Dionysus & Artemis @ Anthrocon

By Malik Berry

I

Sliding glass doors to the convention floor open as if commanded by the Gods. An “open sesame” to the sensory overload of nature’s design. Neon creatures form a parade, waving to moonfaced onlookers. Cameras flash and record the congregation with the same fascination and engagement as a ritual.

II

The animals with stitched-on faces march with glee towards a dark amphitheater. Drums low enough to resonate over a sea’s distance thundered from within, like the call for a hunt. It is the music of celebration and freedom, as the creatures begin to move to their beat. A spell overtakes them as the darkness engulfs them, one which commands them to groove and gyrate to the closest and most willing. Polyrhythmic melodies and glittering screen and lasers dazzle their vision. The dance grows more energetic the longer it goes, well into the night. It is this time where the treats possess them. Less dignified than ambrosia, but more powerful than love-in-idleness, the substances provide when their name suggests: ecstasy. Some animals pile together, celebrating their euphoria in a blissful expression of unity. Paws slip to reveal skin and bone. Calloused palms brushing over the artificial abs of an Adonis clad in foam, felt, and faux fur. An avatar of Lycaon himself. They reach low to feel for his loins. He is beyond ready, and dancing is no longer on his mind. He rounds up his circle of dozens of friends and acquaintances to retire in his suite at the top floor.

III

Hotel couture design interior. A pair of queen-sized beds in the air-conditioned chamber, a recliner, and an ottoman made up the comfortable surfaces for the night. The carpeted floor too was welcoming, if one were to risk the burn. Fortunate that the lycanthrope and his ilk were far too entranced to care. All that filled their minds was inner peace and feral lust.

He had the spoils of first pick, bringing forward a woman and stripping her bare besides the head of her suit. Aphrodite with the head of a sabrecat, marble-pale skin, detailed plump. The wolf found his fellow predator in pleasure, and wasted little time throwing her on the bed, climbing atop, and entering her without ceremony. The feline’s thick thighs wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place to thrust between them while feeling the soft fluff of his pelt. The second bed was more populated, three couples at once. A unicorn stood behind a jackalope kneeling on the bed, pulling his horns back to impale his shapely ass on that turgid spire. With every stroke he received from the mythical stallion, the lagomorph cried out in pleasure laced with pain, muffled by the material of his makeshift visage. Standing on the other side, a bear that couldn’t see past his gut fucked the mouth of a pup-hooded worshipper laying on his back. A pair of foxes pushed up against the headboard and stroked each other off to the sights all around them.

IV

So many of these mammals in one place, getting close with true nature in the form of an orgy. The chemicals in their systems were overloaded by the arousal, the moans and groans of pleasure reduced to growls and snarls. In their mind, they were one with the animal kingdom. Back in the jungles, the prairies, the deserts, the forests. Felt and fake fur became real and skin became tougher to bear the elements. The faces that made up those helmets were no longer effigies but the detailed stare of a beast wanting to be used. Sounds were being made that they couldn’t control. Urges compelled them to keep thrusting, their senses under the same fog as a creature in heat. Impulses and synapses screeched at them. Fuck to breed. Fuck to live. Fuck for fun. Who were they to ignore their savagery? Especially when it felt this good. Couples revolved and added members, more flooded in and shipped out over the course of the evening. The growls increased in pitch and volume over time before the inevitable triumphant grunts of release as balls pumped seed into their holes of choice.

V

The debauchery ran all weekend at all hours among different people. By the end, they were exhausted and returning to a regular life, filing out of the convention center and hotel back to the airports and parking garages for a journey back to the mundane. The memories still linger, of them letting go of their controlled self and living in the age of the divine. The ultimate act in meeting the animalistic with the hedonistic.

Malik Berry is a writer and community activist born and raised in Baltimore. Their writing encompasses the forms of fiction, poetry, theatre, and film criticism, and has been featured in publications such as The Junction, Film Inquiry, A Coup of Owls Press, labataan, and Baffling Magazine.