Maneater by Devin James Leonard

If you found this letter, it means you went home with Kenzie. She’s a monster. You need to leave as fast as you can. Take this paper and run. Do not keep reading until you’re clear of her apartment. Stop reading. Explanations later. Get out! Go! Now!

If you’ve come this far, you’ve made it out. At least I hope you have. For all I know, you’re still in her bed, perusing this note and ignoring my warning. In that case, it’s too late for you. But if not, allow me to surmise.

She told you to grab a condom from the shoebox under the bed. That’s where you found the letter, right? I should know. I wrote the damn thing and hid it there. I’ve been in your exact position, and I pray you are somewhere safe. Let me explain.

I used to type fast, but now I’m clacking away like a geezer on a typewriter, hitting each key individually, using only my index fingers. It’s a slow process, so I’ll be brief.

You went to The Silk Snarl with the idea that it’d be a decent spot to meet some women (I know I did), but little did you know you’d find only men in attendance. Like me, you might have noticed how all the patrons drank their beer through a straw. And if you noticed that, then you saw the men consuming their drinks without touching their cups.

My first time there, an elderly gentleman was sitting beside me and, yes, he was using a straw. But that wasn’t the strange part—after all, his cocktail was a mixed drink, the kind one normally would suck through a straw—only he drank it without picking up the glass. He kept his hands in his pockets, ducked his face to the counter, and slurped like a drunk who lacked the energy to lift his arms. I even watched this other guy order a shot of bourbon, and instead of picking it up and tossing it down the hatch, like a normal bloke would, he left it on the bar and lapped it up like a dog slopping water from a bowl. 

Here are some things you already know: the part where Kenzie arrives onstage to sing, how entranced you become by the red dress, the sway of her hips, her sensuous voice. I get it, man. Kenzie is the most beautiful creature you have ever encountered in all your life. When she walks through the crowd of gaping eyes, you’re captivated by her, like a snake hypnotized by a charmer. When she moves toward you, and you’re close enough to smell her perfume, her pheromones, you become absorbed.

Next thing you know, the bar is empty. It’s like you fell asleep and now you have woken from a dream. It seems as if no time has passed, yet the place has cleared out, and only you are there. That means she chose you. You don’t even know how it happens, but now you’re on the street, holding hands with a bombshell, an absolute knockout, and you can’t believe your luck. You might feel a little buzzed, drunk, or high, but you’re not. It’s a chemical reaction in your brain, a love potion. You are smitten, seduced, head over heels.

And now she’s lured you into her apartment, and there is no place else you’d rather be. She tells you to lie down, grab a condom from under the bed, while she slips out of her gown behind the dressing screen.

If you’ve taken my warning to heart and are reading this anywhere but at Kenzie’s, now I’ll tell you what you don’t know.

You missed out on the best sex of your life. Sorry to say it. But don’t fret. It’s not worth the price of admission. Like I said, Kenzie is a monster. I don’t mean it figuratively. She eats men, one piece at a time. Like that song says, she will chew you up. Literally. She is not of this earthly plane. She feeds off our desires. Nourishes. Thrives. Survives. On our flesh.

The first night I spent with her, she bit my pinky finger clean off. Swallowed it whole. After my wound healed, I raced right back to The Silk Snarl, wanting more of her. As mental as it sounds, I prayed she’d choose me again. And when she did, we made love, and I gave her another piece of me in return. Her potion worked on me like an incurable disease, an addiction I couldn’t beat. And it’s still in me.

Do you wonder now why everybody at the bar drank with straws, kept their hands in their pockets, and why I said I must transcribe this warning like an old-timer? I have only my index fingers left, but I know I’ll go back to give her these last two digits. I’ll give her my arms and legs if that’s what she desires.

It’s too late for me, but maybe not for you.

I hope you’ve escaped. Whoever you are.

***

The letter was still in the shoebox two months after he wrote it; not one man had read it and taken his advice to heart. Not surprising, considering he knew how strong of an influence Kenzie had on you once you got a whiff of her. Her claws were set in the others, same as him, long before they chanced upon his warning.

He brushed the letter aside and plucked a condom out of the box, pinching it between his palm and index finger. Then he lay back, waiting for Kenzie to step out from behind the dressing screen and help him put it on.

After tonight, he would return to The Silk Snarl, over and over again. Like all the men with fingerless stumps in their pockets, he would always go back, desperately wishing to be chosen.

He would give her every piece of him he had to offer.

Whatever she wanted.

Devin James Leonard

Image: A pile of condoms in shiny wrappers from Pixabay.com