Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2000 00:10:02 -0400 From: a firm anchor in nonsense Subject: [WRITERS] SUB: CONTEST: Danae Taningia Erectus And here comes another entree... tink Danae Taningia Erectus "The things I have to go through to get a decent meal." Danae viewed her true image in the mirror. A delicate ripple of her flesh caused an all over blush. Catching a glimpse of herself, she was pleased with the coral of her complexion. She paused, taking a moment to enjoyed the beauty of her nakedness. She turned, posing for herself. She always told herself she needed to see herself as she truly was before she "girded on her armor" but the truth was steeped in narcissism. When she met with others of her kind, they discussed hunting skills and techniques, talk flowing as freely as ova and sperm. She told her others she had to camouflage her mind to hunt. In reality, even when she was in her cammies, she still saw the world through her own very well endowed eyes. She was always herself and always coming from her own frame of reference. She sighed, reaching for her bustier, shuddering with distaste. She wondered how many creatures fur, flesh, fin, bone and bodies had been used to reshape the human form. Posing wouldn't get her fed. No prey would take her bait if she trolled in her current state. She wrapped the bustier around her body, tightening the plastic ribbed bones. She stopped just before she reached the cutting point and allowed her body to readjust. After a few moments, she methodically drew the drawstrings tighter, cranking her flesh into a wasp waist, pausing ever few minutes to reshape internally as she accommodated the unnatural form. She next inserted the hydro-shapers to simulate cleavage. She really didn't understand why the male of the species found breast area cleavage attractive but hers was not to reason why. She just hoped she wouldn't get any biters tonight. Although she enjoyed the sudden drench of water at the climactic moment, it was expensive to keep replacing the hydro-shapers. Tonight was her first hunt in this city. She was always edgy until she mapped out where other women of the night defended their hunting territory. These brightly painted females guarded small sections of city turf. Danae studied these women carefully, practicing their sway, emulating their sharp bends, focusing on their stiffness and learning to move provocatively. They were her template for bait. Some of the females shared familial street corners, chatting with each other while waiting for the prowling males. Although Danae shied quickly from women in the night, she always wondered how many were her sisters. After her last feeding, she'd scooted out of town on the next freight train bound for anywhere. She had laid on top of it, buffeted by wind and rain, abandoning her once safe warren without a backwards glance. She'd booked. She'd boogied. No, she hadn't. She'd run. Run far, far away. Every relocation increased her sense of dread and unease. She had more boltholes than she'd ever be able to remember but the earth seemed small and confining, as though her need could not be contained on a planet so small. Her fear of discovery lingered. Each time, she tried to put to use new information about dealing with all terrains, afraid she would forget something simple, overlook a detail. To compensate, she was compulsive about planning alternative escape routes. The new language of this city was difficult for her so she would be confined to the inky darkness for her first hunt. "Put your wig hat on, girl" she laughed at her reflection although her painted smile wouldn't move. Tonight, Danae would satisfy her need. She mused at Homo sapiens as prey. Danae found the species arrogant but careless. She thought the breed should be called Homo extinctor or Homo genocider. The distinguishing attribute of the species was its tendencies, in lieu of other prey, turned on itself with escalating violence. Still, the self absorbed species made an interesting prey. Next came her crotchless corset. Again she methodically tightened the mesh, reshaping and rounding her flesh into a perky rump. Finally came the dreaded lace top stockings with the fine netting. She hated this part, hated it worse than anything else. "It's just bait," she told her pale image struggling in the mirror. "Men like netting." She fastened the garters to the tops of her stockings. Men also liked high heeled shoes but she drew the line at that. She settled for some comfortable boots, the kind of ridges&waffle-stompers for traction and support, the ones that went as high as the lace. She checked her closet, delicately parting through her wardrobe and finally decided on a soft open fabric with tinselly bits to glitter in the night. She would be swaying and undulating seductively though the eddies of the city, now revealed by a streetlight's glow, now hidden in the darkness. Her final touch was the dark goggle-like sunglasses. That always seemed to draw men. Sunglasses at night. She shuddered, blanched then blushed in rapid succession as she revisited the memory of her last feed. She had been so delighted she had forgotten herself and begun feeding in a frenzied manner. Almost caught. She had been oblivious to everything except the hot blood flowing and arching, the screams as flesh sliced, the turgid tastes, the... She shuddered remembering the whine of an approaching nightshark and quickly blocked the memory, afraid of releasing even one molecule of fearscent. She had no illusions about nightsharks. Discovery meant slaughter. Since then she had tried to study how big a gang of humans was. They had agreed to a banger which made several of them come at her so she wanted to try that again but just what was a "banger" anyway? According to her dictionary, a "banger" was a "sausage" and a "gang" had something to do with a plank. It just did not make sense to her. She knew from context a gang referred to s specific group of males. It just had to be another new language or dialect and once again her translation dictionaries were inadequate. From now on, she solemnly promised her image in the mirror, she wouldn't expose herself unless the odds were in her favor: no more than twenty men, for sure. Well, maybe twenty-five. But definitely no more than twenty five. After all these years, she still didn't understand how humans delineated their territories but she knew when she figured it out, she could walk those borders where she had her best chance for picking off a stray male or two. Men during a territorial dispute were her favorite prey. Well, that wasn't quite accurate. What she really liked best were those men who hunted other humans. She really liked the ones they called chicken hawks. They tasted so salt/sweet with a tang of bitterness. She also liked the ones who hunted human prey in the darkness. They breathed hard and were especially delectable because they always tasted of euphoria because they had found her. There was a nice bouquet of triumph in their flesh with a piquant whiff of adrenalin and a lingering after taste of surprise. The sad ones were really good, too. She liked the saltiness of them. There were also pickled ones who used an astonishing variety of chemicals to lull, dull, enrich, bitch, ride, hide, and pump. Too many of these were too rich for her blood but an occasional one or two made a nice dessert. She needed male tonight with a longing that made her stomach cramp. Hard men. Preferably well endowed. If she was lucky, many men. Hot, pumping flesh willingly entering her, pushing between her legs, candy male flesh, so tasty, willingly entering her. She had never gotten over the wonderment of it all. She smacked her lips and clacked her teeth, hidden in the moistness between her legs. Oh, yes. Tonight she was going to feed well. She could just feel it. Full moon always brought a high tide.