Posted by PK on October 15, 2004 at 16:53:10:
"First remove all body hair below the neck," Dani read.
"What?"
Dani looked up, realising that she'd been muttering the words under her breath. Well, it gets
pretty boring sitting under a hair dryer. "Article in Cosmo," she explained.
"Has to be better than Field and Stream," Sanja said, dropping her magazine on the floor. It was
worse than being at the dentists. Well, no, it wasn't, but the reading material was equally
uninspiring. Why didn't they get comic books? She remembered a Mr Bean sketch where he's
trying to get hold of the only copy of Batman in the dentist's waiting room. "What's it about?"
"Cooking yourself," Dani said.
"What, how to make a nourishing meal in a bedsit out of leftovers? Tofu for beginners? How to
boil an egg? Didn't know you were into that roughing it, self-sufficiency stuff."
"What?"
"Cook for yourself? I didn't think you were into it. Your idea of cordon bleu is microwaved gourmet
dinners and the phone numbers of your favourite pizza parlours."
"Very funny. I'll have you know I can open a tin of beans with the best of them. Whoever 'them'
are. They are. It's 'Cooking yourself' anyway."
"Don't get it. What's the difference?"
Dani would have shaken her head, but that was probably not a good idea. "Article in Cosmo,"
she said again. "It starts with one of those 'how to please your man' things."
"Lingerie, looking good and fellatio?"
"That too. There's a bit about the clichés, with 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.'
I really don't know why men don't buy this. The chicks in the body lotion ads look better than
most of the models in Playboy. Anyway..."
"Not one of those feminist things, then?"
"What?"
"'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' The rad fems would do that with a rusty
knife, yadda yadda. Besides, you know what Harrison Ford said..."
"No. In what?"
Sanja smiled. "Six Days, Seven Nights. Or is it...whatever."
"He says what?"
"Oh, he's with Anne Heche in a plane and she's this big magazine editor or something and she's
writing an article on how to please your man and he says something like if a woman wants to
please a man she just turns up. We're guys, we're easy. But you can't charge six bucks for that."
Dani smiled, in appreciation of the humour or simply contemplating being in a plane with
Harrison Ford.
"So, what's the thing about?" Sanja insisted.
Dani looked back at the magazine. "There's a bit about men's fantasies and a link to another
article on page 97 just after the bit about breast enhancement surgery."
"What fantasies?"
"About eating you. Us. Their girlfriends, or women in general. Apparently 87% of all men
fantasise about it."
"I don't suppose you're just talking about cunnilingus then?"
Dani smirked. "No, but it's a start..."
"Wow. 87%? Really?"
"Probably not. You know what they say, 87% of all statistics are made up on the spot, including
this one. Still, look at this." She held up the magazine to where Sanja could see it by squinting a
bit. There was a little cartoon, with a man dressed in a chef's outfit and a naked woman saying
"Oh, darling! Of course I don't mind if you roast me and eat me. You know I'd do anything for
you!"
The article included several more thumbnail sketches of the old 'women in cannibal pots' motif to
emphasise the writer's point. One of them featured the cannibal chef licking a captive white
woman between the legs because 'it tenderises the meat'.
"Don't know if I fancy being boiled," Sanja commented. "I'm not scrag end of mutton. Besides, it
would ruin my hair. It goes frizzy when it's humid."
"Boiled with mint sauce," Dani quoted from Asterix in Britain. "The poor lions!" Sanja didn't get it
so she had to explain. "Totally calumnious," she added. "Nothing wrong with boiled beef and
carrots. Bloody French."
"Is 'calumnious' really a word?"
"Worked for me in my last game of Scrabble."
"What about the other thirteen?"
"Thirteen? Oh, well, maybe they just have unappetising girlfriends. Or they fantasise about
something else, like V8 engines, whatever they are."
"Wankers."
"Quite. Anyway, the hair thing gets sorted in the followup piece on page 128, which is where I
started before I backtracked. I mean, I started reading it there and then..."
"Don't explain."
"Right. Well, just after the bit about layer cakes and the interview with Johnny Depp..."
"Where?" Sanja demanded. "Is there a picture?"
"No, there isn't," Dani lied. She resolved to cut it out and frame it later. "Pay attention. First
remove all body hair below the neck," she recapitulated. "Then cut your head hair short or bind it
close to the skull..."
"Like a bikini wax? Except...."
"All of it," Dani said. "Crotch, underarms, legs...."
"Ouch. Solves the frizz problem. The short hair bit."
