Deer Woman
by Thor
She is drawn to nocturnal celebrations. She loves to dance. Her face has been described as sweet and innocent, almost angelic. Yet her body is mature and sensual: most definitely a woman’s, not a girl’s. She is adept at directing, and misdirecting, attention. Unless she has specifically targeted you, you probably wouldn’t register her presence at all. She’s the mistress of getting lost in a crowd, practically invisible in the midst of a typical night-out’s countless distractions.
Poncan legend has it that this entity is a Unique Creature, though there may be several of them presently roaming the continent. The indigenous people of Wisconsin, who knew her of old, described her as having raven-black hair and dark, hypnotic eyes. She invariably wore soft white leather buckskins and, back then, took subtle precautions to divert attention away from her feet.
Assuming that this is a third-density being, which is unlikely, her superficial features can easily be camouflaged in these decadent days of over-the-counter hair dyes, mail-order prosthetics and color-change contact lenses. And there is no guarantee that she still accentuates dramatic contrasts through her attire.
The Deer Woman has long-since abandoned her remote, aboriginal haunts and now wanders white-man’s America. She gravitates toward large urban centers. The City That Never Sleeps is an ideal hunting ground. It boasts a legendary nightlife, ever-shifting crowds of anonymous strangers looking for a good time, and a reputation for tragic misadventures culminating in gory death.
She usually targets attractive and athletic males. Her movements and gestures draw the attention of her prey. If she’s dancing, her dance is for him, and him alone; alluring and inviting. Her potential lover feels chosen, special, singled out. Once mutual attraction, and interest, is established, she will discreetly lure her victim away from the herd with the promise of immediate sexual gratification, no strings attached. Once alone with the lucky-guy, in a dark and inaccessible place, she delivers: passionate, animalistic ecstasy.
If you find yourself in this situation, dude, be prepared to get your brains fucked out, literally.
In the afterglow, while you’re spent, disoriented and grinning like an idiot, she will strike. The Deer Woman will ruthlessly brutalize your head. She will stomp on your face, crack open your skull, splatter your gray matter and slash your throat. And she won’t stop until your blood flows freely. In days of yore she did this with her sharpened hooves (which is why she carefully hid her feet from horny Poncan braves).
She can reportedly run fast, leap high and telepathically command various herd animals; though I can’t see this latter power serving her well in our beloved Gotham (unless she lures you into Flushing Meadow Park’s kiddie zoo). She will, if time and circumstance permit, hide the body.
Admittedly, there are worse ways to die in New York.
For those without a sex related death-wish, here are some wise precautions:
a) If you are lured away from a nocturnal gathering by an unknown to-die-for chick with erotic intent, check for hooves as soon as possible. You can throatily whisper, while nibbling on her neck and tonguing her aural orifices, that it really turns you on to have a woman’s naked feet caress your legs while rutting. This is, given the circumstances, a harmless and easily granted request.
b) If she refuses, profess a predilection for exhibitionism. Or an addiction to the intoxicating thrill of (quite possibly) getting caught while doing the nasty. Remember, her blood-ritual is a private one. Her modus operandi bespeaks her desire to minimize all chances of detection; before, during and after the actual kill. She does not want any witnesses to profane her ancient rite.
c) If you haven’t glimpsed her naked soles and almost-buy her rationalizations for maintaining privacy, I suggest you remain very alert and fuck her while standing up. Keep your head away from those potentially lethal footsies.
d) If all else fails, point out the un-wisdom of fornicating on the ground in secluded park locations, dark alleys or abandoned buildings. After all, this is urban New York. Legions of mundane, but equally dangerous, predators patiently prowl the city’s shadows, ceaselessly stalking witless prey.