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Careless. Don’t stare directly at it, moron.
Bob’s di
She spoke with confidence, and the others were quiet when she talked. The other girl on the end was tall and slim, with frosted blonde hair that framed a pixie-like face of doe eyes, a pert nose, and lips that stayed slightly open. She wore too-tight T-shirt and jeans. Bob noticed that she seemed to have very large breasts, but it was hard to be sure because she sat with her arms in front of her, and she leaned slightly toward the table. She was quiet, and her meal was very simple, and, Bob could tell, inexpensive.
He stole glances off and on during the meal, and he caught her a few times with her arms away from her body. Her breasts looked large and perfect, which Bob concluded was probably due more to bra than to nature. He mentally downgraded her beauty, chalking it up to technology in women’s underwear. He shook his head at his own foolishness for ogling a padded bra inside a T-shirt. Then a hint of shame kicked in. She was a little girl who was insecure and self-conscious and was beautiful, but far from a sexual fantasy for a respectable, middle-aged family man.
This is a new low, even for you.
For a while, he made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the girls half his age. Then he stole another glance.
The frosted-haired beauty on the end sat quietly on the fringe, submissively listening to the other girls while half of the chicken quesadilla grew cold on her plate. She had leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs until her body was almost straight under the table. Her thumbs were in her pockets, pulling the waist of her jeans low against her stomach, and her T-shirt rode up a little more showing about an inch of ta
Bob could see soft ripples of firm female muscles that no specially designed lingerie could fake. His breath quickened as his gaze lingered on her. She laughed slightly at something that one of the others said. Her stomach tightened as she leaned forward, and the softer parts of her body moved gently along with her laugh, dispelling any criticisms.
His breathing got shallow.
He imagined feeling her narrow shoulders in his hands.
He touched the warm, smooth flesh of her arms under his fingertips. She held her wrists above her head, making her body even leaner and firmer. Her head turned slightly to the left, eyes looking away. Her body quivered as he ran his hands back up her arms and across the hollow of her neck, down between her breasts and along the amazing line of her stomach. Stopping at her stomach, he could feel her flesh tingle in anticipation. Her body tensed as his finger again cut a teasing line from her neck down her rigid, muscular stomach. She groaned and started to protest.
The shy, needful little slut.
He raised his hand back between her breasts, and his finger swept slowly to the right, under the soft, yielding flesh, tracing the muscles of her rib. His finger returned to caress the rib.
She awaited his masterful touch, like the good little whore she is.
Growing bolder, he set his finger tracing along her left hipbone, starting at the center and moving away as a tease. Then he traced the right. She was ready for him, he knew. He could feel the heat of her body. He reached down her smooth, ta
There was something wrong, he realized. Looking at her firm, beautiful body, he saw that his finger had been too sharp and too insistent. He had stabbed her tender stomach into raw strips. As he stood there feeling the warm, dripping flesh in his hands, he saw strips of partially eaten meat spilling from her stomach. Blood covered his hands and clothes, dripping on his suit and overcoat, down to his shoes. Where the blood dripped on his jacket, it disappeared into the fabric.
His pulse quickened, and his head began to spin. He saw the frost-haired beauty beneath him, the smooth, ta
Bob’s eyes were glassy and blinking, and his chest began to heave. His breath was coming in shallow bursts, and he began to twitch in the seat.
“Bob?” Brenda noticed his distress, and dread began to creep up on her.
Bob’s breathing became more urgent. He felt a pain under his left armpit, and he could smell the awful taste of seared flesh and stomach acid. He started at the sound of his name, and he heard a small cry of fear. He shook his head hard, and the image that filled his vision was of a woman’s face. In his hands was a stomach, still dripping blood, acid, and strips of seared flesh, red peppers, and brown onions, uneaten on his festive plate. He pushed back from the table and away from the plate of steak and peppers.
Then he felt a horrifying pressure against his pants. He felt his bile rising, even as other fluids worked for release. With the odor of acid, bloody flesh, peppers and onions screaming in his head, he jumped up from the table and stumbled toward the door. With just enough presence of mind, he pulled the caped overcoat closed in front as he bent over and staggered crookedly for escape.
Outside the restaurant, he fell to his knees in a patch of grass and vomited. Between heaves, he prayed to a god he did not believe in to take away the painful, intolerable erection.
What the hell is happening to me?
Brenda fell to the ground beside her vomiting husband and put her arm around him. She was shaking in fear. Slowly, Bob’s stomach slowed, and the smells in his head faded.
Don’t touch me!
The disgusting presence in his pants was still straining.
“Honey?” a timid, hopeful voice reached Bob.
“I’m okay.” He said. Realizing how weak it sounded.
She was crying a bit, but she was still holding his kneeling, hunched-over form. “Bob, what happened? Should I take you to a doctor? I’m calling an ambulance!”
“No!” His voice bordered on panic. “No. I just got sick. Bad peppers maybe.” He was ru
“I don’t think I should…”
“Brenda!”
Bitch! Do what I tell you!
“Brenda… go tell the kids that I’m okay. David looked scared.”
Stupid cow!
She slowly rose, her hands still on him.
And stop touching me when I’m puking!
“I’ll be right back, Bob, I’m just going to go tell the kids you’ll be all right. I’ll be right back!”