She's A Maneater
Her hunger felt more like an itch, a burning itch radiating down her spine. It’d been 23 days, 23 hours and 37 minutes since her last feed; nearly the longest stretch she could manage. But the burn was white hot now and she could no longer ignore it.
This was a new game for her, a little pleasure denial seeing how long she could go before feasting. After she reached 16 days, (quite the accomplishment since she started this game lasting only three hours) she decided to add in an extra challenge, a little edging.
Her hunting ground contained a wide array of options; someone like her could easily relish a tasting flight of flesh and never sample everyone. She prowled her city, learning where she could find easy prey.
Some of the bitterest fruit wore T-shirts and jeans with unwashed hair, and averted eye contact. She found these most often gentrifying the Fillmore. They lived in cold modern studios, and moped around the Thai takeout cafes just to take their vegetarian pad thai home to an overly complicated video game.
The sickly sweet ones had a guitar hanging somewhere in their home, but had never taken actual lessons. These were often found in North Beach. They lingered around their own neighborhoods pretending they didn’t pay some of the highest rent for a building that looked like old San Francisco. They lingered in the park most days, not letting on that they were unemployed trust funders afraid of nepo-baby reputations.
She had tasted many varietals and found her favorite was the pungent sweetness of arrogance and insecurity. Over time, she learned the tells of these specific treats.
But her favorites, the layered complicated morsels were the hardest to detect. On the surface, they looked like a stereotype. A trope written for a romance. But talk to them a little bit, and the hints of ginger and turmeric floated on words of humble brags and mansplaining. Follow that path a little further, and you could gaze past the shining wet eyes into their empty depths, and you found one. The drippy honey center of self loathing. Those men were hers.
These men were spotted all across the city; each neighborhood adding a subtle hint of flavor to their blood. The Noe Valley added hints of meadowsweet, the Haight more of the spice of clove, and Richmond sprays of sea salt. She delighted in each feast, and all the depth of taste.
But nothing was nearly as delicious as the edging of the hunt. When her hunger reached a breaking point, she’d pick out a target, and track them for a few days while weaving together her usual terror-inducing tricks. But right at the moment her salivation dripped on their throat, she’d stop and toss them aside.
Alive, unharmed.
The pain it caused her to build up to the brink, and never fall over it, was as sharp as it was delectable. The rising tide of fear in her prey turned their blood to syrup on her tongue, and her game challenged her to find the exact fear each man held, and unleash it for her pleasure.
Her current quarry, she’d been tracking since the third day past her last feed. She liked to allow a few days after to relish the aftershocks; to feel the energy pulsing through her body, and take the life force she’d stolen out dancing or fucking while her nerves were on fire and reaching for every sensation in the world.
She encountered her target after a particularly delirium-inducing feast. She could still taste the flesh wedged between her teeth. She spun and danced under the sun in Alamo Square park, limbs flung out, the blasts of icy wind lifting her off the ground. She was at the tip top of the hill, with no one else on the dry grass, basking in the ecstasy of a full belly.
Then he stepped up and interrupted.
He, of course, assumed she’d want nothing more than attention from a man—what could make her experience better but to spend it with him? Already, he was looking like a Michelin star dinner.
She liked the way his man bun flopped as he twirled, and the little peeks of tummy hair she glimpsed when his arms waved up high. His tan skin reminded her of cinnamon streusel. His sweat dripped sparkling down his v-line. He grinned when he caught her gaze, which she returned by licking back the saliva threatening to dribble from her lips. She emptied her mind of the image of biting into the flesh of his abs and decided to make the most of his intrusion. With only a nod, she took him home to at least alight with orgasm during this aftershock.
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