"Which means we're wasting our time here, yes. May I proceed?"
"What's next?"
"Oiling."
"Sounds good. Where does the chef come in?"
"Well, that's the point. Would you trust your boyfriend to cook you? Cordon Bleu, is he? Besides,
there's no surprise that way."
"Oh, right. 'Cooking yourself'. I get it..." Sanja's tone dripped irony.
"Nice of you not to point out that you wouldn't trust me to cook you either."
"Goes without saying," Sanja smirked. "Would you?"
Dani made a moue. "Cooking isn't rocket science," she intoned sententiously.
"Says she who burns boiled eggs," Sanja noted. "You just read that."
Dani read on. "'Cooking isn't rocket science. People who say they can't cook haven't really tried it.
The elements are quite simple and anyone not mentally retarded can follow a recipe if they make
the effort,' It says here."
"Do go on."
"There's a reference to a website where they have loads of recipes, then the thing goes on to say
that the simplest ones are often the best. If you have the best ingredients, you don't have to be
fancy."
"The best ingredient being, let me guess...."
"Right."
"And the hair thing? I tried shaving my pubes once. Stubble for weeks after. Rasped on my
underwear...itchy..."
"Wouldn't matter if you got cooked, would it? Anyway, there's an ad for a safe shaving kit. In fact,
a whole load of ads for the stuff you'll need. How to convert your oven...."
"Cost a packet...oh..."
"Yes, doesn't matter if..."
"Right. How do you practice?"
"Practice?" Dani said.
"Trying out the recipe. You can only do it once, right? To yourself? Is there something in there
about getting a gullible friend to try it out for you?"
"You wound me. Would I ever, etc. You try out the sauces on bits of pork or venison. Rub them
on your body and ask yourself 'Do I smell good in this?'"
"You read all that?"
"Skimmed the good bits, made the rest up. It's not..."
"Rocket science."
"Right."
"Just one problem," Sanja said. "Well, several, but just to start, what's this 'convert your oven'
bit? Mine wouldn't take anything bigger than a joint of beef. What are you supposed to do, chop
yourself up? I foresee difficulties there."
Dani frowned and flipped a couple of pages. "Well, 'convert' is a loose term. There's an ad for a
'Roast 'Er' oven - nice little play on words, n'est-ce pas? - which can be installed in any modern
kitchen, it says here. Alternatives include an outdoor barbecue kit, easily assembled - pause for
general laughter - for those with gardens. Anyway, my oven is pretty big already. Don't know why,
came with the place."
"No large iron pots with an attendant cannibal chef complete with bone through nose?"
"Not that I can see, but I may have missed a bit. Besides, you said you didn't fancy being boiled."
"True. Moving on...?"
"There's a poll in the letter column about who's the best ever Blue Peter presenter...."
"Valerie Singleton - The Queen of Blue Peter - say no more."
"There are those who would argue for Konnie Huq. Probably the sexiest BP presenter since Val
and for totally different reasons. She's also comically inept. If she tries to make anything from
toilet rolls and sellotape she always screws it up."
"Point. Back to the oiling?"
Dani flipped another few pages. "This you can practice safely at home, with the help of a friend.
All you need is a bottle of olive oil. Italian extra-virgin is recommended but at a pinch you can get
by with sunflower seed oil or a tub of Tesco margarine..."
"You made that last bit up. Seriously..."
"Seriously," Dani continued, tongue not entirely removed from cheek, "We can practice on each
other. Recipes, oiling, all that stuff."
"Depilation too?"
"Friends don't let friends go to the beach without a bikini wax."
"If you're saying what I think you're saying..."
"I couldn't possibly comment..."
"I don't butter my bread on that side."
Beneath the badinage, and indeed her underwear, Sanja was warming to the notion. Just
playing, of course. "Practice on each other...." she mused.
And then it was time for the hair dryers to come off.
Then, somehow, she was following Dani around the supermarket as she picked up several
essential supplies. Herbs, spices, oils...
"What else do we need?" Dani wondered, frowning prettily. "I'm sure I've forgotten something."
"Your mind?"
"Cosmo," Dani said, ignoring the feeble sally. She hadn't been able to pinch the one from the
salon without anybody noticing. "Maybe it was last month's. Then we'd have to go to the library..."
"Shaving kit?"
"Absolutely!"
How did I get into this? Sanja wondered some time later yet, lying on Dani's kitchen table. She
recalled something about lobsters. Every little step had seemed to make sense at the time.
