Posted by PK on February 13, 20014 at 00:46:10:
"I was wondering..." Laura ventured tentatively.
"Hmm?" Harold hmmed absently.
"How you'd feel about...eating me," Laura said. Her stomach clenched, not to mention her
unmentionables. She'd been working her way up to this for some time but she was still far from
certain. She was visiting her gynophagic extraterrestrial 'boyfriend' at his rooms in the Rallifrexian
Embassy and her gaze roved around the room. No pile of randomly discarded clothes was in
evidence, so she probably hadn't interrupted him in a meal, just the usual shabby and casually
comfortable batchelor furnishings.
"I'd love to, dear, but you know I enjoy your company anyway," Harold responded almost
automatically.
"I know," Laura said, noting the 'dear' with mixed feelings, not to mention the 'anyway', "But don't
you ever feel that there's something missing from our relationship?"
"I can't imagine what you mean," Harold prevaricated, stolidly ignoring the elephant in the room.
Laura had more than once seen Harold eating other women, starting with Chris, the pizza
delivery girl. She had been the first she'd seen, but far from the last, nor the first for him. Harold
got a regular supply of volunteers. It seemed a lot of women wanted to be eaten by a Rallifrexian
and Harold had a reputation for being a fantastic lover. God alone knew how; Laura certainly
didn't. She'd always been pretty discreet about her relationship with Harold and most of the other
women who'd dallied with him usually ended up in his stomach. Maybe Liz had taken her up on
her suggestion; she was certainly a blabbermouth.
"I'm talking about the ...consummation," she said delicately.
"Is there a problem with the sex?" Harold replied, equally delicately. "I thought, or I hoped, you
found it as satisfactory as I do."
Talking to a man about relationships was always difficult, Laura noted, even if they were giant
purple/green woman-eating Rallifrexians. They never could take a hint; they always needed
everything spelling out. On the other hand, she had to admit in fairness, if Harold had been prone
to jumping to conclusions, he'd have digested and excreted her long since. The first time, in fact,
when he'd mistaken her for his voluntary lunch.
"The sex is fine," she admitted. "Brilliant, in fact..."
"But?" Harold prompted.
"I sometimes can't help wondering what it is you get out of all those other women...." she trailed
off. Was she starting to sound needy? She cringed inwardly.
"Nothing I don't get out of you, apart from the obvious," Harold replied. "Nutrition and...."
"Gastronomic satisfaction?"
Harold shrugged a massive Rallifrexian shrug, which is something to see. "A man's gotta eat" he
quipped in cod American. Actually, as they both knew, he didn't HAVE to eat women;
Rallifrexians can eat almost anything. He ate women because he enjoyed it, and apparently so
did they. Not all women wanted to be eaten, of course, but enough did to keep Harold and his
fellows at the embassy well supplied without having to resort to illegal means.
"It's part of the experience for you, though, isn't it?"
"Not an absolutely essential part," Harold evaded feebly, in a hopelessly conciliatory tone.
"But it's a part of really great sex for you, isn't it?" Laura persisted. "It's the difference between
mutual orgasmic ecstasy and a quickie up against a wall."
"I wouldn't put it quite that strongly, " Harold demurred. "I have to have sex with them," he said
reasonably. "It wouldn't be fair to them if I didn't. To them, that's the main point, usually."
Laura's eyes flicked to the neat row of feminine skulls Harold had kept as a souvenirs, where
most men would keep their collection of Jabbas and Boba Fetts. Chris's skull was on her own
bookshelf at home. Harold noticed her glance.
"I didn't start keeping them until I gave you one from a girl you'd met," he said defensively,
reading her mind. Figuratively, of course, she wasn't inside him....yet.
"Do you remember who they are? Were?"
"Of course I do," Harold said. He reached out a tentacle and indicated one. "Shirley," he said.
Then another : "Beatrice..Rose...Abigail..."
"Yes, I suppose you remember all of them." Laura remembered : "I think you called it RNA
transfer... ..'we do seem to get something more when we eat your brains. Not that your other
parts aren't perfectly delightful, you understand'..." She pounced, brutally. "So you won't really get
all of me until you've eaten my brain, right?"
Harold was lost for words, a rare occurrence.
"Tell me about Rose. And don't say 'There's not much to tell', please." Laura didn't know why
she'd picked Rose unless it was because of the character from Doctor Who, a show that they
both liked. Of course, Rose Tyler wouldn't have dreamed of letting a Monster from Outer Space
eat her. She had already almost met Shirley, in the sense that she'd walked in while Harold was
eating her and her bare legs were still sticking out of his mouth. Very good legs, too. Harold had
told her later that Shirley had passed on the usual sexual foreplay and opted for a headlong dive
into the belly. Strangely forward girl. A wiggle, a kick, a gulp and she was gone. Fast food.
