The first story I ever had accepted for publication, on the now-defunct Microhorror.com. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thanks for reading.
Jen had soon found out that living and working downtown wasn’t the endless parade of designer shoes and smorgasbord of attractive men that the Sex and the City reruns had made it out to be. Life as a paralegal was an endless loop of long hours and high stress; her salary, after the bills had been paid, usually left just enough money for her to head to Fifth Avenue for a day of window shopping.
Her social life was limited; her love life was non-existent. Dating coworkers was dangerous, not to mention against company policy, and her limited budget and wardrobe made the idea of clubbing seem foolish. As for her, well… She’d had to make compromises. Even before she’d heard about phthalates, the idea of trying to satisfy herself with one of those awful ‘toys,’ which always somehow reminded her of giant, mutant pacifiers, had turned her stomach.
The first time she’d gone shopping at the supermarket, she’d been so sure her purpose was obvious that she’d put two kinds of lettuce, dressing, even croutons in her shopping basket before choosing a cucumber, and still ended up blushing furiously at the checkout. Once she’d realized that no one noticed or cared what she bought, she’d become the produce section’s best customer, stopping in every few days for cucumbers, carrots, even a squash once. That hadn’t gone well. You just haven’t had a man in way too long, girly, she’d said to herself, and blushed.
And so earlier today she’d found herself in a cafe, one of two dozen singles looking for love at a speed dating event. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon, she’d thought ruefully. It hadn’t started off well, either, the room was full of people in whose eyes she could see a certain desperation, hoping that the look wasn’t mirrored in her own eyes, knowing that it probably was. The event was a string of blandly anonymous faces and strained small talk, punctuated every five minutes by the bell, and a new face. Halfway through, however, he had sat down in front of her, darkly confident, stunningly handsome, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d scrawled her cell number on the scorecard and slid it across the table to him.
“Um, miss?” It was one of the hostesses, “You aren’t supposed to provide your information directly…”
“Jen,” she’d told him, standing, oblivious to the woman’s consternation, “Call me. Soon.” It wasn’t until she got home that she realized she hadn’t even gotten his name.
His call, an hour later, had asked, no, had summoned her to dinner, and she’d found herself dressing to be undressed. Down, girl! Had it been that long? Just the sight of a nice face and the sound of a deep, masculine… Stoppit!!
At dinner, however, she’d found herself mesmerized again, with no idea what she was talking about with him, just a sensation of warmth flowing from her core every time he spoke. You, girly, are practically drooling for this guy, and you know what I mean. She never noticed the food, never seemed to see him eat but somehow, the check had arrived and been paid. In a cab together then, thighs touching, lips touching, walking up the steps to her apartment. Magically, it seemed, their clothes were on the floor, her marveling at his rigid perfection. Much better than a cucumber, she thought, and pushed him back onto the bed, straddled him, oh god it has been soo long…
She gasped when she felt his teeth graze her neck, and a chuckle rose from deep in his chest, a chuckle that rapidly changed to a high-pitched scream of terror and pain as he felt her teeth, the teeth of her ravenous nether mouth, biting down, and beginning to chew…
So much better than a cucumber.