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| Image Courtesy: Satyr & Bacchante by William Pradier 1834, Louvre, Paris, France |
A Paranormal Flash Fiction
by
Nicola E. Sheridan
Kim bleached her moustache that morning - not
that she really had a moustache that
needed bleaching, of course. One callous comment several years ago had ensured
that the facial bleaching company would never go out of business whilst Kim
Quinn was still alive and desperately single.
Her top lip itched a bit, burned a little and
she knew without glancing at her reflection in the bus window that it was red
and fiery. She sighed and returned to her book. A sudden bang on the window alarmed her. She
jumped, startled at the sweaty hand print that appeared there. Twisting her
head around Kim saw a tall figure bolting behind the bus.
Something else sparked in her chest.
Anger.
“Hey!” she called to the bus driver as no one
else seemed to care, “someone’s trying to get on the bus!”
The bus driver grumbled and Kim was certain she
heard an expletive, but the bus hissed to a halt.
The doors opened,and with an odd “clip-clop” the
figure entered the bus. He was breathing heavily and his dark curling hair
covered his face.
“Thanks”, he breathed, but the bus-driver made
no comment and silently punched out a ticket for him.
The hum of conversation abruptly died on the bus
as the passengers assessed the new comer. As confident as a model or actor, the
newcomer assessed the passengers in return.
Kim felt her face redden as she fought to tear
her eyes from his strong goat-like legs, burnished with an auburn pelt.
“Yes, I’m a Satyr,” he acknowledged to one
elderly lady who promptly ceased whispering to her companion. “Take a photo –
it lasts longer.” His voice was melodious but was cracked by what Kim could
only assume was bitterness.
The bus erupted with the shuffling and
scrunching of rearranging bags.
Kim
turned and glanced down the back of the bus. Every seat was now occupied by
either a passenger or a bag. No one it seemed wanted to him to sit beside them.
Kim knew that discrimination against Magical
Beings was illegal, but she knew that Satyrs – with an insatiable lust for human
women, were occasionally responsible for some heinous crimes. Still, armed with
this knowledge – Kim did not rearrange her bag.
The Satyr walked up the aisle. The elongated
pupils of his amber eyes were narrowed and assessing. A small fountain of excitement
bubbled deep within Kim’s body when those cool alien eyes suddenly met hers.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, white blunt
teeth flashing in the fluorescent glow of the bus light.
Kim’s throat felt dry, and other parts of her
felt suddenly wet. “No,” she croaked and shuffled further towards the window,
to allow him space.
“Thanks,” he said, and swiftly sat down. He
smelled like fresh hay.
Kim eyed him covertly for a moment - noticing
the modesty cloth that fell over his lap, covering those parts of him civil
society required. A smile tugged at her
lips, she suddenly felt naughty.
Good girls do not talk to Satyrs.
“So... where are you going?” Kim asked, rubbing
her reddened moustache self consciously.
The Satyr looked startled, and his brows
furrowed before he answered. “Rockingham,” he replied.
Kim felt those caprine eyes run down her face
and dwell for a moment on the swell of her cleavage, before flickering up to
meet her gaze.
“Me too,” she whispered and looked away, her
heart suddenly hammering. He made her feel sexy, she realised.
No one made Kim Quinn feel sexy – ever.
They fell silent, and Kim shuffled in her seat.
The Satyr’s leg rested close to her own. She could feel the heat radiating from
it, her hands twisted in her lap.
“Love, you can come and sit here, if he’s
botherin’ you,” a desiccated voice called from the seat behind.
Through the corner of her eye, Kim saw the
Satyr’s pointed ear twitch. Kim turned around. “No, I’m fine, thank you,” she
replied gently to the elderly man.
“On your head, be it!” he warned, watery grey
eyes turning steely.
Kim twisted her head away from him, unable to
suppress a frown. How dare he? She
thought, suddenly irked.
“It wouldn’t be on your head, anyway – I’d
prefer it on your knees,” the Satyr’s warm voice whispered into her ear.
Kim felt goose-bumps prickle down her arms as
his breath blew down the length of her neck. She gasped. “That sounds
promising,” she said before she realised it.
The Satyr laughed richly, and the other
passengers on the bus fell silent once more.
“I’m Kim,” she finally said thickly, rubbing her
top lip again.
“Priapus,” the Satyr replied and captured her
hand in his and a frisson of electricity spasmed through her body at his touch.
Kim felt her eyes widen as the Satyr lifted her hand and kissed it. His lips
were warm and impossibly soft against her hand.
“Oh now, come here girl! What the devil do you
think you’re playing at?” the elderly man from behind growled. “These Satyrs!
They’re a disgrace and use our women like toys! You don’t know what you’re
getting yourself into!”
Priapus’ lips curved into a smile, “I think she does, old man,” he replied. His eyes
held Kim’s with all the promise in the world. Words caught in her throat, and
her hand curled tightly with the Satyr’s, she glanced at the old man. “It’s all right,” her voice was dreamy, she
wanted this.
She’d been alone too long.
The old man wasn’t to be placated. “Look here,
you’ve got that lass under some sort of spell!”
He began to rage, a small fleck of spittle flew from dry lips and
spattered on the seat’s handrung.
“I do not,” Priapus replied easily, releasing
Kim’s hand and resting it hotly on her thigh.
Kim’s body responded – wildly. Her chest heaved
and her loins liquefied.
“Bus Driver!” the elderly man bellowed, “Get
security!”
“No! That’s not necessary,” Kim called her voice
pleading, but the bus driver was already speaking into the radio.
“What a pity,” Priapus whispered into her ear.
His lips caught her lobe and kissed. “What fun we could have,” he teased.
“Help me get him off her!” the old man yelled to
the dull eyed youth who sat opposite.
Kim was not going to waste the moment. She
twisted her head and hungrily met the Satyr’s lips with her own.
Hot, sweet sexiness rushed through her. He
tasted good, he smelled good, she wanted him badly and he wanted her too.
Suddenly she felt arms pulling her away from the
warmth that was Priapus. Sharp fingers dug into her shoulders tugging and
yanking.
“Get off her!”
“Release the girl!”
“This is Security! Get off the bus, or we will
call the police!”
Such a cacophony, but Kim heard nothing, she was
deaf with lust and numb to anything but his kiss.
Then suddenly he was gone, yanked away by angry,
fat security men.
Stunned by the sudden violence in the air, Kim
looked around bewildered. “No!” she cried, “Priapus!”
There was nothing to be done.
Kim
watched with growing frustration as the tall regal figure was escorted from the
bus. He didn’t struggle, but walked with quiet dignity away from the flashing
lights of the security cars.
“Where are you going?” Kim called out the
window, but he did not hear – the bus pulled away. The steel-trap hands
released her.
“There, alls better now,” the elderly man said,
patting her shoulder, “Good riddance to bad rubbish!”
“You’re wrong,” she retorted, twisting around to
get a last glance at Priapus as he disappeared into the evening gloom.
The old man tutted, but remained clearly pleased
his civic duty was done.
As the bus sped into the encroaching night, Kim
felt secretly alive. She rubbed her reddened lips. The sweet taste of Satyr
still lingered, and her mind raced with secretive plans. A smile curved the
corners of her lips, she’d find him, or he’d find her. Kim gazed at the sweaty
hand print on the window and knew it.
©Nicola E. Sheridan 2011
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