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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
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Lizzis' Afternoon (ff, vomit)
by Zaticon (zaticon1@aol.com)
Date: 2/00
***
Lizzi sat on the passenger side of the El Dorado, her eyes closed, her
lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and bore the motion of the car
as best she could. Her plans for the day had gone completely off track,
and now, the ride back to the house was making feel even sicker than she
had on the boat. She was glad when they left the freeway. It meant that
the long car ride was almost over. Good. She breathed slowly, deeply
and carefully.
Michelle glanced over from the drivers seat.
"You're awfully quiet, Hon." she said.
"Mmm...? Oh, I'm sorry." Lizzi answered. She opened her eyes and pasted
on a smile. Steeling herself for conversation, she made a highly
understated admission.
"I'm just feeling a little... you know...kind of..." She put her hand on
her stomach and stuck out her tongue. "Blecccch!
That boat ride kind of got me. I mean, I liked it, it was great.
Your friends were great. Especially Shannon. I'm just... not a very
good traveler, I guess. "
Michelle took her foot off of the gas, letting the car slow down, and
started to pull over. "Need to get out and walk around, a little?"
"Mm mm." Lizzi shook her head.
"I could put the top down, if you need air."
"You don't have to do that."
"Want to drive? That might help."
"No. Really. It's OK. I don't feel really SICK sick, like, like I'm
gonna, you know, throw up, or anything. Besides, we're almost home,
anyway." She swallowed. "I just... wouldn't have eaten so much, if I'd
known we were going."
She smiled, feebly, hoping that Michelle would take it as a gesture of
fortitude. Actually, the grin reflected her own amusement and,
naturally, she and Michelle had sat together.
Being around so many gorgeous models had done its thing on Lizzi, pretty
fast. All of them had been flaunting their charms, their rosy nipples
showing through their thin little tops, their tight buns squeezed into
tighter retro-seventies hot pants, God. There were even a couple of
strands of Irish red pubic hair sneaking to view, here and there. To top
it off, Michelle had been covertly slipping her hand down between
Lizzi's thighs all through the meal. Before long, she was well worked
up.
Then, the last of the party showed up. That was when she saw Shannon.
Michelle noticed that Lizzi kept looking at the girl, and wasn't quite
sanguine about it. She shouldn't have worried. Lizzi wasn't a coquette.
Besides, it got around fast that Shannon wasn't into girls. Lizzi had
liked her,that was all. Literally "liked" her. Everybody had.
The other girls were top drawer, sharp, friendly and, gorgeous, but
Shannon put them all in the shade. In the shade! Hell, in the fucking
DARK! Next to her, they came off like a pack of cannibalistic
androgynes.
She was... generous! That was the word. Exactly. She was from Iowa.
Adel, the town was, Lizzi remembered. A farmers daughter? If not, she
should have been. She was that incredibly sexy, wholesome type that
those words conjured, in popular myth, tall, and stunning, like some
huge flower. Generous. That really said it, physically, as well as in
her attitude.
Her smile made Lizzi think of one of those passive martial arts, like
Tai Chi, or something, soft, powerful, and completely disarming. She had
heart braking "breeders" hips, that smoothed into long Betty Grable
legs. Her breasts were an invitation to pleasure. They had the kind of
nipples that were always going slightly hard, beneath her bra and
blouse. They begged to be kissed and sucked and caressed, by a lover, by
herself, Onanisticly, and, by the cooing, suckling babies that would
come, eventually, when her salivating womb was flooded with seed.
In a 'Forties movie, she would have been cast as the golden hearted
Salvation Army girl, who didn't know that she was drop dead beautiful.
Still, she had to know, Lizzi thought, or she wouldn't have been trying
to be a model.
Shannon a model! Never happen. As beautiful as she was, her look was all
wrong, for the '90s. Nor could she ever cultivate the right "I'm too
cool to fucking bother" attitude. She could be an actress, if she had
the talent. Yeah, an actress, easily. But not a model. She was too
damned sweet, so sweet, and so special that she had completely ruined
Lizzis fun.
Michelle broke into the girls reverie.
"You really did put it away, Sweet Thing. Even on the boat. I saw you
knock off a whole quart of milk."
