By Alterra Von Feuers 2009
I think of it, of the origins of what burns through my veins as I walk through the doors of the smoky club. Ancient as the word itself, 'Eros' breezes across my essence as I step within the warmth of body heat and excitement flavoring the tepid air. Sensory skills fine tuned and receptive, my gaze encompasses the night-gathering of those that look back with whimsical smiles or expressionless masks. My own smile is a gentle caress of demure calm. No need for an overbearing air or a theatrical presence, as what I will do plays itself out in orchestrated perfection with simple patience and time well spent.
At a well-known club is the eve of ‘the masked murder ball’ and a balmy spring night. Lovely attire and dark whispered delights raise the energy level to an ambient stew of mental inebriation, induced by alcohol, and emotionally charged daring. I exchange hugs, kisses, the pleasantries with those I already know well. Those that are new among the crowd, I scope out with a skilled eye, the possibilities that may be gleaned by a kind whisper across a pale lobe, or the smooth draw of fingernails innocently drawn across an inner elbow. A sample of what occurs breathed upon the air, a flicker of pink tongue tasting the energy so subtly raised. There it is. Desire.
I take up the offered absinthe glass, still warm in my hand from the flamed sugar now crystallizing at the glass bottom. Breathing in the heady scent of anise and secretive botanicals that offer that delightful moment of clarity as I sip the opaque liquor. My eyes take-in the collective of ‘darklings’ as they bustle about in the game of finding the murderer. One voluptuous woman of a very creative nature comes to say hello. Smiling she exposes fangs that give an amusing macabre facade of herself. I return the smile, but no fangs; only a light touch to her bare-shoulder that ads spark to her blue eyes, as we discuss some of the fashions in bustles and corsets. Another soft stroke of fingers along her blush kissed arm that gives her pause before rejoining the game.
Moving among the thick churning crowd, I side step on an unwary patron that flings his arms out in a descriptive exaggeration of a scene he plays out with body and mouth to his audience. The receiving end winks at me with a waggle of leather-clad fingertips. I return the smile with a coy tip of my pale chin. I hold his gaze a moment longer than he intended before I move on. The dance floor is hazy shadow, razed by green and red lighting across the well-worn tile as I set my glass down on a shaky tabletop. Ushered onto its well-known plane, the electronic pulse of industrial cultivation, the dance begins as I sway in an undulate rhythm with the mesmerizing beat. It flows into me, through me, until I am the music…
From the corner of my eye I see him sitting at one of the many tables along the wall. His features shadowed, I catch only glimpses of shiny long hair. Dark eyes that watch my every move; fingers laced tight across a still knee in concentration. I feel those eyes traveling my body as I flow with the music. I feel a near physical touch by the desire gleaming within them. As I move closer I open a channel of energy that reciprocates the look in his eyes.
I know him, I have known him for a time and ever closer have I become to opening him up to me, to what I desire, and to what he believes he desires. In his long pursuit of that one touch, that elusive kiss that becomes the breaking seed long ago implanted by a few thoughtful words, we gaze at each other across crystal rims. Our glamour is a well-versed skill born of aesthetics and inner beauty, caste within energy manipulation.
"Have you heard of the ancient one, Varsavarti?" I whisper warmly. The nefarious thought, breathing along the line of his exposed neck with purpose as we strive to hear each other over the loud music pulsing in the background. A wondrous opportunity to accidently brush breast to chest, fingers to thigh, as eyes coyly meet in the subtle shift of exchanged words.
"The Tempter, he whom invokes decadent delights, pain and pleasure. Lustful. Dominating." I whisper across his cheek as his breath catches in his throat. Our eyes locked as our fingers entwine. The energy between us is becoming a hum of primal need building and heightening the senses. He leans in for a kiss. I smile and sit back with simple grace, never breaking eye contact, offering the mystery without the consummation. He is eager. The heat is building. The wait of anticipation is making him yearn and daydream of the possibilities as we meet time and again. His fingers play through a lock of my hair as his eyes dance with candle-sent light. I merely smile, neither denying nor acknowledging his whispered accusation.
Now I dance closer to where he sits. Having been leaning forward unwittingly, eagerness he did not realize, stark across his handsome face. He stands, taking my hand as I draw him out by his own design onto the floor to dance the most ancient of art forms. Our bodies sliding across one another, as the hum becomes a racing heartbeat, lips parted in tantric release. His energy spills out for the taking; I drop down slowly, kneeling momentarily as I press my face against his. His body hard. I feel the tremble across his skin. His need is energy, an orgasmic release of entwined auras. I garner his sexual energies drinking them down to the core, as I slowly raise my body along the line of his. Sweaty hands grasp the small of my back raising me off the floor in a euphoric fever. I’m burning with it, tingling along my senses, prickling along my spine and up and over my scalp as I ride the rush. My face is now flushing with color and heat.
He’s heavy lidded with desire, looking at me for confirmation to finish what he started. I wont be taking him home to my bed. I don’t have to. I smile and kiss him tenderly on the lips before walking away satiated. He watches. And lavish are his dreams of his own fantasies as he waits for the next dance.