The Feast
The ballroom whirled in my eyes as I wrapped myself around the pole. The deafening cacophony of voices almost drowned the music blasting from the speakers behind me. I didn't need to hear the tune, I preferred to use the vibrations of the bass I felt in the pole to guide my movements. I was the most expensive corner piece in this room and actively ignored by the audience. I concentrated on my routine, stealing glances at the crowd going wild on the floor. A table crashed somewhere on the other side of the room. I twirled around the pole, keeping my movements absolutely effortless, flowing and gravity-defying. I secured my calf around the pole and graciously unfurled myself, ending up hanging upside down, not quite touching the floor. A wet splash stroke my cheek. I could just reach it with my tongue. Yummy, blood of a not-so-innocent middle-aged woman. I watched my disciples feast on the scum of the humanity while ending my act on a graceful bow.
It was time to join in on the celebration.