"Yeah." That gave Lizzi a jolt. She didn't know that anybody had seen
that! She thought fast. "I was...kind of seasick... I thought milk was
supposed to be good for a sick stomach."
"Oh, Honey! That's for heartburn or ulcers, not nausea! It's a miracle
it didn't make you vomit!"
"I didn't know that," Lizzi lied. It wasn't a miracle to her. It was an
aggravation. On the way out, she'd gulped down the milk, as part of her
plan. Then, she'd had to scrap the fucking plan, and now she was paying
for it.
"You always eat like that, and look at you, Miss Hardbody," Michelle
said. Staring straight ahead, she lowered her voice. Lizzis upset
stomach and routinely liontine appetite brought to mind something that
had been bothering her, lately.
"Listen, Lizzi. I've been meaning to talk to you. You eat like three
people, and you look great." She turned and looked at the girl.
"You're not doing anything dumb, are you? You know, like some girls
do... when they like to eat, but... they want to stay thin?" She kept
shifting her attention between Lizzi and the street, waiting for an
answer.
"What?" Lizzi looked at Michelle. "Oh, no! God, no!" she said, after a
moment, catching the meaning. "I hate throwing up!" That was an absolute
lie, but a white one. She wasn't bulimic.
"I just, you know.... do a lot of exercise... keep in shape. And I've
always had a big appetite." She smiled, put her hand on Michelle's leg,
and squeezed.
"I love you," she said, meaning it. "I'm OK! Really!" She turned away
and, leaned against the top of the cars door.
"But, you know, I kind of wish you hadn't said that, right now."
"Sorry I brought it up."
Lizzi turned around and looked at Michelle, wide eyed. Michelle gave her
a questioning look, then caught on. They both giggled. Lizzi leaned back
and closed her eyes.
"Ohhhhh..." She could still feel the motion of the boat.
'Up and down... up and down... Up and down, and all around.'
Lizzi had read that somewhere. In some story, or novel. A girl was
getting ready to throw up, and kept chanting that to herself, mentally,
while her lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a warm coke,
sloshed around in her stomach, "in an extremely nauseating way".
'Up and down, and allll aaarrrooundd.'
Now, thanks to her own efforts, and the wild card that Shannon had dealt
into the game, Lizzi was in the same position, stuck with a big load of
sloshy stuff that clearly did not like being where it was, and felt as
though it was getting bigger and more unstable with every perceptible
motion of the car. She hadn't expected it to stay with her for this
long, but, since it had, she did hope to get home with it. She didn't
want to get sick all over the car, or on the street, in front of a bunch
of strangers.
Michelle concentrated on her driving, hoping that she'd gotten a
truthful answer. A couple of minutes later, they pulled into the
driveway of their rented house. Lizzi picked up her purse and leaned
over to Michelle, giving her a birdlike peck on the lips.
"I gotta go," she said.
Michelle stared as the girl slid of her seat and headed for the house.
Her face had been cool and clammy when they'd kissed, and she looked
pale. Plus, that had to have been the most half hearted little goodbye
they'd ever shared. Lizzi's kisses were never dry. And she hadn't wasted
any time getting out of the car.
She watched her hurry along the walk way and up to the front door. She
was certainly wasn't acting as well as she said she felt. Well, if she
was nauseated it wouldn't be any wonder. All that rich food and all that
running around, the stress of meeting everybody, and then the boat ride,
and what had happened with Shannon. And drinking MILK! Michelle
shuddered.
"The poor little thing."
She smirked at herself for being a worrier. She was obviously just
reacting to her own pathological fear of vomiting. Besides, Lizzi'd
probably be all right, now that she was out of the car. Even if she
wasn't, the worst that could happen was that she'd go into the house and
throw up. That was no fun, and Michelle was more than sympathetic. She'd
rather have fallen backwards down five flights of concrete stairs,
blindfolded, than barf up half an olive.
But if it was going to happen, it'd just have to happen, that was all.
She couldn't do anything, except get sick, herself, if she hung around.
She put the El Dorado into reverse, and backed out onto the street.
Lizzi went into the living room, walked over to stereo, and the touched
the "on" switch. That soft, Bosa Nova stuff that Michelle liked came out
of the speakers.
"Well, am I gonna do it, or not?"