Harold sighed. Women back home weren't this difficult. Then again, women back home weren't
much of anything. You might as well eat a sausage or an Aldebaranian. "Rose was a music
teacher," he began, with heavy patience, "and a pianist. She also had erotic fantasies about
being devoured alive while having sex...."
"Something she couldn't get from her usual boyfriends, I assume..."
"Not literally, no. We went to a Mozart concert; apparently that helped to get her into the right
mood. We had dinner in an Indian restaurant, and a couple of drinks, or at least she did.Then I
ate her."
"A successful dinner date, then? And now do you understand Mozart?"
"Yes, a little, but I still prefer the Beatles. Some things are universal." He raised his eyes piously
heavenward to Starkey, Lennon and McCartney, Harrison being almost a bit too high for his eyes
to reach.
"And I suppose that if you ate me, you'd have a better appreciation of Bach?"
"I suppose," Harold conceded reluctantly. "I'm not sure that I really need to. I hope you haven't
got the wrong impression. We're not like those worm things in Star Trek the Trills have. If I eat
you, you won't be still alive and concious inside me. I'll absorb some essences from your RNA,
not your whole personality, and it's an uncertain process. What's left of Chris is just a skull in your
bedroom and some fond memories."
Laura rubbed her bare feet together. "Fond memories," she murmured dreamily. "And it's a very
pretty skull..."
"I'd never have given you the damned thing if I'd known you'd obsess about it," Harold snapped.
Laura was shocked. Harold never snapped and hardly ever used profanities. "Are we having our
first quarrel?" she wondered. In fact, she was stung because there was an uncomfortable amount
of truth in the accusation. She had given Chris oral sex, pretending to eat her, just before her
deliciously golden brown body had slid into Harold's mouth. It had been a short relationship but
an intense one. She could vividly remember Chris's cries of ecstasy as Harold had swallowed her,
and the twinge of envy in the base of her own stomach. Since then, she had had dreams of
making love to Chris, something she'd never done with a woman in real life, inside Harold's
mouth and then his stomach as they were being eaten and digested together. They had been
very wet dreams and she had woken drenched in sweat and other juices, with peculiar feelings.
To climax and dissolve in ecstasy...she mentally shook herself.
"I'm sorry," Harold said, "I didn't mean to offend, but I got a little heated. I can eat women any
day, but what I value about you that's unique is your company, your conversation, your joi de
vivre.."
"French?" Laura smirked. "Where did that come from?"
"Sandrine," Harold admitted. "I met her yesterday at the Embassy." He indicated another elegant
female skull.
"Met her and et her?"
Harold gave a moue of distaste at the gauche wordplay. "Yes. She was a chef and our
conversation veered inevitably towards the gastronomic. She wondered aloud whether she'd taste
as good as the food she cooked and I offered my honest opinion that she probably would, and
events proceeded logically from there. The French are very logical, not to mention tasty."
"Did she taste of garlic?"
"Un peu. A mere soupcon. Just a little, but it didn't spoil her flavour at all. I may acquire a taste"
"For garlic or for Frenchwomen? How was she in...um...mouth?" She could hardly say 'in bed'.
"Very passionate. Wildly, I might say. When she finally uttered the cry of 'EAT ME!', I did. Well,
she hadn't taken the precaution of making me promise not to."
"Nobody could blame you," Laura opined. "Who could resist a cri de coeur like that?"
"And her legs tasted much better than frog's legs too," Harold added. "Though I have to admit
that I'm not entirely sure she intended the result. It's not always easy being a giant omnivore with
a taste for the distaff side."
"It's not easy being purple," Laura murmured facetiously, unsure whether Harold would pick up
the Muppets reference. Personally, she'd always thought that Kermit could have resolved his
problems of unrequited love by having Miss Piggy for dinner. Roasted well done, of course, with
sage and onion stuffing. Definite not mint sauce.
"Well, it isn't," Harold went on, oblivious. "I do like humans but I also enjoy eating human women.
Sandrine was a perfectly nice woman, despite being French, but she also looked and smelt
delicious. What was I supposed to do when she climbed into my mouth and begged me to eat
her? I'm only flesh and blood and there's only so much temptation I can stand. I *have* tried to
give it up but I just don't have the willpower."
"Unless you make a promise," Laura uttered thoughtfully. She'd had the same problem giving up
cigarettes, not to mention not to mention chocolate hob-nobs.
"Yes, of course. I have my self respect to think of. I'm a monster of my word."
