Incubus

by Tim Pratt

Every forty or fifty years the incubus and the succubus got together to catch up. This time they met in a quiet little bar, and the incubus said, “Yeah, it’s been hard these past few years. I did porn for a while, but these days, with Viagra and everything, it doesn’t matter what kind of a woodsman you are, because anybody can pop a pill and perform superhuman feats of sexual prowess.”

The succubus nodded in sympathy, invisible serpents twining in her hair. “I hear you. There’s easy money in internet porn, but it’s no good for me, I miss the personal connection. But you can still do the gigolo thing, right?”