my new business venture. When quitting time came around for the day shift, the night crew was right behind them to pick up production. Of course the privilege of the night crew cost me more than money. It also cost me my dignity and integrity.
Chad Griffin took pride in his handsome appearance, as well as his ability to persuade women to give in to his devilish charms. At least he had good reason to be conceded. Women in the south are turned on by a man working on top of a roof, shirtless, and a tan that made their profession obvious. It was a look commonly referred to as sex on a stick, and Chad Griffin possessed all of those qualities. His sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes bedroom eyes only made his sex appeal all the more alluring. Yes, Chad Griffin was gorgeous, and he knew it. He was also enough of a scum bag that he had no issues using his good looks to his advantage. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Now, as I stand here looking back on the issue, I wish I had refused. Accepting his offer for sex as payment is what caused this. I’m sure of it.
Not many businessmen in this county would risk their reputation, or business license for receiving sex as payment for professional services, but Chad didn’t care. Over the course of two months, I met Chad Griffin in the same motel room at least twice a week, room 117. That was the room, 117. There were not actually 120 rooms at the motel, and the infamous room 117 was really room 17; the fourth door from the right to be exact. The room was nice enough, but didn’t hold any grounds for bragging rights. It was painted the typical, and very neutral creamy beige. The carpets were a cheap synthetic material and dark brown in color, and stained. There was a semi comfortable queen sized bed, two nightstands with a pencil and post-it notes masquerading as stationary, and one three-drawer dresser.
Now, I can’t say that Chad didn’t have a reason to be so damned cocky about his sexual talents, because he did. As much as I hate to admit it, I eventually came to look forward to those weekly visits. He perfected the ability to relieve my stress with his performance. He could touch any location on my body in ways that would make me shiver like an Eskimo in Alaska. By the fourth or fifth encounter, I began to question whether or not Chad was becoming my narcotic, and causing me to develop an addiction.
At the beginning of the third month, I was due for my inspection, which was vital to the grand opening of my complex. I could not start signing leases until the paper work was signed. My hopes were high, and part of me took for granted the fact that everything had to be perfect since I was the boss’ mistress. After all of the money that I had invested into my business venture, as well as the multiple orgasms he had received, everything should have been perfect. Much to my disappointment, it wasn’t perfect. The building inspector informed me that the construction crew had put up an entire wall without running the electrical wires. I quickly scolded myself for the level of surprise I felt in that moment. It was obvious by watching the members of the night crew work, they used crank as their fuel. Those stupid incompetent ass holes. Of course I was furious at the report.
I took a few moments to regain my self-control before calling Chad. I certainly didn’t want to call bitching at him, and have him screw things up worse. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a vindictive contractor. When I finally managed to successfully contain my frustration, I took my cell phone out of my pocket and called Chad. I remember the conversation as if it happened yesterday. I pressed the number three on my keypad, which was Chad’s designated speed dial number, and then pressed send. For a brief moment, I could feel the frustration and anger return with a vengeance. “Griffin Construction, this is Chad. How can I help you?” I took a long deep breath to try to avoid an episode with my verbal diarrhea syndrome. “Hey Chad, it’s Amy.” I stated as calmly as I possibly could. “Hello sweet thing. How did the inspection go?” he asked. “Not so good. Apparently, one of your employees finished the east wall in apartment four without running the electricity. I have to get this fixed Chad. I have tenants ready to move into all twenty units starting Monday.” I could feel the anxiety selling up inside of me. (It’s funny how anger can become anxiety so quickly.) “I understand. I’ll come by today and fix it myself. I don’t care how long it takes.” he replied. All I could say before ending the call was “Thank you.”
I was surprised with how quickly Chad took care of the problem. He did just as he said he would. He stopped by the local J.T.’s Hardware and Supply store, and picked up all of the materials he would need to replace the wall. He would have to tear it out in order to run the electrical wires to the outlets on the east wall. It only took him two hours to arrive at the apartment complex. He then went to work unloading the truck, and moving the materials inside of apartment four.