Actually, she was certain that, if she tried, she could fight down the
urge. She'd have to work at it, though... and... would it really be
worth it? She'd be bloated and miserable for the rest of the afternoon.
Getting her stomach empty would be a big relief. And she could EASILY
make that happen. THAT wouldn't take much work, at all.
She'd actively wanted to throw up, earlier. That had been the heat of
the moment. Now, alone, and facing the reality, she was scared of the
idea, but not so much so that she could ignore the tingle in her crotch.
There were some stomach medicines in the bathroom, but they never seemed
to do her any good. Once, she'd tried some of that fizzy stuff, and it
had almost immediately heaved her guts out.
"There's your answer, if you want it." Then she remembered how rough
unbuffered aspirin could be on her stomach. Michelle kept a big bottle
of the cheap, generic kind in the night stand.
"Pop two or three of those... and then chug down a big glass of warm
water... "
She decided to get undressed while she thought about it. Shedding her
bra and pantyhose would at least make her more comfortable. First,
though, she found a rubber band and gathered her hair into a pony tail,
just in case.
In the bedroom, she began stripping off her clothes. She looked at
herself in the vanity mirror. She could actually see the bulge of her
stomach. She looked at it, in the manner of a doctor, who'd unmistakably
identified the cause of a medical problem. She thought back to breakfast
and lunch, to the restaurant, the ice cream parlor and, finally to the
boat. She put her hand on her belly, and pressed, lightly. Immediately,
her nausea strengthened by a corresponding amount, as did the agitated
feeling farther down. She took her hand away and swallowed. Her eyes
went to her dark blond triangle.
"You've got a one track mind, Girl."
"That's what got me into this."
She rubbed her stomach, again, once more teasing her sickness. She
closed her eyes and let her hand slide down to her mound.
"If you broke your leg, you'd probably grab the nurses ass in the
emergency room."
"Only if she was hot, and if she threw up on me."
She'd always been aroused by the sight or the thought of someone
vomiting. She remembered, from when she was a teenager, looking up
"nausea" and "vomit" in the dictionary, the way the other girls did
words like "penis".
'Nausea: The sensation of impending vomiting. A sickness at the stomach,
with loathing for food, and an inclination to vomit.'
'Nauseate: To cause nausea.'
'Nauseous: To cause, or to affect with nausea.'
'Nauseated: to be affected with nausea.'
'Vomit: To disgorge the contents of the stomach through the mouth.'
"Uuuulllltttthh... I feel like I'm maybe gonna disgorge." The house felt
awfully warm, all of the sudden.
Naked, she went out to the patio and lay down on the porch swing. Her
position increased the pressure on her stomach, and the motion reminded
her of the rocking of the boat. She closed her eyes. The sound of the
artificial waterfall that was part of the fish pond increased the
effect.
"I AM gonna throw up," she said, aloud. The realization mashed down on
every emotional button in her head. Every single one. Her forehead was
sunnenly beaded with cold moisture. She felt the leaping butterflies,
and rubbed her stomach, again, not quite for comfort, but slightly hard,
and more than slightly masochisticly.
"Shit..." she sighed, letting out a deep breath. This wasn't what she'd
wanted. Her thoughts drifted back across the afternoon.
Toward the end of the meal, she'd stepped off to the ladies. As she was
coming back, the captain had shown up. Eavesdropping, she'd had heard
him propose taking everyone out for a ride, to get used to the boat,
before they actually had to go to work. She had gotten a crazy, sexy
idea. Her kind of "sexy" that was.
She was going sailing with a bunch of the hottest mannequins in the
business. Right after lunch... She practically came standing up, when
she thought of all of them all hanging over the rail, offloading their
cargo, with their sassy little tushes sticking straight up in the air.
Nothing in the world could get her off more quickly.
"Wooooooofffff!!!!!"
Would any of them get sick, though? Well, they might...if they had some
help...
She'd intended to wait until they were well at sea, and then start
whining about how sick she was feeling. If it looked as though it was
working, she'd have really gone to town.
"Did anybody else have the fish? Did it taste all right? I shouldn't
have eaten so much of it! What if it was spoiled? Oooohhhh.... I KNOW
I'm gonna get sick, NOW!"
With any luck, enough of that would have gotten to somebody, and that
would probably done in somebody else, and then, well...
