Posted by PK on November 07, 2001 at 18:47:06:
Eating Konnie
I couldn't stand it any more. I just couldn't. All those months of watching Blue Peter just to
see her, even if it meant getting up as early as five o' clock in the afternoon. That's teatime. I
mean, it's sheer provocation, isn't it?
You couldn't blame me, could you? I had to eat Konnie Huq.
So I went down to London and got into the BBC studios just after she'd taped a show. I could
explain how I got here and how I got into the building, but let's face it, you don't really care,
do you? You just want to know what happened. No, you just want me to stop wittering and get
to the good bit.
I found her in the cafeteria. It seemed like a sign. She was eating a BBC cheese sandwich,
rumoured to be surplus sold by the former British Rail. Did you know that someone once
went to court for stealing a British rail cheese sandwich and the judge ordered a psychiatric
evaluation? No, you didn't know and don't care. Sorry, but it's true anyway.
"Hello," I said, "I'm a big fan of yours."
She did a pretty good job of trying to smile while chewing. It obviously wasn't easy. Finally
she triumphed over the sandwich.
"Thank you," she said and smiled again. I was dazzled. She was even prettier in person than
on the TV, slightly nasal London accent notwithstanding.
"I'd like to eat you," I said somewhat shyly. I was just a little star struck.
She looked prettily puzzled, clearly trying not to jump to any conclusions.
I explained. I poured my heart out to her. She listened patiently, with the expression, gained
from years of presenting children's TV, of someone listening to an eleven year old explaining
why he wants to be an astronaut or play the bagpipes. Non-judgemental, straight faced and
faintly encouraging.
Finally I wound down and gave an embarrassed shrug.
"How about it then?" I asked hopefully.
She frowned, prettily of course. "I don't know..."
"Oh, go on."
"Well..."
I could see she was weakening. It must have been the appeal of the psychopathic glint in my
steely blue-grey eyes.
"Please?"
She glanced around. "Not in here," she said.
I could see her point. Who'd want to be eaten in a cafeteria?
"Fair enough. Any better ideas?"
I didn't much want to be watched either, but I had no idea where to go. I'd found her by some
sort of primaeval hunting instinct, possibly related to the way I can always find a good pub in
a totally strange town, but now I was lost. Konnie frowned again and I almost passed out.
Finally she brightened.
"Follow me," she said.
Into the Gates of Hell, I thought but didn't say.
I didn't know where we were going, and while I didn't much care either, though I was mildly
curious. Konnie kept up the conversation. She didn't quite understand exactly how I was
going to eat her. Neither did I. I've always suspected that I have werewolf tendencies, or
perhaps ogre genes. That would explain my intense and constant desire - more than desire,
almost a compulsion - to eat beautiful young women, but not how I proposed to do it. I hoped,
like any virgin on his first hot date, that it would come naturally when the moment arrived. All
I could do was manage a few minimal responses while admiring her from behind. It was a
nice behind, even in the casual clothes she was wearing. I was fascinated by the movement
of her legs and buttocks in her neatly fitted jeans.
"Here we are," she announced brightly, opening a door.
There is a myth that the Pentagon in America is a maze, like that of the Minotaur in ancient
Crete. Or maybe it's just that old SF novel by Sheckley. Let me tell you, it has nothing on the
heartland of the Beeb. I had no idea where we were.
It seemed to be a storeroom of some kind, of perhaps a disused stage set. I could swear
there was a Dalek in the corner. Konnie strode confidently to an archaic looking machine half
shrouded under a tarpaulin and kicked it. It sprang to life with eerie alacrity. I half expected
the Dalek to spring to life too.
"Cup of tea?" she offered.
"Yes, thanks."
We went through the ritual of whether I wanted sugar and milk while she persuaded the
device to disgorge refreshments. It did. I was in awe. When it came, the tea was reassuringly
familiar, as bad as tea from a vending machine always is. They make it that way so it can't
get any worse. I wonder if Jean-Luc Picard's Earl Grey tea tastes the same. Did you ever
wonder why a supposed Frenchman drinks English tea? Have you ever drunk tea in France?
I have, and it makes the stuff you get out of machines seem wonderful by comparison.
I'm rambling again, aren't I? Sorry.
"How are you going to do this?" she asked, after we'd had the ritual few sips. This was the
tough bit. I wasn't sure what she expected here. I'm still not sure.
"You'll have to ... um take you're clothes off," I essayed. I more than half expected her to
back out at this stage. She didn't. I might have been explaining how to build a model of the
Mir space station out of toilet rolls and discarded washing up liquid bottles for all it afffected
her sang froid.
Here I'd like to wax poetic, but I'm not going to be up to it. She took her clothes off. T-shirt,
jeans, underwear, socks...
"I'd like to keep the socks," I ventured tentatively. She did not demur. White cotton socks. I
stuffed them in a pocket of my leather jacket. Then I took the jacket off, it seemed boorish
not to.
And there she was, completely naked. I drank in the sight greedily. Drunk is the right word, I
felt intoxicated, almost delirious. The object of all my most feverish fantasies, beautifully
bare and apparently willing. The jackpot, you know? I took a long, loong look, believe me. I
didn't want to rush this, despite the urgency of my bizarre appetites, and besides I wasn't
quite sure what to do next. Konnie didn't seem to mind. She didn't exactly preen but she
obviously wasn't abashed either. She was sitting on a rickety table of indeterminate function,
legs crossed at the ankles, hands behing her, leaning back slightly. She didn't seem at all
impatient, nor did she seem worried, she just smiled. I'm still not sure I understand that, but
I've got a theory. It has to do with pheromones. Oh, go on, laugh if you like, you think of
something better. What, mesmerism? At the time I could hardly be bothered to think about it.
