A Man of Appetite

Another hectic night at the Perrytowne Tavern, the bar filled with boys guzzling Rolling Rock and the restaurant finally clearing out after a busy dinner rush. Carrie blew a strand of curly blonde hair off her forehead and sidled behind the bar. She didn't have an order to fill but Erica was tending bar tonight and that was all the excuse she needed. She watched the tall, dark-haired girl fill a pitcher with Bud and tried to look nonchalant.

"Busy night."

"Same as always," Erica said without looking back. The two girls wore the same informal uniform-white oxford shirt, blue rep tie, black miniskirt, black flats. They were both very pretty, so pretty they had to constantly rebuff the drunken advances of their customers, but they were, in appearance, total opposites-Carrie a petite blonde with pale blue eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion, Erica a tall, tan brunette with long, long legs.

But they had much more in common than good looks, Carrie thought, barely concealing a giddy smile.

No one was looking, so she dared. She stepped close behind Erica, pretending to reach for an empty pitcher, and put her hand on Erica's ass. She gave the warm, firm flesh a squeeze. "Still coming over tonight?"

Erica didn't answer for a long second, but then she turned and smiled, her white teeth brilliant in the low light. "Of course, lollipop."

Carrie floated back to the restaurant side, walking on air, happier that she knew was possible. It was three weeks since that night when Erica invited herself to Carrie's apartment after work, the two girls sharing a bottle of Merlot and secrets about each other's disappointing love lives.

Carrie was only 21 but she'd been with quite a few boys, and quite a few men, and hated herself for giving her body away so easily. She told Erica this and her friend said, "You need to find someone who appreciates how special you are." There was an awkward silence, Carrie filled her wineglass and set the bottle on the coffee table, hoping Erica would say something to ease the tension, but when she turned Erica's face was right there, inches away, her lips so close Carrie couldn't help but lean forward and touch them with her own.

They made love all night long, Erica taking the lead, obviously not the first time she'd been with a woman. She was only five years older than Carrie but she thought of her tall, sexy friend as so much more mature, more sophisticated. Erica was a mankiller, dating boys by the dozen, breaking their hearts with a toss of her long black hair. Carrie thought she could never be so strong, so confident. She didn't even know she was in love with Erica until that first kiss.

Carrie's nipples tingled as she remembered how it felt when Erica's lipsticked lips closed around them, suckled them into stiff knots, and then how she kissed and licked her way down Carrie's curvy body until she buried her tongue between Carrie's legs and made her moan and writhe and beg for mercy. After she came a third time Erica lifted her head from Carrie's pussy and said, "I love licking you, lollipop." That was her nickname now, and she loved it.

"Who needs boys?" was their inside joke, the one they told after they made love. Who needs boys who think shouting "Boo-ya!" during a basketball game counts as witty conversation, who think wearing a baseball back backwards qualifies as high fashion, who think sticking you a dozen times with their stubby cocks passes for lovemaking?

She sashayed around the low wooden partition that separated the bar and restaurant and that's when she saw him, settling into a high-backed wooden chair at Table 7. Carrie stopped in her tracks. He was one of the biggest men she'd ever seen. He was tall, six-foot-four at least, and girthy as an NFL nose tackle. He carried his weight in his chest and thighs, not his gut. She edged around to the side, to get a look at him in profile. He wore sandals, loose black trousers, and a black linen button-down shirt. He was huge but the casual clothes hung on him as though they were tailor-made.

His head was clean-shaven, his scalp as deeply tanned as the rest of him. He was about 45 years old and quite handsome, with dark, slick eyes and angled eyebrows that gave his face a expression of intense concentration. His lips were full and sensuous, and pursed gently as he waited patiently for Carrie to make her appearance.

"Hi, welcome to the Perrytowne Tavern," she said, setting a menu before the immense man. "Can I get you something to drink? Our special tonight is bottles of Rolling Rock for two dollars."

The man's dark eyes slowly moved up her body, taking his time, seeming to memorize her figure before they finally fixed on her eyes with a penetrating gaze. "My dear, do you have Bass Ale?

She swallowed and nodded, their eyes still locked. "Sure do."

"I would like a pitcher, then."

"A whole pitcher?"

