A/N: This story is gonna get a ton of heat, I can feel it, because it involves a woman falling for her rapist. I understand that this NEVER happens, plus it is absurdly fucked up. I apologize to anyone who is offended, but I am basing this on the myth of the succubus. If you are triggered, I suggest that you not read this. Also, you are all loved.

When I was thirteen, I had my first real night terror. Like, they've been haunting me since then, most nights. At first, they were constant: her long nails, her platinum blonde hair braided manically, eyes the color of steel. She held me down and had her way with me while telling me not to make any noises.

The first night, I did scream...I caterwauled. I woke and found myself alone but sopping in sweat and my own piss. I was so damn scared that I wet the bed as a teenager. My parents, of course, ran upstairs trying to find out why their precious daughter woke them up in such fashion at one a.m. This went on for weeks before I was sent to a therapist.

Yes, this kinky ass blonde woman would rape me in my dreams. But the strangest thing happened when I was about sixteen: I started to enjoy it. Like it wasn't rape anymore, because I wanted it. Those dreams had started to be come more of a biannual thing after I turned fifteen, so it had been so long since I had them the night I begged for her return. I don't understand why I did. Rape is terrible, awful. It's terrifying and scarring, and I never thought I could want this woman. But once puberty hit, she was all I thought of.

Her breasts were perfect: definitely double Ds, but that was all I was allowed to really touch. She was a stone butch, I guess, except she wasn't butch at all. I know this all sounds ridiculous, but this was my teenage years. It was a comfort and escape, because it was unreal.

That was the best and worst thing about it.

I never really dated in high school because none of the boys or girls were her. I kept expecting to find at least one person who reminded me enough of her to keep me satisfied, but that's the thing about perfect women: they don't exist.

Anyway, ranting aside, hi. I'm Anna, I'm twenty-two, from Tucson, Arizona, and today I start my job as a stockbroker on Wall Street. Yeah, yeah, yuppie cliché and all, but a job's a job. I went to business school at Harvard too long to do anything else.

So here I am, dressed in a green pencil skirt and a white blouse, red hair neatly combed, standing at a crosswalk waiting for the little green man to pop up. The tall, straight-laced men in Armani suits around me are carrying leather briefcases, but I only have my clutch purse at my side. I'm waiting, waiting, holy shit. There! Coming out of a nearby tenement house is a stroke of white hair. I know it's silly, but I've been hunting for my night phantom all these years, or at least I automatically focus on gals that look like her.

So, even though I'm about to be late to my first day of work, I take off down the streets of Lower Manhattan after this girl in a baby blue sundress.

We don't go far before I slam her against the side of a jewelry store, perusing her. It's her: the wispy blonde hair, slight dusting of freckles, hardly noticeable overbite, expressive eyebrows that are pierced on the left side, and most importantly, those prominent canine teeth.

"Where the FUCK have you been!" I shout at her, shaking her like a rag doll. "I haven't had a sex dream in a year! And you're real?!"

She finally speaks. "Anna, I've been fucking you since you were underaged, I thought you'd grown tired of my visits."

"I could NEVER be tired of you! God, why didn't you tell me you weren't just a figment of my imagination? What the hell are you? Why have you been in my dreams?"

She rips my hands away from her shoulder. "Calm down! Fine, fine. I owe you an explanation and possibly more. Coffee?"

We have coffee at a runty place in Little Italy. She orders a cappuccino and finally begins to tell me what I need to know:

"My name is Elsa Morningstar, and I'm a succubus. God, this sounds like some introduction for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I go into people's dreams and have sex with them. I fucked up and raped you as a kid, and haven't wanted to go in anyone's dreams ever since. Yeah, cheesy. But literally I can't."

I raise my eyebrows as I ask, "What do you mean you can't."

Elsa stirred her cup of coffee. "In Hell, some say that there comes a time when a dreamdemon becomes unable to enter other people's dreams. They are so sexually connected with a single person that they cannot visit the dreams of others. After I started fooling with you, I couldn't finish my orders..."

Naturally, I'm angry. I hate Elsa for raping me, taking away my virginity, making me weak and victimly. I hate that she "accidentally" entered my dreams while attempting to fuck my brother, Hans. I hate that I can never have a normal relationship. I hate how she's basically a prostitute from the afterlife. I hate that she really turns me on.