Four
Peg came like gangbusters beneath him. Patrick clung
tight to her slick body until it was over and burst into uncontrollable
laughter. The idea of playing hooky from work and boffing his girlfriend
on her living room rug amused him to no end. How long had it been since
he had had so much fun?
Peg squirmed beneath him. "Pat, I feel funny."
Patrick propped himself up on both elbows. "Eat me.
Or maybe I’ll eat you." He burst out laughing again.
Peg rolled him aside and sat up, brushing her hair
from her face. "I'm hungry."
Patrick charged her on hands and knees. He knocked
her over backwards, muzzled her stomach and growled like an animal.
"Ouch! Patrick, you bit me!"
"But I'm hungry, too!"
"Eat shit! Get off me!"
She rolled him aside a second time and climbed to her
feet. Shaking her head in mock disgust, she stormed into the bathroom
and vomited.
Patrick rolled over on his back and frowned at the
textured ceiling. His stomach growled. "Damn, I’m hungry, too."
He climbed to his feet and went in search of
sustenance. Peg joined him in the cold draft before the open refrigerator
door. They stood naked in the glow of the forty watt light, picking at
leftovers.
"Mushrooms gone?" Peg said.
"I'll get some more on the way to work tomorrow."
Peg reached for a carton of raw chicken liver.
"What's that?" Patrick said. "Let me have one."
Peg peered into the open container. "Yuck. They
look slimy."
Patrick discarded the lid and tossed one of the
little brown livers into his mouth. His was a ravenous protein hunger, he
decided. Uncooked pork carried the bad bugs, he told himself, not raw
chicken liver.
"Yum, yum."
Peg tried one. She retreated to the kitchen table
and dumped the carton's content to the table surface. Patrick had no way
to bite or chew the rough meat with his ill-fitting dentures. He
swallowed his share whole, one gleaming little organ after another.
Peg finished the last piece and smiled at him with a
strange gleam in her eye. A brown trickle of juice ran from her chin onto
her left breast. Patrick reached for her, grinning. "I'm still hungry.
Come here."
Peg evaded his groping with a twist of her slender
torso. She ran shrieking with laughter from the room. Patrick dashed
after her and caught her in the hall short off the living room. He
wrestled her to the cold linoleum. Peg sank her nails into the skin of
his back with renewed and ever intensifying passion.
Dimly, Pat sensed something amiss in their behavior
as he pumped away at the overheated body beneath him. He was going to
pick the whole damned field, if the mushrooms were responsible, run his
credit cards to their limit buying freezers, and ensure himself a supply
for the balance of his natural life.
If Peg didn't kill him first. The nails in his back
were mere distractions. The teeth sinking into the side of his neck
during the orgasm that followed caused serious and prolonged agony. He
waited, though, until the high-power explosion of bittersweet ecstasy had
ended for the both of them before protesting.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes glazed and her
mouth rimmed with bright red blood. His blood. Her breath came in ragged
gulps. Her entire body trembled like an overworked machine.
She buried her face in his injured neck, her words
washing hot against his skin. "Let me kiss it and make it better."
Patrick rolled away irritably. Peg grabbed at his
ankle. "Please, don't leave me."
Her teeth chattered. Her body trembled. He eyed
her, puzzled by his hunger, both kinds of hungers. Why would he confuse
the two? He gazed at her quivering belly and grinned. "Chicken livers,"
he murmured.
She crawled into his arms. "Patrick, I'm scared.
Something's wrong."
"Mushrooms." His tongue felt thick and kept tripping
over his teeth. "We're higher than kites."
"Take me to the doctor."
Patrick mulled over their plight. "It'll wear off by
tomorrow."
She writhed against him and sighed. "Okay."
Her breath washed hot over his face. Her heart raced
wildly beneath her breasts. He could hear gurgling from inside her body,
smell her every odor, sense the twitch and stirring of each muscle. He
could smell every aroma, odor and stench in the house, and hear the tick
of the clock, and the chatter of birds outside, and traffic growling
further away, even voices talking in conversational tones from up the
block.
Peg gnawed gently at his throat. "Patrick, I'm so
hungry."
He murmured agreement, his mind preoccupied by the
vivid bombardment of his senses.
"Feels good," he whispered. "I like it."