Where had she gone wrong? It was bizarre. Just a light-hearted bit of silliness at the salon, a
scavenger hunt, a pantie raid. Now she didn't have any panties on or very much pubic hair. She
had settled for a trim, stopping short of letting her stoned friend actually shave her.
The wine might have had something to do with it. "Might as well get a couple of these," Dani had
said, shoving a few bottles of wine into her basket. "So we can find out which goes best with us."
"Sure...."
"That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it," Dani had said, grinning in that infectiously mischievous
way she had.
In no time at all, they'd been back at Dani's place. At least, it seemed like no time at all, or
something that had happened in prehistory, after Dani had put some music on and lit up a joint.
Since then, her time sense had stretched into an endless present.
"In the land of grey and pink where only boy scouts stop to think
They'll be coming back again, those nasty grumbly grimblies
And they're climbing down your chimney, yes they're trying to get in..."
After a couple of hits and the second glass of wine this all seemed to make some kind of sense.
Or not sense exactly. Something. That's when Dani had decided how to decide who would do
what to whom.
Back in the present, Sanja thought she had it. Back in the salon she had muttered (or had she
simply thought?) "Practice on each other," but Dani was telepathic and maybe she'd suggested it
anyway. Had she? Sanja couldn't remember. She'd gone down the rabbit hole.
"Strip poker," Dani had announced. "Whoever gets naked first gets oiled. Okay?"
"And when it's dark our boat will park on a land of warm and green
Pick our fill of punk weed and smoke it till we bleed, that's all we'll need..."
But Sanja didn't know how to play poker so they played strip snap instead and Dani was
precognitive, or Sanja's time sense was two seconds slow. So now she was lying on Dani's
kitchen table with her friend rubbing oil into her. "Folie a deux," she muttered. Or is it folie a
moix? Or pate de foie gras?
Surprisingly strong hands her friend had. Strong and supple. The hands of a masseuse - or a
butcher?
"Nine Feet Underground," Dani had announced. Sanja had wondered if this was a new move.
She was down to her itsy bitsy teeny weenie bikini bottom essentials. It hadn't been a move, it
was the title of the nine-part track by Caravan that they were listening to. Or maybe it had been,
because somewhere between 'Nigel blows a tune' and 'The Dance of the Seven Paper Hankies'
she was spurlos versunkt and vorsprung durch nicht. Not that she was sure what that meant or
how you spelled it.
"Snap," Dani had announced. "I'll take those, please..."
She hadn't actually said "Off with her panties!" She wasn't the Red Queen.
Strong and supple hands were rubbing oil into her thighs. Higher and higher. Occasionally, they
gripped, just a little bit, as if appraising.
"Good, lean meat," Dani said approvingly.
Nice to know, Sanja thought. She wouldn't want to have fat thighs. On the other hand, it was just
a bit odd to have her friend appraise her as meat. "Why don't we watch some TV?" she
suggested.
Dani seemed a little reluctant, but acquiesced with only the faintest of protests (It was the very
BEST olive oil, she muttered) and gloomily perused the TV guide while enumerating the faults of
the programmes on offer. "Films, repeats, reality TV, cookery show...hmmm...no, it's probably got
Ainsley Harriot and aubergines in it...cops...science thingy..."
Safe back in the lounge at last, Sanja, naked but for a greasy skin, grabbed the remote and
pressed a button at random.
Synchronicity? Science thingy. Must be BBC5.
A man was standing in front of some sort of machine, about the size of a garden shed, that
looked like a cross between a steam-powered time machine, a torture device from Flash Gordon
and a dishwasher designed by Heath Robinson.
"First, the girl - young woman if you will - is scanned biometrically, then cleaned and depilated. All
body hair below the neck is removed by lasers. A shower of..."
"Told you," Dani said. Sanja, lying prone on the couch, didn't deign to reply.
"Steady on. Scanned biowhatrically?"
"Optical mapping technology. Images fed into the central computer from several cameras define
her precise body shape to optimise the processing."
"In English?"
"In Average Moron, it means that the machinery - the doohickey, thingummy, dingus or gizmo if
you prefer - works better if it knows its subject's arse from her elbow. May I continue?"
"Go on then. The shower?"
"Just a simple spray of warm, soapy water followed by a clear rinse."
"Just like sticking her in a dishwasher," the presenter quipped jovially.
"Very droll." The Doctor deadpanned.
"What happens next?"
