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The Dance of LoveA faint ghostly outline appears, a shadowy form materializing in the magic circle. I know it's you I can feel your presence as I suck you into my dream. Draining power through invisible psychic threads woven from a hundred coincidences and synchronicities. I throw out my hands in welcome as I complete the summoning, and collapse, drained, mute, and exhausted. And I can't begin to imagine how you must feel transported naked to this place, a huge gathering of women, seduced by erotica, aroused by psychoactive drugs, dripping with desire. I know how hungry they are and most are watching you with greedy eyes, as if you are the main course.
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But I am lying down breathing heavily, pulse weak, and it is not until the drum beat starts again that I can feel life returning to me. A woman comes forward, a red head, pre Raphaelite beauty who flings off her robe as she pushes through the crowd. I want to have a body like hers; I think every woman here does.