It was a big one.

I’d been struggling to get it out for so long that I lost track of time. At last it splashed into the bowl; I arched my back, breathing hard, sweat slicking my face and bare torso. I felt emptied of something vital.

And then the cry.

A cat outside the bathroom window. But I heard it again and no, it wasn’t a cat. The cry did not come from outside. It was underneath me. Inside the bowl.

What I did next: I wiped myself and put on the Pixies’ Surfer Rosa album. What would anyone else have done? Besides, I was out of herbal refreshments.

It wasn’t so bad, after I washed it. The skin was a pearly greenish brown. A sparse crown of mushroom-like growths sprouted from its head. Other than that it was familiar. Its eyes were closed.

The Pixies seemed to have a comforting effect on the creature. The crying lessened, for which I was grateful.

I could see the headlines: MAN GIVES BIRTH TO–what? What was it? I had to give it a name. Maybe I should name it after its father. For I remembered what happened that one night; I did the math, and it made sense that he should be the father.

No, I would not name it after him. A constant reminder, that would be, to call that name over and over, as I had when he disappeared.

How about Precious?

The eyes of my Precious opened. They were green. Like apples. Like its father’s.

Devils have green eyes, my grandmother assured me when I was a child.

He’d wanted to fuck without a rubber. Just this once I want to feel you, he said. I wouldn’t budge, so he wore one. It was only when I felt cum squirt inside me that I realized he had managed to remove the condom without my noticing. That night he left with bloody scratches on his face. I didn’t hear from him again.

Precious was four feet tall by the end of three weeks. In one month I had to raise my eyes up at its face. Though it came out of me it was difficult to think of Precious as my child. It was too foreign, too self-reliant. More like a cat.

We communicated without words. It knew what I wished from my thoughts. And somehow, Precious also let me know what it needed; which wasn’t much, at first. Water, some blood from my pricked finger, and hours of death-like sleep.

But soon it wanted more. I hadn’t slept with anyone in months. I yearned to fuck. So did Precious.

I brought the first guy home from the park. I lured him in with a promise of joints and vintage porn. He promptly dozed off after pounding me senseless and a few minutes later Precious emerged from the closet and crawled onto the bed, its slim fingers reaching for the guy’s deflated cock and guiding it into its mouth.

The prick came back to life and the guy moaned as Precious sucked it. The guy’s breathing grew more excited, yet still he did not open his eyes.

Then the quality of Precious’s sucking became more insistent and the guy opened his eyes. Seeing the head with its blooming mushroom hair bobbing at his crotch, he screamed.

Precious locked eyes with him, never taking its mouth away and the guy froze, only able to twist in place as Precious fed on his cock with such ferocity that the guy turned pale, emitting pathetic mewling cries from his twisted mouth.

After Precious was done, there was nothing left of the guy except for scraps of blood and bone.

I had more men over. Precious did not feed on all of them. There seemed to be particular flavors of men that it craved, but I could never guess which. Maybe certain qualities or faults added spice to the flesh. I got addicted to the uncertainty, not knowing what would happen to these men once they entered my house.

And what are a few men removed from the realm of the living? There are too many of them; too many idiots and clueless fuckers and heartbreakers. Why should they get to spread more discontent in this world when they could provide sustenance to one so famished, instead?

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come. I’m glad you did. There’s so much I never got to say and the way we parted was so ugly. But I wanted to see you again, have some closure and move on. I didn’t imagine we’d end up fucking but here we are; my body still yearns for you, after all. I understand now, why you did what you did. You wanted to feel the core of me. You wanted to leave your mark. And you have done just that. For months I carried this mark without even knowing it. No, not that–this is something wondrous and I want you to see for yourself. Now don’t be alarmed. There’s no need to scream. Look. That’s right, keep still. Don’t you see? It has your eyes. And my mouth. Such a hungry little mouth.”

 

© 2004 Ian Rafael Titus - Contributor's Bio