Star Whiskey

Their rolls elated me. Thoughts of hunger swirled around my head, just the right amount of chubby. That old saying where, the more the merrier, is wrong. I salivate; yearning to feel the indent of my teeth against that gelatinous tissue. Hers – the red headed wig.

Careful now – remember what I told you about that look.

I knew what he was talking about and I knew it was on my face. Composure was hard when the drive for losing control was so palpable. I licked my lips, watching her throw her head back and laugh. The piercing sound drove through my ear drums, overpowering the gushing throb of hot blood in my veins.

It was all I could do to keep my feet from launching myself over there, to her side, to her skin. Closing my eyes, I breathed in deep. And again. And again. I tried not to think, her legs are probably moist, the skin rubbing against itself – stop. Control.

Wait until they dissipate. You can catch her then. 

Waiting. Waiting. Then another showed up, two whiskeys in hand and I turned on my heels, leaving angry fumes trailing in my absence.

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