“How do you do it?” Buford asked his roommate as a carload of girls drove off blowing kisses back at the satyr.

“Your Pop didn’t explain?” PJ grinned. He was amazingly spry despite a night of pin-the-tail-on-the-satyr with the girls in the mechanic shop’s storage room.

“Forget it.” Buford returned to working on the Jeep’s engine.

PJ gave his donkey-esque laugh. “I’m glad to advise, us being family.”

“We’re not family.”

“Always begin with a brilliant first line.”

“Like what?” Buford asked from under the hood.

“How you doing?”

“That’s not brilliant. It’s not even good.”

“Works.”

Buford snorted. “You’d think the smell would run them off.”

“This?” PJ wafted armpit air toward Buford. He recoiled at the barnyard odor. “It’s musk. The girls love it.”

“It’s not what he says, it’s what he is.” The flutter of wings blew the smell away. Buford reached to catch May who batted him away. “You built these wings, Buford. Trust your mechanics and my magic. As I was saying, it’s his nature. Satyrs rut with everything.”

“Not everything,” PJ grumbled. “Only if it’s consensual.”

“Like succubus?” Buford was still learning about magic.

May shrugged.

“No,” PJ glared. “Succubus suck your life away. Satyr,” he did a skip-step and winked at May, “put it back.”

“Back off, goatboy.”

Undeterred, PJ waved at a girl passing the shop. “How you doing?” She blushed as he trotted over.

Buford grunted. “I still don’t get it.”

May shrugged, again. “Maybe it is a brilliant first line.”

Composite image
Base photo by JJ Jordan