yes !!! he would eat me. um—more murderous than sexy. geez, hope he’d turn me into something sweet, serve me to a crowd of serious & important (seriously important?) socialites at a dinner party. i’d be something swirly, & glazed, with a french-sounding name. people would hang faux-impartial ’round the banquet table & he’d just smirk into his champagne.

the party would last for hours. mouths working, unbearable conversation. the average of his pulse & mine would be extremely casual. fragrance rising & a tight confinement in grey slacks, very excited by his cleverness. each bite a little shiver of satisfaction, all the more reason to do it again, none of me left & no one dares forget their compliments to the chef !