But, if it hadn't, she'd been willing to go even farther. Some people
could be talked into puking. But, some need little extra shove... sort
of... an example...
She wasn't immune to motion sickness, by any stretch of the imagination,
but she didn't give a fuck! That was the thing! She'd gone back to the
buffet and refilled her plate, piling on macaroni salad, curried
chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream pie, cheese cake... She even
remembered wishing that there'd been beef stroganoff! God! Even she was
appalled, now, thinking about it. Still, if it had worked...
When she knew that it was going to come up, she wasn't going to demurely
retreat to the head, or the stern of the boat. Oh, no. She was going to
let it catch her by "surprise", and unload all over the middle of the
deck, right in front of everybody, as noisily, as messily, and as
ostentatiously as she could. That'd have done it, by God!
Then, when she was "all better", and the rest of them were on their
knees, laughing at the water, she'd be there for them, all sympathy, all
understanding, all soothing, caressing...WANDERING hands... Oh, it would
have been hot! She'd been all primed and ready, as they'd motored away
from the harbor.
Then, Shannon had come up to her, eyes damp, shoulders hunched, looking
terrible. One arm was pressed against her midriff, just below her
breasts, the other held a wadded kleenex to her lips. Her upper lip was
drawn back from her pretty white teeth, in that unmistakable look. Her
face was frighteningly pale, making the pinkness of her mouth absolutely
startling.
Automatically, Lizzi had reached out to take her arm, and lead her off
to the privacy of the head. Then the girl whispered to her.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." The unmistakable terror in her voice
made Lizzi draw back.
"I've never been on a boat, before... I didn't want to... I hate getting
sick! Why didn't they tell us we were going, before they let us eat?"
She began to cry, silently.
Lizzi should have loved hearing those words from such a beautiful girl,
but the fear in the lost little voice melted her. Her plan had gone
straight overboard, and she'd spent the rest of the trip comforting the
other girl. It hadn't been easy. She'd had to choke back her own self
inflicted sickness, which had been almost out of control, by that time.
If she'd gotten sick, or even excused herself and disappeared into the
head, Shannon wouldn't have been able to take it.
She'd held on, though, and gotten both of them through it. After they'd
docked, she'd had two of the other girls walk Shannon around the marina
green for a few minutes. She and Michelle had left right away. Michelle
had been in a strange mood. She really was bothered by all of the
attention Lizzi had paid to Shannon, but, she was proud of her lovers
kindness, too. She, herself lived in terror of seeing anyone throw up.
She'd kept her distance.
"Ohh...SHAAAANNNNONNN.... " Lizzi thought. "Why did you have to be so
scared? Or so nice? If you'd been a little bit brave, or a little bit
bitchy, I wouldn't have felt so sorry for you. We'd both be fine, now."
She rubbed her belly. "Maybe we'd even have had some fun..."
She closed her eyes and let the swing do its thing on her, the way the
boat and the car had. Back and forth... Back and forth...up and down...
"Up and down, and allllllll aaarrrooouuuuundd."
"You really are enjoying this," she thought. She doubled her other hand
into a fist and pressed against, forcing it against her solar plexus.
She thought of the girls on the boat, but only for a moment. Then, she
was back to Shannon.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..."
She loved remembering the words. She tried to imagine how the other girl
had felt, on the cruise.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..."
She lay back and let her legs relax, one sliding down into the space
between the seat and the back of the lounge, the other sliding off until
her foot touched the floor. She looked down at her naked belly touching
it with one hand, the other draped across her forehead.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..."
She sighed. "I'll DEFINITELY throw up, Shannon."
She began to tickle herself, between her open legs.
"Pretty fucking soon, Shannon."
"Pretty fucking soon, Shannon... Fucking pretty Shannon, soon."
"Heeeeeeeeeeeee!!" There were all kinds of reasons why that wasn't going
to happen, but was pretty good word play, for a girl with a sick tummy,
and it drew moisture to the place that she was touching. She began to
masturbate, in earnest.
"I wonder if I have time for this," she thought. "Fuck time," she
whispered.
She didn't have to move from the swing, if she didn't want to. If
something happened, she could clean it up. It'd be easier, here than if
she tried to get to the bathroom and didn't make it.
