Short Story: The Form of Passion

The concoction was forced down my throat and I could feel it burn all the way down, like a cup of fresh coffee. Unlike a fresh cup of coffee, the burn didn't settle, but seemed to increase within me. From the tales I'd heard of the witch, I knew what came next. The groaning of bones, the twisting of muscles, and the sprouting of fangs. A troll was her preferred method of polymorphy. An abominable sin, morphing and torturing the soul until there was nothing left.

I could see in her eyes the gleeful anticipation. Her grin reached all the way to her ears, baring sharp yellow teeth.

A pop. A sizzle in my brain. And it had begun.

Thick black hair burst from every pore, covering me, as if in an oily mass. My hands grew large, bending in strong, but gnarled tree branched appendages. Having worked a desk job the last ten years, my arms had grown weak with the lack of labor, but now muscles coalesced up and down, rippling and bulging. I could feel strength unlike anything I had known before. My mouth sudden yanked it self to the side as fangs shot out of my gums, my jawline growing to match the newfound curvature forced upon my face. My brow set heavy and thick to rest upon my now slightly bulging eyes. The transformation was almost complete.

I should feel terror, but I didn't. Something in me felt alive like I'd never felt before. I suddenly looked up at the hag to see a look I couldn't decipher. Surprise, surely, but what else was there?

As I studied her face, I seemed to take in details I hadn't noticed before. The worts spread about her face, that I had previously found repulsive, now drew me like watching the constellations in the sky. Her green eyes were like emeralds, the cat like slit of her pupils fixed upon what I can only imagine as the yellow irises of my own eyes. I stared deep into those eyes, falling into the green muck of them, wanting, needing, to learn their secrets. If I just rolled around in their slime, what prizes would I find?

"Oh my," she exclaimed. I felt my now monstrous pecks flex in response to the first words this grand beauty had ever said to my.

"Oh yours." I responded, trying to sound confident. Her greasy hair fell about her broad shoulders, and it was all I could do to not immediately tear apart the bonds that held me and sweep her into my arms. The only hesitation, the fear of rejection. Even in my animalistic urges, there was the temperance of a whisper of insecurity that quelled the raging desire. Had I been made enough? Was the transformation such that she would make me her own now? What if this was all a spell, and I was the only one in love?

I stared into those eyes. Noticing the pale cataracts that seemed to make the edges of her eyes appear to swirl with an entire ecosystem of amoeba. I fell deep into them. I couldn't help it. I grinned, as fierce a grin as I could. She turned away from me.

No! Please. Don't let this love remain unrequited, my sweet perfect creature of cursed existence. But, I couldn't say it allowed. Something held me back. It wasn't spell, apart from the malevolence of my own misgivings.

A harsh growling whisper came just beyond her humped back. A sound so intoxicating I could have been immediately rendered drunk. "Never in all my years of transforming humans, have I ever made such a..." She paused. Leaving me in stark anticipation, hanging on the words. I don't care what they may be. What may come next. Just let there be more words that I may drink them in for eternity!

She turned, the large nose that ended in a sharp point sticking almost directly out in front of her face, accented by a hairy black mole. I could barely contain the guttural moan as I was gifted with the perfect sight of her face once more. Even though she had turned away for but a moment, it had felt a life time. I found new details to adore, the mismatched patches of varying hues of her pale gray skin, the way her jaw twisted unnaturally so that shadows casted her, almost infinitely, in a menacing, and alluring light.

Those lips, those exquisite lips that could never touch, always parted because of her malformed skull, opened to speak. I awaited with bated breath and rapt attention.

"Never have I ever made something as monstrous and horrible and disastrously large and... and..." Her cheeks grew yet darker as she looked down shyly, blushing at some yet unspoken thought. Those words, the words I had hoped to hear, were finally the gasoline thrown to already raging flame in my heart, and my loins. I could bare it no longer.

"Roar!" I roared, as I flexed every muscle against the restraints, my biceps and pecs swelling like overripe honeydew. Nothing could hold me now, even if I had to take this torture chair with me, but soon enough the bonds gave way to my passion and before I knew it I was rushing to her. I scooped her up in my arms, feeling her sagging skin in my ginormous hands that nearly engulfed her.

I breathed hot breath into her ear, feeling the twisted hairs brush against my concave nose, making my stomach flutter with a swarm of moths. She groaned in delight.

She turned her head up to mine, as I carried her, like a bride across the threshold. She whispered to me, "I have never made something so incredible. You are my most dastardly creation yet. Take me Troll. Take me and make me yours in body and soul." Her breath smelled of curdled cheese and elderberry. I trotted my hulking frame to the bed and laid her upon it.

It was an alter to our love, where we would sacrifice all, tearing our very being apart, bleeding each other of our essences. There upon this twisted altar made of curly vines, a concourse of mold, and dirty sheet, we would finally draw to a close what had never been seen in centuries. Without another sigh, or growl, we met and consummated our unholy communion.

PREFACE?

Was it rude of me to unleash this on the world with the preface at the end? I just really need people to be dropped into this one and experience it head on. Where did it come from? How could it have taken form? I'll start by saying that of course I'm a total weirdo and got a huge kick out of writing this. However, though I do love to write strange things, and delve into topics I'm not an expert in, this actually originally came from an exercise my writing group did. The premise was, write something you would never normally write. While I am a huge Jane Austen fan, and do love elements of romance in the books I read, I would never read, or write an erotic novel. Never. Or at least, that's what I thought before I had written this. The closest equivalent I'd had to draw upon was twilight, and fifty shades of grey. the former I'd only read excerpts from and watched the movie, and the latter I'd mostly only randomly heard about during its craze.

I think I totally get it now. There's something so freeing, fun, and visceral about writing something like this. I was derisive about the art form, I just didn't really get it, and probably was more dismissive than I should have been. I just remember volunteering at the library, stocking shelves, and just the incredible amount of vampire erotic fiction being returned to the library blew my mind. I would read little bits here and there. Which I guess was another piece of inspiration. Anyways, this is not a parody actually. I did hope it was fun and maybe a little funny. But I really wrote this from the only perspective I could. Basically, I thought to myself, what if one of these books was written for witches themselves? So here you go. The end result.