Blood Stirred
I didn’t think she’d be likely to bite. So, when I felt the dancer slip next to me, I spoke up even though I wasn’t much for talking to women since my wife left. A dark overcoat was slung over her shoulders like a cape and her black hair framed a power-white face. Through the coat I could feel the warmth of her blood stirred from dancing.
It stirred me up, if you want to know the truth. I’d been feeling dead, dead since my wife went way. The closest I ever felt to being alive was to watch these women dance and take off their clothes.
“What do you do when you’re not dancing?” I asked. It’s not like I wanted to know. I just thought I should be showing an interest in something about the girls at the titty bar besides their titties.
She took a long sip from a narrow straw while looking into my eyes. She finished and licked her lips before saying, “Not a thing. Each night I die when the bar closes. When it opens, I’m born again.”
I smiled, happy to play along. “Maybe you could tell me what happens after you die. I’ve always wanted to know, but I’ve never been in a hurry to find out for myself.”
“Death is incredibly sensual; like taking off shoes that you’ve worn all day.”
She leaned on me and whispered in my ear, her breasts flattened on my chest, and continued. “You find yourself. Your outer…
