Drained

By Embe Charpentier

After a month of succubus attacks on my husband Paul, we call Sexpest Control.

“I’m real tired,” Paul explains to Michael, supernatural sexterminator. “She’s insatiable.”

“Diversion therapists charge a thousand bucks a night,” he says.

I hear the succubus’ wicked snicker.

I volcanically erupt. “Just get that bitch outta my house!”

“Michael, we’re going to Motel 6,” Paul says.

Two nights later, I return. Michael has painted our red bedroom white and stripped it of all things feminine. In the corner, he luxuriates on our bed.

“I almost got her!” Michael grins, then shifts atop the blankets. “She’ll be gone soon!”