"That depends on the options selected. There are several settings. At present, we have - here, it's
on this sheet. I presume you can read?"
1 Spitted
2 Pre-roast
3 Oven bird
4 Cuts
5 Custom (see handbook)
Dr James indicated a panel on the side of the machine. It comprised a small LCD screen and
keypad, rather like an extended ATM. "That's just the primary menu. There are subchoices. For
instance, if you select 'spitted', a secondary menu appears where you can choose - " he pressed
a button - "Live or standard."
"Standard?"
"Well, dead," James said bluntly. "That's easier, obviously. The machine simply disembowels the
subject - after killing her with an electrical jolt to the brain, though that's optional too - cleans out
her abdominal cavity and stuffs it, then sews her up. Then she's spitted and her wrists and ankles
lashed to the pole, and she's ready to roast. There's a choice of stuffings, of course. I quite like
sage and onion."
"Of course. What about the other way?"
"Live? Much trickier. The bowels and bladder are evacuated using catheter and enema tubes.
You can have the subject stuffed that way, or just leave her empty. And then..."
"She's spitted alive?"
"Yes," the Doctor said. "Of course, that's a bit problematic. It's not easy to get a full through-and-
through penetration without killing the subject. The alternative is more complicated but does have
a higher expected survival rate." He paused. "Temporarily, of course."
Well, this certainly was the oddest edition of 'Tomorrow's World' that John Noakes had ever
presented. In front of a live studio audience, too. Briefly, he wished he hadn't come out of
retirement. Blue Peter had never been like this.
"The alternative?" he prompted, as seemed to be expected.
"The double-ended spit," the Doctor said. "Basically, two spit poles, one from the rear and one
down the throat. You can see the problem, of course?"
John visualised it. Years of experience with unlikely gadgets came to his rescue. "The - er -
subject would bend in the middle?"
A curt nod of approval, as if from a stern but just schoolmaster. "Exactly. You need a frame to
hold the structure rigid. The details are a little technical, but basically..."
Better skip that, John thought. It could run on. "I get the picture. And the Oven Bird?"
The Doctor acknowledged the 'moving on' gesture. "Same principle, but the subject is trussed
like a turkey instead of spitted. Much simpler."
"Cuts? Um, well..." That sounded a bit messy.
"The same process that turns a pig into pork chops, roasts, etcetera, except for the special
attention paid to the prime cuts," the Doc went on briskly. "In a human female..."
"I can imagine," John said. He could, all too well. "So, what it does is..." he paused.
"Woman in, meat out," James summarised. "Not to put too fine a point on it," he added with a
rather annoyingly arch twist of the lip.
So, here was a machine that spared you the effort of butchering your girlfriend yourself. John
wasn't entirely sure that he liked the idea. He was, deep down, a hands-on man. However, he
could see the industrial applications. Ah, progress. Well, bugger that. Press on:
"What's a pre-roaster?" he asked.
"I'm glad you asked." Was that a hint of a patronising sneer? John visualised the Doctor stroking
a fluffy white cat for an infinitesimal moment. He'd really have to cut back on smoking hash while
watching Bond films. It had been easier when all he had to do was control his sheepdog and
pole-vault canals in the Netherlands. Halcyon days. If only Val Singleton were here now. She'd
know how to make a girl processor from a couple of bog rolls, a used washing up liquid bottle and
a hair dryer. Or was that Blake's Seven? No, she'd bring the Doctor to heel with a smack on the
nose with a rolled up newspaper....
"The pre-roaster setting simply prepares the woman - cleans and stuffs her insides - without
killing or binding her. Like all the other settings, it can be activated by the subject. She can walk
out of the processor and go to a party knowing that she's ready to be cooked and eaten."
"Doesn't that sound like fun?" Dani mused.
"I don't know," Sanja said dubiously. "It's all a bit, well, impersonal, isn't it? Getting processed by
a machine...."
"Says she who just spent how long under a hair dryer?" Dani mocked. "Just think. No need for
razors or - shudder - bikini waxes. Just step into the box and have all your unwanted hair zapped
off. Heaven."
"But.."
"Shsh. Listen..."
"No," the Mad Doc was saying in answer to a question they'd talked over, "It isn't fatal. It's quite
harmless. If the subject doesn't get cooked and eaten after the pre-roaster process she'll survive.
The stuffing will eventually be passed through the digestive tract, though she may have a few -
how to put this delicately - really big jobs. Probably do her good. Too much constipation these
days anyway, in the age of the Mac'n'Pizza diet."