God, though, there was gonna be a lot of it. And all that milk. She'd
thrown up milk, before. She'd never forget it. She wondered if the whole
quart was still in her stomach, or if some of it had already gone
further down. Then she realized that the milk was the last thing she'd
had, so it would still be there, even if some of the other stuff
wasn'te. It would be the last thing to go, the regular way. Now,it was
going to be the first. She'd have to throw up a whole quart of slimy,
lumpy curdy yellow stuff, before anything else came out of her mouth.
"I'm really gonna make a mess," she thought, squeezing her breast,
bringing both her sickness and her climax even closer. Then, she
realized that, though the concrete would be easy to clean up, the fabric
of the couch wouldn't be. She rolled over onto her stomach and leaned
her head over the edge of the seat, feeling the blood sing in her ears.
She drew up her knees a bit, to gain better access to her privates. She
was surprised at how slippery she was, inside.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi...
I'll probably throw up, Lizzi...
I'll probably throw up Lizzi..."
She kept playing back the words, over and over in her mind, as she
worked on herself. In spite of her better nature, she couldn't help
wishing that Shannon had thrown up. While they were leaving the harbor,
Lizzi had gone for a pee, and had discovered the "head". It was fucking
incredible! It was a little compartment, a bit bigger than a phone
booth, all paneled in polished teak. There were shiny brass rails and
fittings, everywhere. The floor was done in those cute little, old
fashioned, white tiles that looked like honeycombs.
The bowl was the best part, though. It was brass, too, and had a
varnished wooden seat, and an old fashioned hand pump. The name plate
was a white porcelain oval with a blue eagle painted into the glaze.
Everything was spit and polished.
"What a BITCHING place to puke!" she'd thought, at once. Now, she wished
that she could have taken Shannon, alone, into the little private room,
and knelt with her, their bodies crowded together in the tiny space,
while the stunning girl threw up every last morsel of solid in her
stomach, and every last splash of hot, tangy liquid that her body could
produce.
She'd have been sick herself, then, surely. The motion, and the
confinement, the smell, just the raw, sexual excitement would have done
it for her, and they'd have filled the shiny brass bowl together, their
mouths gushing, pouring twin streams thick, and body warm, until they
were exhausted, unable to move, afterward, and lay there, sweating, in
the tiny, humid little compartment...
"Ohhhhh...Shannon..." Lizzi rubbed herself, frantically... "What if a
girl like that, a healthy, strapping, beautiful girl like her, ate
everything she could hold, then got sick... vomited... lost everything
to nausea..."
Her fingers worked inside her, furiously.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi...I'll probably throw up, Lizzi... I'll
probably throw up Lizzi..."
"I'LL PROBABLY THROW UP, LIZZI!!"
"Get to the bathroom, you idiot, her thinking brain screamed at her,
from behind the dancing fire in front of her eyes, shrieking to be heard
above the twin stoirms in her guts and loins, above the "SLAP!
SLAP!SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!" of her thrusting hand. "You've got to sit up, at
least!!"
She threw back her head and arched her back, rising up from the swing,
then slammed back, down, hard. Her belly took the full impact. Her
climax came at the very same moment.
She couldn't give in to it, without losing the concentration that was
keeping her from being sick, and didn't try. As the pleasure tore
through her, she breathed, convulsively, and saliva poured into her
mouth. She slid off of the seat and hit the floor on her hands and
knees. It was going to happen!
At the last instant, she got another wild inspiration. She stood up and
bolted from the patio, charging through the house. It was so
exhilarating that she almost laughed. How classic, dashing for the
bathroom, the way people did, in those last giddy, panicky seconds
before their mouths filled with hot, ruined food, when the false hope of
winning the battle with nausea had been held for too long, and the only
choice they might still have was deciding where to be sick, and only if
it wasn't too late even for that!
She got to the toilet in time, leaned over, and let her mouth go slack.
She coughed and gagged, but didn't retch. Disappointment made her almost
frantic. She turned and grabbed the water glass that was sitting on the
sink. She filled it, took a deep breath, and raised it to her lips.
She almost managed to get it all down, in three big gulps, but the last
of it went down the wrong way. She choked. Immediately, the glass
refilled, then overflowed. A thick torrent of hot, white curds gushed up
all over the back of her hand.
