parminder 02
It is around the third course that Parminder starts to look concerned.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?”
You smirk up at her as you chew your mouthful of chicken souvlaki. Any garlic is neatly drowned out by the strong spices, cumin and cinnamon leaping most to the fore. A swallow sends this latest mouthful to join the thoroughly minced up spanakopita you had for a starter, and the mezze platter you had for a second starter.
“Would you like any?”
Parminder pats her stomach. She’s a comfortable weight—size fourteen, you’d guess?—and the mezze plus salad she ordered has barely made a difference to her middle. It’s easy to forget how little the bodies of prey change when they graze. “No thanks, I’m stuffed.”
“Good. I’m very jealous of my food.” You take another bite of souvlaki, wrapped in its pitta. “I’d have had to take a bite out of you in return.”
You’re quite growing to like the shade of cinnamon her cheeks turn when she blushes. Her blush is only increased by the eye-crinkling devilish smile her reaction causes in you. “You like the sound of that?”
“You have the fangs, right? Don’t they get in the way of eating?”
“Wouldn’t be very good fangs if they did. Order me another course.”
Parminder stiffens. You watch her scepticism about being used as it is chased away by how hot she finds being used by you. “You can’t be serious. You’ll burst.”
“Parm.” You put the half-eaten wrap down on your plate and take a quick swig of a diet coke that is looking ever more ironic. “I can tell you like me. I like you too. If you can fill me up, I’ll show you how to make me very happy indeed.” The irises of her eyes are almost black. You can see the whole of them when she stares. “I know you’d like that.”
“Wh— what do you want me to order?”
The diet coke hits the hostile environment of your churning stomach and immediately fizzes up. You decide to release the gas without emphasis but without shame. Your barefaced belch, from a mouth casually showing predatory fangs, causes your impromptu date to go pale. She has no fucking clue what to do in your presence.
“Honestly? Damn near everything.”
The menu wasn’t too long or you might have burst. As it stands, a further four dishes arrive and are steadily demolished, diminishing by the forkful as you engage and toy with Parminder. She gives away a lot of details. Distracted by watching you rhythmically consume a moussaka baked for two, she tells you she lives basically around the corner and that her roommate is in India getting married. At your baiting, while you gorge yourself on lamb kleftiko cooked in tin foil in an unusual cream-based sauce, she admits that she has only kissed a girl once before.
You begin to struggle by the time the pastitsio arrives at the table, carried by a waiter staring at you with awe. Sweet and savoury lamb baked in something like a lasagne with pasta tubes: a heavy, hearty meal to lay within a gut already turning over four main courses. You ignore the waiter till he goes away, pick up your fork, and go to work.
Parminder is silent as you cram the first few piping-hot forkfuls into your mouth.
“What are you thinking?” you ask, cutting your next mouthful with the side of your fork.
“I’m thinking…” Parm looks either side and leans forward, suddenly seeming very proper and not at all like her rebellious gothic attire. “I’m thinking there’s a dab of sauce just by your lip. And I’d do anything to lick it off right now.” She rocks back into her chair, looking down and burning with bashfulness.
You laugh, which shakes your compacting guts dangerously, and deliberately wipe the sauce from your face with a thumb. She glances up and watches you suck it off. “I’m very jealous of my food. That would cost you.”
“I’d pay it,” she says immediately.
“Not here, you won’t, pet. Can you cook? If you want to try it, you can make me something at your place.”
Your dress is uncomfortably tight to the point of restricting your breathing by the time the pastitsio is safely tucked away. A low belch, by habit hidden behind a fist, is required to make space for the baklava selection.
The thing about baklava is you either pop them in your mouth whole and chew, or else bite them through their dozen crisp pastry layers with the sound of tinkling glass. So of course you invite Parminder to feed them to you. She does so reverently, never knowing whether your teeth will snap down and bisect a morsel, or if her fingers will continue smoothly beneath the shadow of your upper lip. When you close your mouth around them your lips brush her fingertips in a kiss.
And then the meal is over. You sit back and control your breathing. The bulge in your slender midsection is huge and prominent, making it look like you swallowed a small child.
The waiter comes over. “Would madam like…” He can’t bring himself to ask if you want any more. Surely it would be impossible.
You allow your dark eyes to close, the better to enjoy the sensations of cramped contractions within your overstretched tummy.
Parminder picks up the interaction. “No thank you. Just the bill.”
You leave her to it as the card machine is produced, focusing only on a small massage to relieve the pressure about your middle. You can feel the weave of the fabric, even, it’s so tight. You didn’t expect to eat like this tonight or you would have worn something more forgiving.
She pays, tips, and fields the awkward conversation from a man who wants to ask “how the blazes did you fit all that?”, but can’t. You focus on breathing in and out, like a birthing mother. A faint smile on your lips shows Parminder just how happy you are with her. You trust it will be enough. She wants to please.
When the waiter is gone, and a possibly piss-taking complementary portion of baklava has been placed on the table, you let the silence stretch on. Like an anaconda basking in the sun, feeling your innards work on some enormous prey you have wolfed down, you are patient and lazy and deadly.
Parminder says exactly the words you want to hear.
“So… shall we go to my place?”
You don’t need to be invited. You’re not that sort of vampire. But it’s always nice when your prey lets you in to their place of safety.