/lit/ - Literature

“So do you want to finger bang or not?” asked Bertrand with ravenous impatience.

“I said we would...it’s just, don’t you want to kiss me first?”

“No! I want to finger bang right now!” Bertrand said in fury.

Though it would seem that Calenda and Bertrand were misguided tweens, they were actually socially inept adults in their early thirties. Calenda ended up that way on account of her bizarre fascination of getting itchy insect bites. She kept flea wridden animals in her house, nourished bed bugs at night, and kept still pools of water in front of windows for misquitos to lay their brood. Calenda developed in an insatiable urge to scratch itches, and soon developed a fetishisation of the whole process, from the parasites finding her, to the parasites scuttling for a vein, to the insertion, and to the blood gorging. And finally, after the parasite had taken all he could out of her, they’d leave an itchy memento for her to scratch and reflect in the nostalgia of their encounter. She sometimes filmed her “encounters” and titled them. A person would be seriously disturbed to stumble upon the folder that contained those videos on her computer. Video files with name such as “Flee My Flea but Remember Me” “I’ll Let the Bed Bugs Bite,” and “Natural Gnats.” Human love entered into her life very late, and she was now trying to play catch up to her biological clock that wouldn’t stop its alarming for her to settle down with a man.