Beneath your societal dressings, I think you posses mighty desire and skill untapped.
You don your mask and trudge through a drab world of obligation, with an underpinning of wistful, wanton hunger. It’s a duality you have maintained so long, you are master of your disguise and yet holding on by the tiniest moral thread.
Left to your basest needs, you would lay waste to a legion of men, and possibly, their women as well. The hedonism of Ancient Greece met with the aggression of Sparta. A warrior priestess on an unholy crusade for carnal sensations that would fell Kingdoms. Your soul aches for it, a cleansing of fire and a rebirth of sweat and flesh.
You don your drab vestments of obligation, a dreary cycle of repetition, meek comfort and the judgement of a world, civilized.
Let us build a temple that stands as monument and guard. We shall reign o’er the throngs of hungry souls seeking same.
Allow me to unleash you, unshackled by fear of recrimination. Simply, let me free you to lead us past sin, beyond the scorn of the prurient…to a realm where you are free to touch and taste and devour and wade deep into the seas of unrelenting, exhausting ecstasy.
Whisper, if you fear your full voice.
Cast off the drab tatters of obligation and whisper that you long for this….
…as I do.