The corners of his mouth rose a quarter-inch. "Please."

She backed away, unable to look away, until she knocked over a chair and broke the spell with the crash. She straightened the chair with shaking hands. She thought she felt his eyes on her, his gaze burning into her back, but when she tucked her chin against her shoulder and snuck a peek back at him she saw him placidly perusing the menu. She went to the half-counter where waitresses on the restaurant side placed their drink orders and Erica said, "What's wrong, honey?"

"Nothing. Just...see that man over there, at table 7?"

Erica looked over Carrie's shoulder, and her dark brows rose. "Wow. Did he say something to you?"

"No, it was just the way he looked at me. It wasn't scary, just...really intense."

"He looks like Brando in Apocalypse Now." Erica was staring at him now, the big man oblivious to the two girls brazenly scoping him out. "He's...compelling." She continued to stare and Carrie felt the first tinglings of jealousy stirring within her. But she wasn't sure if she was jealous toward Erica or her mysterious customer. She was confused. For the past three weeks she was convinced she was a lesbian, thrilled that she at last understood her sexuality. But this man disturbed her. He was big and heavy and bald and when she looked at him she got butterflies.

"I need a pitcher of Bass," she reminded Erica.

"Oh, sure." She filled the pitcher with dark amber beer and handed it to Carrie without looking at her. She only had eyes for the man at table 7.

Carrie set the pitcher on the table and poured a frothy pint. He closed his eyes as he took a long, deep drink. "Ambrosia," he sighed. He opened his dark eyes and smiled up at her. "Thank you, my angel."

A flight of bumblebees took wing inside her tummy. She was his angel. Her face flushed red-hot. "What can I get you tonight?"

"I understand you have outstanding chicken wings," he rumbled.

"Best in the city."

"Excellent. I'll have 20."

She kept her smile frozen in place. "Um, they're pretty big."

His smile was warm and broad. "So am I, my dear, so am I."

She giggled. He continued, "After the wings, I would like your grilled chicken Caesar salad. Then a double cheeseburger with lettuce, pickle, tomato, and mustard. A large order of French fries, a large order of onion rings, and a double order of cole slaw." He opened the menu and took another look. "Yes, that's everything."

Carrie goggled at him. "I should hope so."

He chuckled, a sound like approaching thunder. He said, "I'm a man of occasional appetite." And then his eyes again fell to the floor, to Carrie's legs, and slowly, deliberately, traced the contours of her body, all the way up to her own staring eyes. "Sometimes, considerable appetite."

She thought she might swoon, might collapse on the table. He was so obvious about it, but she was too frightened to say anything. She needed air, needed to get away from the gravitational pull of his huge body. She staggered into the kitchen and placed the order.

The cook said, 'This is for one guy?"

"He's a big boy."

"He's gonna be clogging his toilet tonight, that's for sure." He loaded a wire basket with chicken pieces and submerged them in the boiling oil.

When Carrie left the kitchen and tried to walk past him without looking she found it impossible. He sat there with his eyes closed, his long fingers steepled under his chin, a picture of tranquility. Carrie was the polar opposite. Her face was flushed. She was sweating under her armpits. She gulped air through her mouth. And she was very, very wet between her legs. She wanted him, she couldn't lie to herself. She wanted him inside her, hard and hot and throbbing.

Erica. She had to see Erica, right now.

She had to wait while her lover popped the tops of six Rolling Rock bottles and arranged them in a metal bucket. She finally got her attention and beckoned Erica to the half-counter that opened into the restaurant. "What?" Erica asked, irritated.

Carrie told her what the huge man ordered for dinner. "Holy shit," Erica said, laughing.

"He's weird, isn't he?" she asked, hoping Erica would agree. She wanted Erica to say the big man was ugly, hideous, that she loved Carrie and wanted nothing more than to spend the night with her tongue buried between Carrie's legs.

Instead Erica said, "He's gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?"

"He is. He's different. But he's gorgeous." Erica looked at him and actually licked her lips. "Totally gorgeous."