"How about this, then," Laura said. "Suppose I release you from your promise. You don't have to
eat me the next time we have sex but, if I cry out 'Eat me!', you don't have to resist, you can just
do what comes naturally." Harold made a disgruntled noise; odd, coming from a Rallifrexian, but
Laura was used to it by now so she went on : "You once said 'If you ever change your mind about
that...', remember? And I said 'You'll be the first to know'." She tried to remember if she ever
actually had said that before. "Do I say that?"
Harold was nonplussed. "Do you know, I'm not sure. Women sometimes do say things like that
but when it's you I know it's you and I'm not supposed to eat you, whatever you say. I'm usually a
bit preoccupied myself so maybe I just don't notice."
"So, will you do it?"
"I suppose," Harold grumbled. "If I remember in time."
"That's good enough. Just remember that if I say 'eat me' when I'm inside you, you can. I don't
know when or whether I will but, if I do and you notice, you'll gobble me up. If you do, you needn't
feel guilty, you'll just have to find yourself another girlfriend. It'll be like Russian roulette."
"Adding a little spice to your love life?"
Laura was relaxed and smiling, her tension gone. "You could say that. I was beginning to feel like
an old married woman. Like I was in a rut." She leaned back in her chair and spread her legs,
flexing her toes luxuriously. "Now everything's up for grabs again."
"Would you like a game of chess?" Howard suggested, hoping for a distraction.
"No, thanks. I always beat you. You're too easy. Let's have sex." Laura stood up and pulled her
short blue dress off over her head. She didn't have any underwear on, having come to enjoy
feeling free and, well, edible. Her breasts were ripe but firm and she'd taken to shaving her pubic
hair. "It's nice that you like me for my mind but a woman likes to be appreciated for her body too.
Feel free to drool."
Harold drooled obligingly. "Would you like some music?" he offered.
"'One of These Days'," Laura said, smirking. "It seems appropriate, don't you think?"
Harold was nonplussed. That happened to him a lot when Laura was around. "Excuse me?"
"'One of These Days' from 'Meddle' by the Pink Floyd. It's appropriate because one of these days
you might get to eat me, get it? In fact, put the whole album on. I should probably start to come
about halfway through 'Echoes'. I usually do."
Harold had access to the Embassy's digital library, which contained all the classics of Terrestrial
culture, but it took him a minute or two to look it up. "I believe the phrase is 'rock on'?"
What passed through Laura's mind as she slipped into Harold's mouth was an advertising jingle :
'The only thing you can really do With a Rowntree's fruit pastille is chew.' But what she said was
"Put it on 'repeat'. This may take a while. Talk dirty to me, Harold. Eaten any good cheerleaders
lately?"
Harold harumphed in Rallfrexian. "Chance'd be a fine thing. Not many cheerleaders here in
Britain. All I can do is watch them on American TV shows."
"But you'd like to, wouldn't you?" Laura teased. "I'll bet you could eat a whole team of them..."
Harold salivated copiously. Laura wallowed luxuriously in the viscous fluid, smirking tantalisingly,
though it was wasted on Harold while she was inside him.
"I know what you're thinking", Laura said. "I can feel it. All those unattainable cheerleaders and all
you've got is me, right here in your mouth..."
One of Harold's prehensile tongue tentacles plunged inside her possessively and she groaned in
anticipation of ecstasy. "Taste me..." she whispered hoarsely. "One of these days...." Visions of
half-eaten cheerleaders danced in her head. Laura had often wondered about the perverse
paraphilia that made her enjoy seeing other women being eaten, or even thinking about it, but
there was no more time for profound speculation. Her brain was turning to hot mush. Her body
was pulsating flesh porridge.
What Laura didn't know was that Harold had Met a Space Toad earlier that morning and eaten
him. What Harold hadn't known was that the Space Toad had been high on marmalade. What
neither of them had considered was contact highs, in this case transmitted partly by projective
empathy and partly by saliva.
Why had Harold eaten the Space Toad, you ask? Well, the Aldebaranian had irked him with his
smug assumption of camaraderie, the assumption that they were both the same, predators of
humans without a concience. Harold had lost his temper and gulped him down to teach him a
lesson in manners, a lesson that was obviously wasted, but one doesn't think rationally when in a
snit. The Toad hadn't tasted very good, but he'd had a delicious soft centre, a girl he had
swallowed not long before and was still digesting. There was nothing illegal on Earth about eating
Aldebaranians, as far as Harold knew, the girl was past saving, and he'd almost certainly
disposed of a criminal without troubling the authorities, so his conscience was clear. He hadn't
thought about the hazards of second hand marmalade consumption. So very few people do,
even today. Thus it was that Harold and Laura were both a little high without being aware of it. If
you've ever taken acid, you'll recognise the imperceptible transition from the state when you're
wondering when it will start to the one where you realise that you've been away with the fairies for
the last hour. So, be warned! Never eat an Adebaranian unless you're sure you know what he's
eaten first, or a faux pas might be the result, or even a folie a deux. That is, if you're a Rallifrexian
with a human girlfriend. I expect there'll be a special edition of Panorama on the BBC about it,
when something like this has happened more than a dozen times.