She lowered the glass and emptied it into the bowl. its contents hit the
water, next to the more powerful stream that was pouring out of her.
Again, she thought of Shannon, of what it would have been like, to have,
gone into the head with her. The glass slid from her slippery fingers
and rolled across the floor.
"Oooooohhh ... Shannon... " she thought. "Have you ever thrown up milk?"
Suddenly, she was filled with a primal loathing for the milk, and the
way it felt inside her, for the hard curds sliding over her tongue, for
the way they tasted. It was more than nausea. She hated the milk. She
hated the water that she'd drank. She was glad that it had come right
back up. She wanted everything to come up... wanted to see all of it
splatter into the bowl. She was furious that it hadn't, before... afraid
that it still wouldn't.
The sound she made was as much a scream of rage and frustration as a
retch. Still, it triggered the second wave, and she knew that she didn't
have to worry. When it ended, all of the milk was gone, and the rest of
it was coming up. It tasted different, it even sounded different,
hitting the water, and in the way it sounded, coming up, the lumps of
solid interrupting the flow of air from her throat... coming up with a
gargling sound, not smooth and flowing, like the milk... But it was
good... SO GOOD Getting rid of it, at last...and the best part was that
there was more...she could tell...
She thought of Michelle, then. She wanted her there, with her, her
comforting hands caressing her back and belly, kneading her hard nippled
breasts, slipping into her. She felt like a witch, because she knew that
seeing her like this would make Michelle sick, and she knew that the
woman hated to vomit. She was wishing for something that her lover
detested, but she couldn't help it. She wanted both of them, together,
filling the bowl.
She let her mouth fill, again and, again, savoring the stinging tang,
the cresting and flowing, her muscles flexing like a huge hand,
squeezing everything out of her. Finally, too exhausted to stand, she
fell to her knees, her arms draped across the rim of the bowl.
She must have been finished. She knew that she couldn't hold much more,
surely.. No, she wasn't. It didn't matter... It wasn't bad... not at
all... vomiting... throwing up...not once you gave in to it ... like
seduction... But was it seduction, if you didn't have a choice? If was
forced on you... But, if you wanted it to happen? If it was your own
body, doing it to you? If it felt so good... It was all right, then,
wasn't it? She couldn't make up her mind... She had no mind left... It
was dissolving in her sickness... Everything came to her from through a
thick, cottony haze, as though she were semi-conscious, not far foom
some unimaginably wild and violent public event... A riot, in Times
Square, on New Years Eve... All noise and motion, and power...
but...remote...the blurring jets of semi liquid swirling in the bowl
felt no more connected to her than if they'd been badly focused images
on a movie screen. She was only sensation... All she could do was feel
and hear and smell ...The desperate primal noises, the scents were more
personal than sexual excretions... coming, as they did, from even deeper
within her.
Deliriously, she worried that she might slump forward, into the bowl and
drown . She tightened the grips of her hands on the rim, as she
strained, again, weakly and, finally, dryly.
Sometime later, she realized that she was lying on the cool floor. The
pale green ceiling swam just beyond the focus of her vision. Coming to
herself, she smiled. She recognized the feeling of her emptied stomach
beginning to settle. The sensation was as unique and characteristic as
the nausea which was its counterpoint.
"Ohhhh!!!!!!!! That's better!!!!!!!!" Her voice was raw and nasal. She
sat up and looked into the toilet bowl, breathing in the heavy scent
that wafted up from it.
She cleared her throat, and realized that her nose was stuffed. She got
some toilet paper from the roll, and blew into it. On the third try, she
rid herself of a large wad of mucous. She looked at the paper and saw an
undigested shred of lettuce, amid the snot and puke.
"That's the only part I really hate," she thought, wadding the tissue.
Shakily, she stood up and threw the paper into the toilet. She drew some
more lumpy mucus down from behind her soft palate, leaned over, and spat
them into the bowl. She found the glass and washed it, then rinsed her
mouth. She picked up her toothbrush and loaded it with paste.