John still looked sceptical. All presenters are required to master this look - the Jeremy Paxman -
once they graduate from children's TV. "So, you're saying it's safe?"
"Well, 'safe' is a relative term but, yes, it usually works. We do ask our volunteer testers to sign a
waiver just in case."
"Just imagine going through that," Dani said. She patted Sanja's bare, oiled buttocks where she
was lying prone on the couch in a manner that could have been interpreted as affectionate or
proprietary. Or lecherous? Some combination of the three? Sanja wasn't sure. For some reason
she didn't feel any need to put her clothes back on. Wouldn't want to get oil on them. Right.
"Roll another joint," she said firmly, "My fingers are sticky."
"Your wish," Dani said....
She leaned over and licked Sanja in the delicate place beween her left buttock and the inside of
her thigh, not quite touching her juiciest parts.
"....is my command." And Dani's deft fingers proceeded to produce the required item as if
nothing untoward had happened while Sanja watched..
"...a volunteer from the audience?"
....and thought 'she licked me she licked me she's going to...' What?
"Do me," a cheerful looking curly-haired girl said. She stepped up onto the stage. "I've always
fancied the bare look down below. Just don't mess with my flock."
Even the Doc looked nonplussed.
"Of goats?" the girl prompted, one eyebrow quizzical. "Obviously not a Biblical scholar." She
shrugged.
Dani lit the joint. Sanja had no idea how she'd done it so quickly. "Song of Solomon," Dani said,
in synch with the girl on TV. "Her hair."
On the screen, the girl disrobed without any apparent self-consciousness. Her body, revealed
piecemeal as she casually shed her clothes, was spectacularly normal. She had all the natural,
animal appeal of a healthy young woman. Her light brown skin glowed with vitality and the
smoothness of just enough subcutaneous fat. She was neither overly voluptuous nor fashion
model skinny. Probably average height, about five foot seven. Whatever. Her fully developed but
not overlarge breasts bounced just a little bit when she took off her bra. She looked....
"Ripe," Dani said.
The girl did a hipshot pose for the audience, who waved and cheered. Her pubic hair was thick
and bushy. Sanja could almost smell her. Synaesthesia? Just thinking about the word made her
want to sneeze.
"White rabbits," Dani said. "Stake the bunny or jump in the box."
".......Nuala..." Sanja heard. Was that really her name? The dialogue on the set seemed to fade in
and out. Comfortably numb...
The girl got into the box. To be sawn in half? No, just stuffed. Sanja started to giggle. Dani
fondled her buttocks as the door slid shut and a faint electro-mechanical hum started up,
accompanied by a few flashing lights on the infernal gadget's control panel. Sanja could hardly
follow the Doc's actions as he rather casually tapped in the program. Suppose he'd set it for cuts
and the girl came out in pieces? Wouldn't it be amazing if she did? It was a horrible thought and
horribly exciting. Suppose a living woman, lovely and vital, stepped into the gadget and came out
as cuts of meat? Suspense. What would happen? What did she want to happen?
"You want to see her chopped up," Dani said. "Admit it." She licked Sanja's ear. "She's so
beautiful it's disturbing. You want her to be meat."
Sanja wanted to protest. "No I don't," she said, "but you do," she accused almost angrily. Her
heart skipped.
"Just kidding," Dani said. She patted Sanja's bare rump. A few minutes of suspense passed in
relative silence, as the presenter and the Mad Scientist exchanged a few half-heard comments. A
bell dinged, like the one on a microwave when the instant dinner is done. Another door opened in
the infernal machine. There was a brief swirl of smoke or vapour and then...
Nuala stepped out of the box alive, and Sanja breathed a sigh of relief. Her pubic hair was gone
and the hair on her head had been trimmed and coiled neatly. Her skin had been lightly oiled and
depilated. She looked like a nubile young goddess. Artemis naked. She should have had a
couple of men fawning at her pretty feet, turned into deer and shot with her arrows. She didn't
seem too worried that her 'flock' had been messed with.
"And now she looks even better," Dani said. "Kill the bitch and eat her. Be honest."
Sanja thought about it. "Okay, maybe I'd fuck her if I were about 11% more gay, but..."
"You'd kill to look that good."
"Well, maybe shoplift."
"Every guy in the audience wants her and some of the women too. The rest want to be like her.
Guess why?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"Because she looks good enough to eat. Literally. That's all. She knows it, too."