That wasn't what Carrie wanted to hear. Another wave of jealousy surged inside her. Every good relationship she'd been in, and there hadn't been many, ended with the boy going off with some other girl. She was terribly insecure and though she knew Erica was a lesbian it still upset her to hear her lover call the man "gorgeous". It upset her because she thought the man was gorgeous too. And if she thought that, maybe she wasn't a lesbian after all. And maybe Erica wasn't either. And and and...she couldn't slow her mind, couldn't stop the anxiety.

She walked through the restaurant, checked on the few other occupied tables, and went to the kitchen to collect the wings. The cook loaded them in a basket lined with wax paper and Carrie put the wings, an empty basket for the bones, and a bowl of blue cheese dressing on her tray. She brought them to his table, the wings sizzling hot and so spicy the aroma rose in nearly-palpable waves. The big man opened his eyes, smiled, and took a deep breath in through his nose. "Mmm...an olfactory as well as a gustatory delight." He looked up at her and that smile, so serene and confident, made the wetness in her armpits and crotch even worse.

"Enjoy. I'll be back soon with your salad."

"Thank you, my angel."

She turned to look around and see if anyone else needed anything and saw Erica spying on the man from the bar. She took a drink order from a couple having a late dinner and Carrie found Erica still watching.

"A Molson draft and a glass of Chablis."

"He takes such dainty little bits, like a bird," Erica said. "What's his name?"

"I don't know."

"Find out."

"Why?"

Erica tore her eyes from the man and focused on Carrie's baby blues. "Because it would make me happy, lollipop. I thought you cared about making me happy."

"I do," Carrie pleaded. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Erica said, the first time she'd ever said that, and Carrie felt her eyes well with tears. "Now find out what his name is."

Carrie delivered the beer and wine to her customers and went to the kitchen to get the Caesar salad. When she came back out she found Erica standing by his table, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, looking at him with a coy smile on her lips.

Carrie set the salad bowl on the table with a clatter. "I'm sorry, was there something you needed?"

He slowly turned away from Erica. "I needed another pitcher and I managed to get the attention of you colleague while you were in the kitchen. The wings were excellent, and rather spicy."

"Karl said they made his eyes water," Erica added.

Karl. She couldn't wait for Carrie to ask him. She had to come over and stick her nose in. Carrie roiled inside, lust and jealousy making a black, evil brew in her stomach. She saw the big man look at Erica, his hungry eyes eating her up bit by bit, and Erica standing with her hands on her hips, a sly smile on her lips, the same smile she showed Carrie just before she starting sucking on the blonde girl's nipples. Her nipples were so hard now they ached.

"I should get back to the bar," Erica said. "If you need anything, just ask us."

"Thank you," he said, then turned to Carrie, "And thank you, my angel." She saw the flash of anger in Erica's eyes and it thrilled her. The idea that Carrie could make her lover jealous excited her terribly. Carrie picked up the baskets filled with bones and took them to the kitchen. Before she dumped them in the trash she saw that each bone was picked absolutely clean, not a scrap of meat left behind.

The huge man ate his salad, and then his burger and fries and rings and slaw. He ate slowly, obviously relishing every bite, every sip of beer. Erica brought him a third pitcher and stayed to talk for several minutes that made Carrie grind her teeth. He drank the beer like it was water and didn't seem at all intoxicated when she came by to ask if he wanted dessert.

A slow smile spread across his face. "My dear, I couldn't eat another bite. I am in a state of complete and utter bliss."

"No room for cheesecake? Hot fudge sundae?"

He closed his eyes a moment, considering it, then his lids lifted and those eyes bored into hers. "Just the check, please. "

"The check?"

He closed his eyes. "Please."

Carrie walked to the register in a bit of a panic. It didn't seem possible that he might actually LEAVE. He'd been there just two hours and it was like he'd dominated her thoughts for two months. She punched up his bill, her mind in a zombie-like state.

"He's leaving," she told Erica.

"What?"

"He asked for his check. He's leaving."

Erica started around the bar. "Why didn't you tell me?" She stalked off around the as the cash register chattered and printed up the bill. It came to the rather remarkable total of $65.54. She tore it off the printer and rushed back to his table. She and Erica only had 15 minutes to the end of their shifts. She just wanted to go home, feel Erica's warm, naked body against her own, and go to sleep. Her strange customer had totally exhausted her.