As she brushed her teeth, she stood, absently gazing down at what had
been inside of her. Her club sandwich and macaroni salad floated,
placidly, chewed and partly digested, but plainly recognizable. The
clabbered Haggan Daas pineapple sundae, curried chicken, salmon mousse,
coconut cream pie, cheese cake, there was even the little sprig of
parsley that she'd chewed, waiting for Michelle to take care of the
check. Snaking through all of it was a brown ropey string that had to be
that one chocolate truffle... God, what a persons stomach did to food.
"Especially anything with milk or cream in it," she remembered, seeing
all of the yellow-white curds. "And you carry stuff like that inside
you, most of the time. There's something to think about!"
She spat toothpaste onto the wad of toilet paper that floated on her
puke, and rinsed her mouth with water from the glass. She squirted the
water out of her mouth, trying to sink the toilet paper. The contents of
the bowl rippled as she watched.
She turned on the faucets and waited until the water ran tepid, then
washed and dried her face. She reached back and pulled the rubber band
from her hair, tossing it onto the drain board.
She picked up a brush and went to work on her hair. As she was
finishing, she noticed that she was feeling sweaty. She didn't want to
take a shower, so she rubbed on some deodorant, and dabbed perfume on
the insides of her wrists and behind her ears. She dropped Murine into
her reddened eyes, and dabbed on a bit of make up, to cover her pallor.
She looked into the mirror, satisfied.
She turned back to the toilet, not moving for a long time. She noticed
that her ears were still ringing, a slightly, and thought of how she'd
sounded, being sick. Some day, she was going to have a recorder going,
while she vomited. It would be great to have a tape that she could pop
into her Walkman, as a surreptitious accompaniment to some of Michelle's
fantastic tongue work. She reached down to flush the toilet.
"NO! WAIT!"
She had to have a picture, first. She ran and got her Polaroid, then
leaned over the bowl and took three shots. She lined them up on the lid
of the toilet tank, and went to her hiding place to get the others from
her diary. She came back and put them together with the new ones, which
were beginning to show up.
"The color's a little different, this time...This is more orange
looking."
It was hard to tell if there was more, this time, because she'd done it
in the toilet. Last time, it had been in the laundry sink, but, she
finally decided that her record from last summer was intact.
At last, she did flush the toilet, and watched the water flow in over
everything. The level rose up and dropped, swirling down the throat of
the bowl in a spinning stream. She turned away only after it had all
washed down and the bowl had refilled. Before she did, she pulled the
handle again, to get the last bit of oily residue, and the little flecks
that the first flush always left behind.
She gathered up her pictures and left the bathroom, leaving on the
light, so that the fan would take away the smell. With everything safely
put away, she slipped into bed, for a nap.
She thought about. The only unsatisfying thing about her relationship
with Michelle was her lover not being into throwing up. She'd never even
be able to tell her about what had just happened, without grossing her
out. The most she could do would be to mention it, casually, in passing,
during their pillow talk. She imagined herself, quietly breathing the
words, "I DID throw up, while you were gone, Michelle."
Even this would have to wait until after the lovemaking. She moved and
felt dampness on the inside of her thigh. She wondered if she'd somehow
been sick on herself. When she checked, though, she found that the
moisture was pure sexual arousal. Wow, she was hot. She and Michelle
were going to have a good time, later.
She was touched, again, thinking about their conversation in the car,
but she really wasn't bulimic. She was, what was the word? Emetophylic!
She made a conscious effort to relax and drift off to sleep. She wanted
to be rested when Michelle got back. Maybe her earlier plans had blown
up, but the day wasn't over, and Michelle was coming back. She had a
whole new set of plans.
Plans. Somehow, that got her back to thinking about Shannon. It was
funny, but now that she was home, in the bed that she and Michelle
shared, she realized that she had utterly no desire to sleep with
anybody else. She probably never would. It felt nice. She rolled over
onto her side and found Michelle's pillow. She hugged it, smelling the
scent of her lovers hair and cologne. They belonged together, the two of
them, and they belonged here, in the city, doing exactly what they were
doing.
Go back to Iowa, Shannon. Go back and look up one of the dozens of
local studs who must still be pining away for you, and fill up your
life with multiple orgasms. That would work for you. It really
would. I can tell, just by the way it felt, being around you.
But keep in touch. Have a bunch of babies, and write me long, poetic,
clinically detailed letters, telling all about your morning sickness.