She should’ve been in work today but called in sick on account of having toothache. A lie if ever there was one. She has perfect teeth, which is strange considering all the sugary food she eats, and she never seems to put on weight either. She never stops eating. I often wake in the middle of the night to find the apartment flooded with a cool light emanating from the fridge, and she’ll be sat before it eating whatever she can—packets of ham; almost mouldy cheese. I once found her trying to eat a slab of butter, and when I dragged her back to bed, she bitterly complained that I didn’t love her.

“You don’t love me” she cried.

“Of course I do, now come back to bed. It’s two in the morning, and we both have work in a few hours.”

Struggling to break free of my grasp, she pinched and punched me as if I were somehow in the wrong.

“But I’m hungry. Why won’t you let me eat? It’s because you don’t love me. Just admit it”, and with that, she threw herself onto the bed and pretended to cry. It didn’t work, and when I pretended to fall asleep, she straddled me and continued her punching.

“Don’t you have an off switch?” I groaned.

It wasn’t a question I expected to be answered, but she took it as one, and instead of trying to kill me, she slid off her pyjama top and turned to face the window. The light shining through it made her flesh milky white. It seemed almost edible. Horrified that I too was beginning to equate everything with food, I leaned forwards and suckled her breast like a child. She always liked me sucking on her tits—especially the left one—and the more I did it, the less trouble there was between us.

“So you do love me” she sighed, and as my tongue moved around her nipple, I couldn’t help but think about toffee, and how the taste of her areola reminded me of sticky, childhood bliss. She had infected me the same way I was about to infect her. She knew what was coming, and in the blink of an eye, we exchanged places almost effortlessly. Tossing the duvet onto the floor, I eyed up her body while playing with her pussy. It was as soft as melted toffee. Smelt like it too.

“Will you come in me?” she asked all doe-eyed.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I said while sliding my thumb into her. Withdrawing it a few seconds later, I brought it to my nose and sniffed. Just as I thought, it was the same as that sweet toffee from my younger days, and when I stuck it into my mouth and sucked, she giggled beneath me knowing she had made me the same as her. Parting her legs as wide as possible, I could’ve sworn I heard wind chimes.

“What do you hear?” she had asked, already knowing what I was going to say.

“Wind chimes…” I replied, and with a grin on her lips, she guided me in as if such a thing was as natural as breathing.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US