Ravenous, really.

*I haven’t had a drink in eight years. I don’t come to the club to drink, I come to dance. Years of being trapped behind the bars of mediocrity has left me with the same restless inertia of a caged lioness.

I am hungry.

So many have offered to feed me, but they are trying to fill the holes they can see and I am riddled with holes that no one can. Some smaller than others, but there’s an extra large one punched like a cannon wound right through my chest. Years of lovers and partners eroded me like the slow drip of acid. What was left of my heart is protected from the onslaught and unavailable to be viewed by the public.

I am hungry. Ravenous, really.

But I don’t come to the club to hunt. I come to dance.

The music thrums against my nerve endings like a kiss, the heavy base regulating my heartbeat like CPR and threading electricity through my veins. How many decibels until I’m no longer undead? How many watts? How many batteries and sore fingers and tears in the uncaring darkness of my bedroom?

I came to dance and so I dance, the bodies around me throbbing with heat. We are a collective orgasm. A rush of endorphins. Oxytocin and dopamine pulsing and panting. Grinding and frotting and getting so close.
It’s a good appetizer.
Whets my palate.
I came to dance. And so I dance.

I stop.

I feel eyes on me.

I turn slowly and scan the crowd.

There you are.

I’m hungry. Ravenous, really. And as I watch you slide off your barstool to come and dance with me, the bottom drops out into a mindless roar of starvation.

Feed me.*

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jrgcsw/ravenous_really