Even though I was grateful for how speedily he got to work on repairing my electrical issue. Although, I think he was more concerned with saving his ass than doing the right thing. It would surely ruin his career and reputation for that matter if his little business arrangement became public. Mrs. Griffin wouldn’t be happy to learn that her husband was taking sexual pleasures as payment for services. By the time she was finished using the legal system to her advantage, he wouldn’t be happy either. Georgia is a state where a wealthy businessman that doesn’t know how to keep his pants on could lose everything. By the time Eliza Griffin was finished with him, he would have to start all over again from scratch.
I managed to persuade the County building inspector to return that Friday. I was pleased when he finally signed the paper work, and issued my permit for rental property operation. The situation couldn’t have worked out better. I had tenants scheduled to begin occupying the apartments as of Monday. With the unexpected repair work complete, I could begin settling in myself. I had renovated the first two units of the building into my own personal deluxe studio apartment. I felt that it would be best if I resided on site for a while. I could then rent it out later once I decided that my presence on site was no longer needed.
I also had the office to organize. The office supply store was scheduled to deliver my desk, filing cabinets, and other supplies on Saturday. I had to arrange the furniture plan, and organize all of my files by unit. I also had to begin a file for applications should one of my tenants decide that they didn’t want the apartment anymore, I could have another tenant lined up to occupy the residence. That was my goal; to keep the complex at maximum capacity at all times. Even though I had so much to do, it seemed as though there just wasn’t enough time in a day to get it all done.
Somehow, by the grace of God, I managed to complete all of my tasks by Sunday. My first appointment wasn’t until ten o’clock a.m. the following morning, so I had plenty of time to relax before entering into landlord mode. I changed into my cozy green flannel pajamas, and threw my hair up in a simple, yet lumpy ponytail. I crawled into bed, and curled up with my newest book purchase from Bonner Bookstore on Main Street. It was a copy of “The Well” by Dianah Worthington. Some where around the part where the residences of Dark Haven perish is when I fell asleep.
I awoke to the sound of my doorknob jiggling. I sat straight up in bed, and turned my attention to the front door of my apartment. I heard the sound again, but I didn’t remain in my frozen by fear state. Instead, I retrieved my 357 magnum from the top drawer of my nightstand. I switched the safety into the off position, and secured my hands to allow me full control of my weapon. My father was a police officer, and he taught me well. I sat there watching the door, and waiting for it to fly open. My heart was beating against my chest like a bass drum in a rock band.
The door to my apartment opened, but not with the amount of force that I had anticipated. I took my aim, but I hesitated on pulling the trigger. I recognized the silhouette that stood before me. “Chad, you dumb ass. I could have killed you!” I scolded, before resetting the safety on my handgun and placing it in the drawer. I didn’t have to ask what he was doing there; I was all too aware of the purpose of his visit at such a late hour. I knew Chad Griffin too well, so I knew that he was there to collect the final payment. Somewhere deep inside of me, I was glad to see him.
“Better be glad you didn’t. You would have missed out on a good time.” He said as he approached me. He removed his shirt as he walked, and dropped it on the floor, and then went for his belt. At that moment, a feeling of dread came over me, but the feeling of satisfaction knowing what was about to take place was greater. Somewhere along the way, I had grown to anticipate these encounters. “Couldn’t you have at least called?” I asked. I noticed then that he had already removed his shoes. “I wanted to surprise you.” He replied as he finally reached the edge of my bed.
He was now close enough that I could see that he had unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. He extended his hand, and took hold of mine. He placed my hand right on the bulge between his legs. “Can’t you feel how bad I need you?” he asked. My heart began to race again, but it was no longer fear that prompted the reaction. This time, the reaction was caused by anticipation. I didn’t utter a single word as he forced himself down on top of my willing body. The only sounds to be heard were the sounds of pleasurable moaning, and the rustling of new crisp sheets with every thrust he used to penetrate me.
