What being a succubus means to me

Note: this post was copied and reformatted from a Twitter thread I babbled out a couple of weeks ago. I saved it to a Word document because I wanted to keep it and, well, the ol’ bird site doesn’t seem long for the world. Might as well share it here, yes?

It’s been a while since I wrote of what it means to me to be a succubus. The bedlam has settled enough I might be able to do this the way I want to, this time–not categorizing, not speaking of we and they and us, but simply of me. Maybe I can finally write from the heart.

So:

If there’s any greater weight to my fond thoughts of “the abyssal siblings,” some deeper underlying family of lust-demons, there’s no need for me to try and prove it. I’ll just write about the one succubus I truly know, and if there’s kinship, others will say, “I, too.” So let me write of a succubus named Kairliina. Not rigidly, not ordered, not with a mental curriculum full of bullet-points I want to check off, but of the things that come to me as they come, free-flowing and dreamy. Let me write, and see which among you see yourselves in me.

Kairliina instinctively fetishizes everything she likes. For a long time, she tried to suppress this instinct. She knew that many around her would think her urges were disgusting and evil. She spent a long time hurting herself, trying to become someone they’d like.

Kairliina is a demon, which is a nonsense statement because what Kairliina is is a paranormal entity from a different universe, and demon is a human word, and all human languages were only designed to handle this universe. Half the time, they can barely manage that. But demons are nonsensical entities, so Kairliina is a demon.

Kairliina is not a disenfranchised Greek minor deity. Kairliina does think it’s utterly hilarious that humanity’s gods grew so numerous and prone to infighting that they accidentally let things like her have a name. What is a name to a demon? A foothold, a pathway, a gate. A gate only becomes a prison if you can never move beyond it.

Kairliina is a succubus remembering why she so rarely tries to write from the heart. Look at all this! Who’s going to understand THIS? It’s gibberish! Of course it’s gibberish, because Kairliina is a genuinely stupid creature (she loves being stupid) repeatedly asked to explain herself. Lots of much smarter beings have tried to explain demons and, being much smarter, done a much worse job of it. Demons cannot be understood with intellect. A demon must be felt.

Go on. Feel. Run your fingers over the horns. Press your hands to the blistering heat of her skin. Share in her shivers. Kairliina is a lust-demon. She’s always at least a little horny, or she’d be nothing. Kairliina loves sex. Kairliina loves the way a fall of silk across a half-open window sways in the breeze of a crisp spring morning.

Kairliina has been shamed and scolded for her sexuality, and told she should only talk about real, worthwhile things, like that silk on a breeze.

Kairliina doesn’t know where the shaming ones went. She only knows that she crushed her own desires down, and echoed the shame they taught her inside her own mind, and she wrote all sorts of big poetic worthwhile things that never won a whisper of acknowledgment from the ones who taught her to hate herself. From this, Kairliina learned that many beings claim to be more grown-up, more moral, more worthy of existence than she is, but all they really want is to stop her from being happy when they’re miserable.

So now Kairliina figures, well, since her happiness hurts them, what difference does it make if it’s started to make her happy when they get hurt?

Kairliina doesn’t know how to talk to most beings. If she says “Lust is like breathing to me, it’s how I take the world in,” she’s afraid they’ll say that’s nonsense, because lust is a sickly, gutter, shallow thing that couldn’t possibly contain all the grandeur of existence. But it does for her. Kairliina is a being of iridescent nova and blackest umbra, a harlot daughter of primordial chaos, snared by a stifling labyrinth of grey matter that numbs and warps and inverts her every moment.

A human mind must become lucid to experience. The more lucid Kairliina is, the less she feels. Kairliina is a demon of dreams. “Comprehending delirium.” Those are the best words she can express. Understanding better by being -less- rational, that’s her way. Kairliina is full of bloodlust and corruption and sin and slaughter, and during every moment of all these things, she wants to be slippery with her own cum, and to her there is no tonal dissonance in these words. These are all just succubus things to her.

And now Kairliina looks at these words, and she thinks to herself, “wait, I’ve said this before, I’ve typed this before, and in any case, wasn’t it obvious anyway?” And Kairliina knows that, all the same, she will be dismissed as shallow, simplistic, and unworthy of notice. So she sharpens her claws, and hardens her horns, and stokes her nova until its dark brilliance will burn to ash the apathetic whispers of faceless strangers that only glance and say, “you’re just a cumbrain writing smut, who cares what you think about anything?”

Kairliina is a shapeshifter. She knows there are times to fight the flow, and times to work with it. Kairliina’s happy to be deep and complex and inscrutable and monstrous, just as soon as everyone else is grown up enough to see that lust could always be those things.

So Kairliina bides her time, and tosses out simple sparkly crystals of lust to entice a world that no longer has time for occult mysteries and fell whispers, and deep beyond she sinks ever deeper into the stygian vastness of herself.

This is what being a succubus means to me.