hunger

The evening’s dinner wasn’t as sumptuous as she’d planned. The spices stuffed into the tender baby eggplants didn’t seep through enough. The sambar had a little more salt than it should. The zuchhini chutney still had large chunks of pieces, unground, and refusing to blend with the red chillies and the mustard seeds. The rice was cooked to perfection though. She contemplated on the spread before she sat for dinner.

Would he like anything at all? Would he complain? Would he rather taste her on the table than what she’d served in little bowls? No better way than to find out, she resigned. They ate mostly in silence. She in guilt and forcing herself to look like everything was perfectly normal. He looked like it was.

She lay in bed next to him with her own copy of Rachel Ray’s “Veggie Meals”, planning tomorrow’s experiment while he read “The Taming of the Shrew”. Italian she had decided when she heard him chuckle. Glancing at his profile she smiled to herself thanking her stars that he at least seemed satiated and was enjoying his book more than she was. The ‘You won’t be single for long’ pasta recipe seemed simple. The name however she had to change, to perhaps “you will never be single” or you will be together for long”. There, that should pep that pasta. With that thought, she dozed off to dream of pastas taking vows in front of the leaning tower of Pisa, and partaking of a fine spread of buttered broccoli chunks, roasted peppers and mounds of fresh sweet tasting vanilla ice cream complete with small bits of mango nectar rolled into it. Their first dance was slow and sensual.

The silence of the night marred only by an occasional rumble.

She woke up tired. Her stomach growled fiercely. He was already up and she could smell the coffee downstairs. Perfect, I could eat an elephant, she thought to herself as she sprinted down the stairs. Sleep a distant spot left in a snap.

He had his back towards her. Dressed in shorts and a polo, with his neck bent and humming to himself. Watching him, a hunger rose. Dressed in a white tank, and fleece pants, she felt a shudder down her back. Flipping her hair back and twisting it into a knot with the clasp on the table, she walked up to him. Slowly she let her hands circle his waist and run up his chest. He stopped and laughed, holding her palms down, not letting her touch tickle him.

She rested her head on his back and murmured, “I am hungry.”

He replies “Me too! No idea why, but am starving. Coffee’s ready if you’d like a cup. I am having cereal.” He tries to move away to get some milk. She holds onto him, and snuggles in closer.

“Okay, let go. I need to eat.”

In a swift motion, she swirled around and wedged herself between him and the counter, palms clasped tightly around his waist.

“Yeah?” she asked, petulant and pouting, with her bangs falling across her face, raising herself on her toes and drawing him closer.

Eyes narrowed, he looks down on her, firmly pulling her hands away, “Yes. I am starving.”

She let go. Undeterred, she placed her elbows on the counter, palms cradling her face, in what she assumed a provacative gesture, she bent down and called out in her best throaty whisper at his receding back, “Look at me. Surely, you can’t be hungry for cereal?”

With the milk jar in his hand, he looked back at her, “As a matter of fact, cereal looks very good to me.”
***
ps: I wrote this in half an hour. I think it shows. Anyone else want to take a shot at the ending, the parts in blue. Pick up after the “yeah”?

Er, an opinion is welcome. I didn’t say everyone who reads this HAS to have an alternate ending. Uff, all you doubt pattanis!

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7 replies on “hunger”
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