"You're some kind of freak, man," the groupie with the pink hair said, gathering her clothes up from the floor of the hotel room. "You're a damn machine or something." She pulled her clothes on quickly, a look halfway between terror and anger on her young face.

"Come on," Blade said. "I'm not finished. I need you to stay."

"No way, dude," the girl said. "We've been at it all night. I mean, six hours straight is a record for me. I gotta leave while I can still walk out of here."

She stumbled across the room on one high heel, carrying the broken one in her hand, her hair askew, then bolted out the door, letting it slam behind her.

Blade punched the pillow, his body tense with frustration, his erect member crying out for release.

"You will never be satisfied until you kiss the succubus." That's what the girl had said on the last tour, the damn witch that he'd ended up with after another one of his drunken, drug-crazed escapades.

Sure, he'd been a bit violent with her, knocked her around a bit, but it was all in fun, wasn't it? It wasn't him doing it, it was the drugs. He was a rock star, wasn't he? It was expected, a bit of craziness when you're on tour.

She was different, though. Long red hair, pale white skin, one of those quiet girls who had a crazy side. She'd told him she was some kind of witch, and it just added spice to his imagination. He was looking for a good time, but then she turned possessive.

One night with him and she thought they were an item, thought it was time to start shopping for wedding rings.

"You're a crazy bitch," he said. "It was one night, that's all. I'm a man who needs a lot of women."

She got this greenish look in her eye, mumbled a few words, rolled her eyes back in her head, and then this strange, deep voice came out: "Have all the women you want. But you will never be satisfied until you kiss the succubus."

And then she was gone. Blade never could figure out how that happened. One moment she was there, getting all hocus-pocus on him, and then she was gone.

That wasn't the weirdest part, though.

The really strange part was that after she left, he had an insatiable appetite for women. He didn't care what they looked like, what size or shape they were, none of it mattered. He just wanted sex all the time. The amazing thing was, he had almost superhuman stamina. He could last and last, hour after hour, no matter how many women he was with, no matter how drunk or drugged up he was. He set new records for how many times he did it, where and when, and with whom. One night he was with 12 women in a row. The other guys in the band were amazed, astonished, jealous.

What they didn't know was that he couldn't get off. He was unable to orgasm, no matter how hard he tried. Blade couldn't get satisfaction, and in fact every woman he was with made it worse. Every one increased his hunger, increased his need for release even more. It was an itch that got worse every time he scratched it.

It got to where he felt like a walking erection. He was constantly aroused by everything. The faintest whiff of perfume sent him into an ecstasy of lust. A girl's voice on the radio would get him aroused. And the concerts? It was getting so he had a hard-on for the entire show. All those screaming, sexy girls in the front row gave him a jutting, painful erection that wouldn't go down for two hours straight. They all wanted to sleep with him because he was the lead guitarist, but when they saw that lump in his pants it drove them wild.

He sought out the best doctors he could find, but nobody had an answer. When the traditional doctors came up short he went to alternative healers, haunting the back alleys in the Chinatowns, the old neighborhoods in the burned out cities, in basement shops where old men offered him herb teas and spoke of his energy matrix. One old man looked into his eyes, felt his pulse, probed and poked and then said, "You burning up, son. Energy out of balance. Too much hot, not enough cool."