I’ve made a lot of posts about donors lately, so I wanted to address something on the sang side of the coin. Now, my opinion is firmly that donors are amazing people who deserve our respect. However, it would be negligent of me to not address the impulses and tendencies that sanguivores can have and how it can influence our thoughts towards people. It is a source of guilt for us, and I think some light needs to be shed on the hunter within us.
The hunger is something present in every sanguivore in some form. Often, when it starts to flare up, it is referred to as ‘twoofing’. I wrestled with this for many years. It was the first thing to make me think I was crazy. But it’s alright. We need to accept this part of ourselves. A beast locked in a cage will fight harder than one who is allowed to walk on a leash.
I experience the hunger, and for a good part of my life, I was a hunter. Now, I don’t mean this in that I have ever harmed or disrespected people. MY idea of that was to move among people, procuring sources, to see how many I could get to agree to this ‘strange’ thing. Walking among people and deciding who I wanted, usually in clubs and social events. This was after I’d accepted myself for how I am and had overcome the initial awkwardness, feeling that I’d be judged and ridiculed every time I ‘came out’. Those predatory urges still do run through me.
That is far from all of it. Some people refer to this as ‘the beast’ which I hate because it sounds like something from a retro vampire flick, but there really isn’t an alternative term at this point. I experience this, too. For me and others, it is like a sympathetic nervous system reaction. The posture of the body changes. I tend to find that my knees bend, I’m more likely to stand on tip toes for some reason, I grit my teeth with the urge to bite and tear. My heart races, and my pupils dilate. In this state, my strength threshold increases dramatically. I can perform feats of strength that I can’t normally. It’s the same bodily reaction that a regular person has, for example, if they saw their wife and child trapped in a burning car and were suddenly able to flip that car. I’ve told other sangs this in private in the past and they would respond “really?! I do too, I’ve just never told anyone because I didn’t want some lame-o to use it to copy me even more”. Some have theorized that this is a remnant of yester-century when a sang would have to overpower their victim and force feed. Given the traits of it, I think that is plausible. This, whatever it is, hasn’t just been around in the last two decades with the rise of the internet, and most of us wouldn’t have had access to needles, alcohol wipes, medical gloves, and sterile blades then.
It forces overpowering thoughts of pursuing, blood-thirst, capturing, and feeding. Mine has always been intense in that way; I had to spend years meditating as a teen to get it under control. I want to pursue through the woods and bite and tear. If for some reason this flares up now, I tend to stand on my balcony overlooking the city and allow myself to get into that mindset to ‘vent’ it. Contact feeds can also help to vent those bestial urges. Free bleeds, while you cannot bite, can be satisfying with a steady flow of blood pumping against your mouth.
My predatory streak is still a part of my life. It is intrinsically tied with who I am. It is synonymous with my hunger for life, my hunger for sex. Whenever medication has killed one, it’s killed the other. I’m no Saint. I stare at veins. I have those thoughts. I’ve stalked the streets and felt my blood-thirst rising. I’ve walked among people in clubs and selected who I wanted. I didn’t necessarily drink their blood at all, I just wanted it offered to me. I’ve always had everyone tested who I’ve fed on.
A Lexi Tale
I thought I’d add a personal story about this here. Most people I know I was living among offline sanguivores, donors and allies in the UK for a very long time before returning to any sort of online presence. I once knew a girl I shall refer to as S. She and I were ‘friends with benefits’, and I had come out to her a few months after meeting with her as a sanguivore.
She knew another like me, a man who I’ll call J. J was a very bestial sang with little control. When he didn’t get his regular blood, he’d wander the streets at night losing his shit. He would become inconsolable and have great difficulty controlling those parts of himself. As such, S was mindful of doing anything to trigger sangs. She was diabetic, and forgot when pricking her finger with a lancet, and profusely apologized to me when we met one Saturday to hang out. It wasn’t as if I was going to bite her because of one drop of blood.
That Saturday night, we both went to a local gay bar. Gay bars were always my local choice of hangout on the weekends in my youth (and *cough* strip clubs). We both came out several hours later, and I was significantly intoxicated. I’d been drinking whiskey for hours and earlier that night, I’d had a nap in the hotel corridor for 30 minutes. Yes, really.
At this point, I hadn’t fed in months. I was starved and very twoofy. I would use those physical benefits of twoofing at the gym and became a beefcake, but a sick one. On the way home, some random guys wanted to give S a piggyback. She, drunkenly, agreed. A minute or so later, this guy tripped and fell forward, face first, onto the concrete pavement. He smashed his nose in and S injured herself. The guy was so wasted that he got up and just walked off. S had some chronic health issues (including chronic fatigue), so moving was tough for her.
S was on the pavement with injuries, sitting in a pool of warm blood. That ‘beast’ side started to trigger in me, my pupils dilated and I was gritting my teeth together. She looked up at me, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. I’ve never seen someone look at me with such fear. She knew what J was like and what he likely would’ve done; intoxicated, starved, with someone on their knees before them covered in blood pleading for mercy.
So what did I do? I did what any decent human being would have. With the years of mental training, I immediately snapped out of it and bent down to check on her, then lifted her up, carried her back to the hotel and dressed her wounds. Interestingly, it seemed to put her in a ‘vampy’ sort of mood and she gave me a big black bruise on my neck from biting me. Isn’t that meant to be the other way around?
But what about donors?
Our ‘hunger’ and ‘beast’ is not mutually exclusive with donor respect and care. Us taking on the moniker of a predator does not make all humans our prey. Our bestial nature is not all we are. We are so much more. We are still capable of showing care and love toward the people who feed us. My donor missed a stick (he sticks himself as a preference) last night and he was literally in tears because he was beside himself that he wasn’t able to help me and thought he’d let me down. These people love us and care for us. We are equals. The most experienced of donors understand these things and help us to deal with them. It was a donor with decades of experience who first helped me to come to terms with this. It was a donor forum, Black Swan Haven, that taught me that we did have allies and that things would be okay.
At the same time, we must not berate and shame ourselves for things that we cannot help. It’s not the fact that we have this side, it’s how we manage it and how we choose to make use of it. We can stare over the city. We can have our thoughts. We can vent it during sex. Our mind is ours to control, and how we choose to treat other human beings is entirely our responsibility. Being born a sanguivore isn’t a condemnation to treat others poorly or hurt others. As with everything else, it’s our responsibility. Our choice.