I'm not sure I can be totally clear about the next bit, okay? Unless you're a teetotaller and a
virgin, you must know there are times your mind is not quite focussed on keeping a precise
record of events. Besides, some of it doesn't make sense, or not any sense you'd probably
believe.
"Are you going to take your clothes off too?" she asked. I felt like an idiot. I hadn't even given
it any thought but it probably was a good idea, though it embarrassed me a bit. I mean,
naked in a BBC studio (forgotten storage closet, whatever) with a TV presenter watching me?
I know it's irrational, but there it is. Now she had mentioned it, my trousers did seem a bit
tight, and not just for the reason I know you're thinking. I managed to get them off, after a
very clumsy interlude with my shoes, but left my shirt on.
"Now are you going to eat me?" she teased. "I don't see how. Show me." It wasn't quite a
taunt, she was either being playful or maybe she was genuinely curious. Who knows what
goes through a woman's mind at times like these? I had an insane vision of doing a
demonstration for one of those science programmes for teenagers. Ever wonder exactly how
you eat a woman kids? Here's how to do it.....
No, there couldn't possibly be a hidden camera in here, that was just too silly. Tentatively I
took one pretty brown foot in my hand and brought it to my mouth. I nibbled her toes. She
giggled. In retrospect, she may have thought it was foreplay. In a way, it was. I tried a few
tentative licks, I think she liked that.
Here comes the crazy bit. I still didn't know what I was going to do, but at some point instinct
must have taken over. It's impossible, right? I mean Konnie wasn't exactly a big woman,
but...
Horrible confession here. I've been known to watch 'Blind Date'. Be fair, things can get pretty
desperate on Saturday night TV. I remember one guest, male of course, saying "Well I like
air hostesses, but I don't think I could eat a whole one." Yes really, it's the kind of thing that
sticks in your mind, isn't it? Sorry, I'm rambling again, but you see my point, don't you?
I ate her foot. Yes, yes, impossible, thank you, I know that. Suddenly it just didn't seem to be.
Maybe she shrank, but I doubt it. I'm not saying I actually turned into a woman eating ogre or
a werewolf, as I hinted earlier, but whatever it was it finished off my shirt. I didn't notice that
at the time, either. I did notice her eyes widen just before I bit her foot off, but you'd expect
more reaction than that, wouldn't you? I know Blue Peter presenters see a lot of peculiar
things but you'd think metamorphosis would be a bit much even for them. When I ate her foot
all she did was make a little 'eep' sound. I liked that so I ate some more of her. It just
seemed like the natural thing to do. It's like stage fright, it's only bad beforehand and at the
beginning, once you get going, it's easy. I tried another foot, a hand, a nice bit of shoulder,
some more leg - her rump was very tasty indeed. I don't remember any particular order to it.
I don't remember any protests or screaming either, just a few small yips and sighs. I'm still
not sure this was what she had really expected, but I like to believe she enjoyed being eaten.
I certainly enjoyed eating her! I'm pretty sure that when I ate her breasts - very soft and juicy,
they were - the nipples were erect. I hope it wasn't just the cold.
Did I eat her you-know-what? Don't be crude. Alright, yes I did, and thoroughly enjoyed it, fur
and all. I can tell you she didn't shave her pubes. I didn't mind at all. There were definite
signs of arousal there, but I'm not going to go into detail, it doesn't seem right. The last bit
was when I ate her pretty head. I don't remember chewing or crunching - gruesome thought
in retrospect - but down it went. She must have been dead by then, of course, but I don't
know exactly when she popped off. All I know is, in less time than you'd think she was gone.
There I was and there she wasn't.
You're probably wondering if I felt a sense of letdown, a sort of post-coital sadness at this
point. I didn't. You may think this heartless of me but I wasn't at all sorry I'd eaten poor
Konnie. Later I would feel a few pangs of regret. After all, she'd been nice to me and maybe
all she wanted was oral sex with a bit of outre fantasy. Maybe she'd been unduly influenced
by the pheromones, ogre mystique, or whatever. On the other hand maybe she really had
wanted and expected to be eaten and it was all down to nothing but my natural charm, I'll
never know. What I felt at the time was full, replete, satisfied, and a little bit drowsy. I
suppose a lion feels this way after he's knocked back the odd cute little okapi or gnu for
lunch. What I did, odd as it may seem, is lie down on the table - yes, the one she'd been
sitting on - and take a nap.
When I woke up, after the usual five minutes of 'where the hell am I? ' thoughts, I had a
problem. You may have guessed it. What was left of my clothing didn't fit. The pants and
jacket were too tight, and the shirt was a write off. It seems even metamorphs, if that's what I
am, can't just make a hundred and some pounds of woman simply vanish. That's why I left
Broadcasting house dressed as a Yeti, it was the only thing I found that I could get into. I had
my clothes stuffed in the backpack I'd brought with me. Nobody said a word. You can go
anywhere dressed as a Yeti if you can pull off the attitude. Everybody either assumes you
have a good reason for it or they don't dare ask. Try it.
What happened next? Nothing much. There was a bit on Crimewatch about the
disappearance, and the man some people thought they saw talking to her, but the Yeti
sightings weren't thought to be connected and nobody came close to me. I wasn't very
hungry for a week or two and not all the extra weight came off, but that's it. I don't watch Blue
Peter any more, it's just not the same without Konnie, but there's this nice newsreader on
Channel Five...
Mine's a pint thanks. It IS your round, I'm sure.
What? No, I don't know if the same approach will work again. It's not as if I've done this very
often. But you know what they say, if you don't ask...
Cheers.