I believe that it was that night, that particular encounter that sealed my fate. That was the night that I selfishly allowed my desire for sexual pleasure to over power my morality. It became a need instead of a want. The deeper I allowed the pleasures of Chad Griffin to take hold of me, the more I needed it. I became submissive to the feelings of pleasure, and gave my body to sex. I allowed the pleasure of climax, and the pleasure of sex in general to consume every ounce of my being. I no longer scolded myself for allowing my body to indulge in the talents of this married man. I no longer felt shame or guilt. That is the moment that I allowed my fate to enter into my domain.
Chad had told me that night that this was our last encounter. He told me that Eliza was growing suspicious of the time that Chad spent with me. She had good reason to be suspicious, but I damned her for it. However, I understood his position, and didn’t argue with him. I didn’t argue with him about his decision. I knew men. I knew how they thought. Men are easy to provoke sexually. They flock to nightclubs and bars regularly in search of their next conquest. Although I thoroughly enjoyed Chad, I didn’t have to be with him.
I continued that week by signing leases and watching all twenty units fill up. Needless to say, I was pleased with the swift progress my new business venture had made. I was proud of myself, and the pride that consumed me radiated on my face like a vibrant light. In one week, I had collected twenty thousand dollars. That was possible because each studio rented for five hundred dollars per month, and I set the price for the security deposit to be the same amount. However, I could only use ten thousand of that to begin paying my debts down. The other ten thousand had to go into the business account.
After a week of pure hell and frustration, I felt that I had earned the right to do absolutely nothing. I had managed to pull off a business venture in two months that should have taken six. I had checked in with all of my tenants, and so far, I had no complaints to deal with aside from the traffic jam in the parking lot that week. I decided to call and order a pizza. I planned to curl up on the couch and watch a movie while filling up in pepperoni and cheese.
When my dinner arrived, I did just as I had planned. I curled up on the couch, covered up with my black throw blanket, and turned on the TV. I spent a few moments channel surfing until I found a decent movie on HBO. I then snuggled into my couch, and placed the box of pizza beside me. It didn’t take but a few slices to satisfy my hunger. When I had eaten my fill, I placed the box on my coffee table and relaxed in the comfort of my dark deluxe studio apartment.
I must have fallen asleep. That is the only logical explanation that I could find at the time. I had to have fallen asleep. I could feel a presence in my apartment, and I could feel it watching me. However, I wasn’t afraid or “creeped out” by it. Even in my current state of sleep, I was aroused by it as if I had become engaged in foreplay with the entity. I opened my eyes, and there standing before me was the silhouette of a man. “Chad?” I whispered softly. That is when I realized that it was possible for a voice to crack while in a whisper. “No, I am Jeremiah.” the figure replied. I sat paralyzed for what seemed like hours. In all reality, it had only been a moment or two. During that brief time, I tried to determine if my paralysis was due to fear, or simply from intrigue.
That was the night that I met Jeremiah, my incubus. That is the night that I met the demonic entity that seduced me to a point that I willingly participated in sexual activity with him, it, what ever it was. I was seduced, mind, body, and soul by this person. I became possessed by lust, and gave in to the offerings of unbelievable sexual pleasure. I remember that while his head rested between my legs, my arms were pinned down by nothing more than his mental will to dominate me. I couldn’t move, or even attempt to resist. The strange thing is, I didn’t want to. I didn’t even concern myself with exactly how out of the ordinary the events of that night were.
When my incubus moved into a position where my body was completely covered by his, he asked the question that damned my soul forever. He whispered ever so erotically in my ear, ”Do you want me?” Without a second thought, or contemplation of consequence, I replied, “Yes.” That is when he rolled over, and placed my body on top of his. Now here I stand, and there I lay, the eternal victim of lust of the soul.