Page 18 of Morsel

I ease back into reality. She sits back on her haunches, an artist kneeling before her inspiration, as if I’m a god to her.

I’m tired as fuck, but I nod. She chuckles, then prances to the back of the theater. The screen goes dark. I adjust my pants and stand.

“You really are into this kind of thing, aren’t you?” I ask.

Her eyes harden as she keeps her attention on the projector. That’s when I realize the hope that she’s the one—the person I can share my life with—is threading itself into my nervous system. Love is never that simple though. I can’t assume she’ll satisfy me, nor can I assume I’ll be able to make her dreams come true.

Besides, I can’t actually eat her. That would be wrong. For this to work, both of us will have to live and love like this. Empty stomachs. Semi-full hearts.

But I know I can take care of her.

A dull ache radiates through my neck, and I scratch the back of my head. I need to slow down. My feelings aren’t a big deal right now. As far as Mona’s concerned, we’re just hooking up for her art. Obviously it will be my job to convince her to commit to something other than her work, to commit to me, to commit to us.

“I don’t question my sexuality. You shouldn’t either,” she says. She grabs her purse. “Walk me to my car.”

Outside, it’s cold, and it’s dark early. It should irritate me that I’m following her, letting her lead us again, but I push those thoughts down. She’s indulging our mutual interests; that’s what’s important.

The exotic birds from the nearby zoo chirp into the night. Newly installed blue-lit phones sparkle across the quad, and a security guard walks between the buildings. A group of female students huddle together and whisper to each other. A recent news article crosses my mind. Rape and assault cases went up in the last decade, and the student council pressured the dean to do something about it. We can’t stop the rapists, but we can give students more resources, the dean had said. This way, they can feel empowered. They’ll have more chances to take control of their academic lives.

I spare the group an extra glance. It’s good that the students get additional campus resources, but it doesn’t apply to Mona or me, because I’m not a rapist. I may enjoy my predatorial roleplaying, but I’m not a cannibal. I’m not going to actually eat Mona. I wouldn’t ruin a potential relationship with someone by eating them.

The thought of eating her though? Pure bliss.

In the parking lot, we stop by an expensive SUV. I rub my chin. It seems too big for her. She must need the extra space for her sculptures.

“Thank you for tonight,” she says.

A vivid vision fills my mind: my dick in her cunt as I chew the taste buds off of her tongue.

I’m not a cannibal though. I’m not. I’m not. I know better than that.

But if I was, I would bite a chunk out of her and savor every raw flavor.

“No,” I say. “Thank you?—”

I cut myself off. This is another abrupt ending, and each time I see Mona—whether it’s in her bedroom window, in a bathtub, or kneeling on the ground in a movie theater—I need more of her. In my late teens and early twenties, the women I dated were shy, and I always got frustrated with that. I gave them warnings, but they still didn’t like the way I treated them in the bedroom. It’s not my fault they didn’t listen to me.

Mona is different though. She’s not appeasing me just to get me to come. She’s actually invested in this too.

I can’t let this be the end.

“Let’s go out,” I say. “Let me pay you back for today.”

She grins. “Pay me back how?”

“Dinner.”

No, no, no, my brain screams. Don’t do this. This isn’t right. Taking a woman out to dinner is a date, and you can’t date a woman who fantasizes about being eaten. You know what will happen. You’ll get carried away?—

But I can’t let go now. Not when I’m this close.

“You know the steakhouse a few blocks over?” I ask. She tilts her head, her lips pursed. I clarify, “The chain restaurant with the cow statue out front?”

“Oh, sure,” she says.

A lightness fills my chest. Maybe she doesn’t know which restaurant I’m talking about because she’s a vegetarian.

That would be perfect.

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