In the Belly of the Beast

6

He had thought he was dreaming when she entered with the tray and had barely contained himself at the sight of all that delicious food. He physically sickened with lust for it. 

The aroma was enough to make him want to swallow his tongue. His saliva glands were on overtime, pumping rivers of wet juiciness that he swallowed repeatedly to keep from choking.

The steam floated up from the tray in seductive fingers of wispy smoke. This was what it meant to die happy, he thought. He willed her to leave, wanting only to be alone with this treasure.

His treasure, he gloated, all his to enjoy and no one else's.

She moved at the speed of drying concrete, and to Geoffrey, it seemed an eternity before she placed the tray down beside his bed.

Go, go, go, go, go. He sent telepathic signals to her. Go, just go! He could hardly keep himself from diving head first into the tray. If he was hallucinating, then bring on more LSD.

She left at last, closing the door in a slow motion movement that prolonged his agony. And it was agony. Holding himself back, making himself wait until he was all alone to enjoy her delicious offering.

The pleasures of sin should be relished in solitude, he reasoned. Not that it would be sinful to eat of this food. The sin would be wasting such bounty.

But then again, anything this good had to be a sin.

The old swine had finally left him in peace. It was time to abandon himself to his pleasure.

He rolled over on one gargantuan thigh to be closer to the tray.

Damn.

He should have told her to raise the blind. Anything that smelled this good must be a feast for the eyes, as well. 

He'd have to settle for the overhead light. His hand slapped the wall behind his head and blindly felt for the switch. He found it, flipping the light on.

He was right. This was the best looking food he'd ever seen. He shifted his head to one side because he was actually slobbering on the tray. 

He fisted the fork in his right hand and prepared to dig in. Spying the spoon, he hoisted it in his other. Might as well go at this with two hands.

He shoveled up heaping piles and brought it to his mouth. Savor, he told himself and closed his eyes. Anyone looking at him would have sworn he was about to have the greatest sex of his life, a ménage a trois. With fists full of food.

He breathed in its intoxicating aroma. Now, at last, to partake.

But something wasn't right. The slightest twinge hit his nostrils. What was it? Bleach? He hoped he hadn't jacked off. That would totally ruin it for him.

He opened one eye the teeniest bit, sneaking a peek at the mound of food under his nose. The wink became a wide-eyed stare.

Beneath his nose, the food was moving. Maggots. Scores on the fork and spoon, hundreds on the tray, working, twisting their bodies back and forth, jitterbugging in a macabre dance of decay. 

The feast before his eyes had changed. Everything on the tray was putrid, black, slimy, and rotten. He recoiled in terror and disgust.

He grabbed the tray, throwing it as hard as he could across the room. He screamed in anger.

He heard her footsteps advance down the hallway.

His face was scarlet. How could she? How dare she? How did she play this awful prank on him? It went beyond cruelness. It was madness.