The girl - Nuala - was being interviewed on her experience in the processor.
"No, it didn't hurt at all. Well, not much, the tubes and things were a bit uncomfortable. I've never
been pumped out like that. It was weird having all those robot arms poking and prodding me,
and all those flashing lights...kind of cool, too. I felt like an extra in a remake of Barbarella."
Both the Doc and the presenter were obviously having trouble not drooling visibly, which gave the
girl pretty much an open field.
"And you feel.....um....all right?" the presenter managed.
"Never better," Nuala said. She didn't exactly flaunt herself; she didn't have to. All she had to do
was not surpress her natural body language. Her body did the rest on its own. Every slight shift of
posture rippled through her muscles, reflecting light from her skin. Her nipples were erect and her
bare, oiled pubis shone. Even her earlobes looked delicious. She was clearly enjoying herself and
in no hurry to put her clothes back on.
"She'll be a national celebrity when tomorrow's papers hit the stands," Dani commented. "A
megastar by the weekend. Or she'll be spread out on a banqueting table somewhere, beautifully
cooked, ready to be carved, fulfilling her destiny. Care to guess which?"
"That's crazy. It's just a TV show."
"But supposing she was laid out on a table and we were at the feast. What part of her would you
eat?"
"Dani..." This was getting uncomfortable.
"Ribs? Tits? How about some of that juicy thigh steak.....?" Dani teased.
"Perhaps you'd like to try out my patented woman-cooking oven," The Doc was suggesting,
"There are several possible options..."
Nuala laughed good-naturedly. "I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet," she said.
"The Doc could make a fortune out of that box as a makeover device," Dani said. "I think he may
be just a little bit ahead of his time on the other stuff. Still, one never knows..."
"Bit pricey, I'd think," Sanja mused. "And where would you keep it?"
"Not for private sale," Dani explained. "Not at first anyway. Just install a few in beauty salons.
Step in the box and come out an edible Goddess."
"Unless it slips a gear and you come out as pork chops," Sanja suggested, getting into the spirit
of things. Now the crisis was over she could joke about it. She sensed Dani's approval.
"All part of the kick," Dani agreed.
After Nuala had been coaxed back into her clothes, accompanied by groans of semi-ironic
disapproval from the audience, the TV show wound down. So, eventually, did the private party.
Talk inevitably turned to bed. Sanja was far too stoned to go home, of course. The usual
negotiations ensued.
"There's no heating in the spare room, I'm afraid. And the bed's a mess," Dani said. "You can
always sleep in the oven. It's quite big, you could roast a pig in it. There's a huge roasting pan,
you'll fit into it easily if you curl up."
"You've got to be kidding."
"No, really, it's quite comfortable. I slept in there once when the gas central heating was off. The
oven's electric. Just set it low and you'll be warm as toast. It opens from the inside too, in case
some idiot gets themself stuck in it, so you'll be quite safe." Well, that was a relief. Not that Sanja
really thought that Dani would lock her in and cook her just for a lark, but...
If Sanja hadn't been very stoned, if the image of Nuala's body hadn't incited her to something like
envy, if she hadn't been covered in oil, if...
Well, there are a thousand and one reasons people wake up in funny places and it's never easy
to make sense of it after the fact. The fact is that Sanja woke up the next morning in a roasting
pan lined with an old blanket, covered in bacofoil like a turkey, in the oversized oven in Dani's
kitchen. Her first thought that could be dignified with the term was the usual. "Where the fuck am
I?" Since she'd had more marijuana than wine, it didn't take too long for her head to clear. The
second coherent thought was that there was someone else in the kitchen. That was Dani's voice;
the other was male. Probably Nick, Dani's occasional boyfriend. They were probably having coffee
or something and presumably he was unaware that she was in here. The internal light could be
switched off even when the oven heater was on so he couldn't see her unless he peered through
the mesh glass door. She could wait here until Nick left, but how long would that be? She
needed to pee.
Oh, what the hell. She pushed the door open, uncurled and clambered out as gracefully as she
could manage, pulling the blanket with her and wrapping it around herself without unseemly
haste. "Morning Dani, morning Nick," she said nonchalantly and headed for the bathroom. She
retained an impression of Nick with his mouth agape and spilled coffee as Dani called "Good
morning," after her. She relieved herself in the bathroom, took a brief shower and came back
wrapped in a towel to look for her clothes. She dressed in the lounge, leaving the underwear, and
joined Nick and Dani in the kitchen. "Any more coffee?" she said.