The Halls of Harriet (work in progress)
The Halls of Harriet a gastronomic love story – fondly remembered as the plucking of Zeus.
Ainsley decided to go and get the Mozzarella from the refrigerator. Slumped over the kitchen table, resting his cheek on an oval platter that Delia had given him as a wedding gift, his face was still numb from a bee sting he’d endured as forfeit to a lost bet and he was beginning to feel maudlin. Nevertheless for the sake of his libido he pulled himself together, yawning a jagged grin into the cool white porcelain, before reaching down and placing his penis back into the hot slit of his underpants. He pushed himself away from the table, the wheels of his seat gliding him effortlessly across the white marble floor of the kitchen.
The meeting was going as well as he’d hoped. Jamie had been as compliant as ever; it was merely a case of feeding the porker a fist of Italian cheese and then surreptitiously inserting his cock into the spiky haired gob. Jamie had never chewed anything in his life, so there was little chance of teeth marks and anyway Ainsley wouldn’t have minded the odd pinch, it reminded him of something but he couldn’t remember what. Love? He looked back at Jamie, who was recording the last of the minutes in the entrails of an Etrurian man they’d promoted to the board earlier that day. The man groaned wearily with each pen stroke as Jamie giggled a string of green mucilage into the man’s half exposed intestine. Ainsley smiled a tired bleached-white smile and reached into the fridge, feeling for another pack of soft cheese.
To his surprise he felt not cheese, but a beard and teeth. He jerked his hand back and opened the door fully to find Anthony wedged into the back of the fridge; his bloated naked body, writhing against the bloody remains of a swan which was to have been cooked at a birthday party the following evening. The swan’s sagging neck, covered in small neat bite marks, was draped over Anthony’s shoulders and its wings wedged between the folds of his corpulent thighs. The bearded man blinked in the new light; the bird’s anal feathers crowning his shrivelled member. Reaching into the shelf below, the old man pulled out a packet of fresh Buffalo Mozzarella. ‘I’ll get you another bleedin’ Swan’, he croaked. Ainsley nodded, smiled at the sound of the grunting behind him and took the Mozzarella, closing the fridge door behind him.
Ainsley decided to go and get the Mozzarella from the refrigerator. Slumped over the kitchen table, resting his cheek on an oval platter that Delia had given him as a wedding gift, his face was still numb from a bee sting he’d endured as forfeit to a lost bet and he was beginning to feel maudlin. Nevertheless for the sake of his libido he pulled himself together, yawning a jagged grin into the cool white porcelain, before reaching down and placing his penis back into the hot slit of his underpants. He pushed himself away from the table, the wheels of his seat gliding him effortlessly across the white marble floor of the kitchen.
The meeting was going as well as he’d hoped. Jamie had been as compliant as ever; it was merely a case of feeding the porker a fist of Italian cheese and then surreptitiously inserting his cock into the spiky haired gob. Jamie had never chewed anything in his life, so there was little chance of teeth marks and anyway Ainsley wouldn’t have minded the odd pinch, it reminded him of something but he couldn’t remember what. Love? He looked back at Jamie, who was recording the last of the minutes in the entrails of an Etrurian man they’d promoted to the board earlier that day. The man groaned wearily with each pen stroke as Jamie giggled a string of green mucilage into the man’s half exposed intestine. Ainsley smiled a tired bleached-white smile and reached into the fridge, feeling for another pack of soft cheese.
To his surprise he felt not cheese, but a beard and teeth. He jerked his hand back and opened the door fully to find Anthony wedged into the back of the fridge; his bloated naked body, writhing against the bloody remains of a swan which was to have been cooked at a birthday party the following evening. The swan’s sagging neck, covered in small neat bite marks, was draped over Anthony’s shoulders and its wings wedged between the folds of his corpulent thighs. The bearded man blinked in the new light; the bird’s anal feathers crowning his shrivelled member. Reaching into the shelf below, the old man pulled out a packet of fresh Buffalo Mozzarella. ‘I’ll get you another bleedin’ Swan’, he croaked. Ainsley nodded, smiled at the sound of the grunting behind him and took the Mozzarella, closing the fridge door behind him.
posted by Mark W at 3:27 pm
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