Laura, of course, wasn't thinking rationally in any case. It's not something you tend to do when
having sex, being counter productive. Good sex requires a total lack of self-consciousness. A lack
of clothing helps too. She was drifting into paradoxical speculations and fantasies that were
hardly any different from those she usually had. That's probably why she wasn't surprised to find
herself talking to another naked woman who claimed she'd already been eaten, and by a Space
Toad at that.
"What was it like?" she found herself saying, though she couldn't remember how the
conversation had started.
Gina squirmed in what might have been ecstasy, embarrassment or confusion. "Unbelievable,"
she said. "I mean you wouldn't believe what it feels like being eaten. You think sex is good? Sex
is barely the beginning. It's like comparing fondling your tits under your clothes with a full-blown
orgasm after being fucked until your mind explodes. I can heartily recommend it."
"But then you're dead, aren't you? In fact, if you've been eaten, how are you still here and talking
to me?" Laura felt faintly embarrassed at bringing up what seemed to be a niggling minor
quibble.
"Am I?" Gina shrugged. "Maybe you're just imagining me. Or maybe I am. 'Dead' is nothing. Sex
is everything. Being eaten..." Words failed her, she just squirmed ecstatically.
"How did it happen?" Laura wondered. Gina didn't look stupid, or like a lunatic.
"What does it matter?" Gina shrugged again. "Once he stuck his tongue inside me it all made
sense. I wanted him to eat me, so I let him. Or rather, I begged him to, so he did."
"I bet he didn't need much persuading," Laura mused as sceptically as she could in the
circumstances.
Gina laughed. "Of course not. He wanted to eat me. Who wouldn't? I'm delicious, don't you think
so?" She preened seductively.
Laura couldn't deny it. She'd have eaten Gina if she was a gynophagic alien and she'd felt the
same way about Chris and she'd 'eaten' her, so to speak, before Harold did. "So it worked out
well for both of you..."
"He's not complaining," Gina jested, "And neither am I."
Maybe now it's my turn to get eaten, Laura mused. Maybe Chris had been right all along. Why
not? So I'll die, so what? When I'm dead there won't be any more me, so no consequences at all.
I won't exist. There'll just be another pretty skull on Harold's mantlepiece. The idea was not at all
unappealing. Thus far was she tripped and such are the dangerous consequences of
marmalade.
Laura remembered watching in fascination as a naked blonde with breasts like melons was being
eaten by Harold's colleague Gerald, another Rallifrexian, writhing in sexual ecstasy in full view of
everyone. Finally her panting had changed to a hoarse cry of "Yes! YES! EAT me!" The
Rallifrexian had obliged her. The tentacles had pulled her into his mouth head first. Her long,
lovely legs had kicked in the air for a second or two before she'd disappeared. She also
remembered saying "Your friend certainly knows how to pull the chicks" and the strange
sensations in her lower belly, like the tickle of a nascent orgasm. She'd have come in her pants if
she'd had any on so she came in Harold's mouth.
Laura stretched luxuriously on Harold's tongue, spreading her legs, and curled her toes. "Come
on, Harold," she murmured seductively. "Eat me. You know you want to and so do I. Don't be a
tease. I know you can hear me, don't pretend you can't. Just so you're sure...EAT ME! Don't you
like my tits?"
That was the last straw. Laura had her final orgasm somewhere between Gilmour's guitar break
on One of These Days, the second time. and the ever-rising climax of Echoes as Harold ate her.
It took about half an hour, objectively, and an eternity subjectively, if you know your Blake. Laura
was well worth savouring If you want to know what she tasted like, you'll have to ask Harold ; I've
never eaten a whole woman raw and only occasionally roasted, alas.
Now there's another lovely skull in Harold's collection, which he put next to Chris's for sentimental
reasons, after Liz had brought it back. After some equivocation (he hadn't actually devoured her
first hand), he added Gina's at the end of the row, for show. He'd noticed that they had an
interesting effect on his female guests. Now Harold has a better appreciation of Bach, and of
long-deferred (tantric?) sex, thanks to Laura, but he still has a long way to go. Maybe you could
help him with that. He still has a very pretty blue dress going spare and Laura isn't complaining.
After all, Harold does need a new girlfriend.