She found Karl and Erica talking, Erica standing beside his chair, biting her lower lip seductively. Carrie set the check on the table and said, "So how was your dinner with us tonight?"

"Singularly toothsome," he said, his voice a deep, velvety purr.

Carrie said, "I hope you don't eat like this every night."

A smile played at the edges of his lips. "I haven't enjoyed beef in five years. Or alcohol."

"Five years?"

He chuckled, a rumbling in his chest. "I live in Nepal. Life there is less...luxurious."

Erica said, "Nepal? Why are you in Pittsburgh?"

He gave Erica his eyes. "I'm lecturing at the University. Tonight is my last night before I go home." He chuckled again. "To the land I now call home."

"I'd love to hear about Nepal." Erica breathed. "We're done at 11, could you stay and talk?"

"I'd enjoy that, but not here. The smells from the kitchen, they would distract."

"Carrie's apartment is only a block away," Erica volunteered.

It was so forward, Carrie felt herself blush. Yet when the big man purred, "That is a capital idea," she burst into nervous giggles. The two girls cleared the table, punched out, and joined him outside the restaurant.

He extended his hand to Carrie. "I'm sorry, my dear, I forget my manners. My name is Karl Hofland."

His hand swallowed hers whole, but his grip was gentle. She worried that he would notice how sweaty it was. "I'm Carrie."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "I'm so delighted to meet you."

*****

They sat in Carrie's living room, the lights turned low, drinking Zinfandel while Karl talked about Nepal. He told them about mountains that reached halfway to the moon, about his 20 years teaching English at a school in Kathmandu, about pursuing his own monastic studies at a Buddhist temple, about the terrible turmoil that followed the murder of the entire Nepalese royal family. The girls listened with rapt attention, his mellifluous voice casting a spell. Erica asked him question after question, obviously fascinated, obviously excited.

"What's the biggest difference between here and Nepal?" Carrie asked, trying to keep up with Erica.

He took a deep breath. "The air here is so rich, I feel I'm swimming in it. In Nepal the air is painfully thin, it took me six months to acclimate. It's much harder for someone my size. The headaches were so severe I wanted to split my skull open."

He took in a bushel of air through his nose. His closed his eyes and turned his face to Erica. He inhaled again, and his massive jaw tightened. His eyes flashed open, they froze Erica in place. "I can smell you, sitting right here. I can smell you."

There was a long silence. A line had just been crossed, and Carrie didn't know what would happen next. He breathed deep again, and a rumbling "Mmm..." issued from deep in his chest.

"What do I smell like," Erica said, failing to keep a tremor from her voice.

Again he took a deep breath. "Like a woman," he sighed. Another deep breath. He opened his eyes and grinned like a wolf, showing his teeth. "Like a witch." He stared at Erica for five seconds, ten, fifteen, hypnotizing her with his relentless gaze. Carrie couldn't move, couldn't speak. It was like she wasn't even in the room.

Erica stood. She unbuttoned and took off her blouse, stepped out of her miniskirt, tossed her bra and panties on the floor. Karl stood and steadied her as she took off her black stockings. He didn't say a word. He lifted Erica's long, dark, silky hair to his nose and inhaled. He leaned down and let his nose trace the line of her neck, smelling her. He eased Erica down to the couch and draped her legs over his broad shoulders. He put his nose to her crotch and sucked in a vast cloud of her scent.

"Yes, you are a witch," he murmured, rising up from between her legs. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, Carrie watched as her lover's body seemed to melt into the couch. Carrie didn't know whether she should say something, scream something, or just lock herself in the bathroom and cry.

Karl's huge bald head slowly turned to her. "Undress, my angel."

Carrie's knees turned to jelly. "I can't," she whispered.

His smile was warm and kind. "No more games, child. Please."

She did as she was bidden. She would do anything he asked. Tonight wasn't a night to make difficult decisions. Tonight she would do what she wanted, and what she wanted was to obey this man's every command.

When she was nude Karl stood to admire her. "Can you smell me?" Carrie asked timidly.

He slowly walked to her. "My dear, I could smell you in the restaurant. I tasted you in every bite I ate." He reached out and his fingertips lightly caressed her shoulders, her hips, her stomach. He stepped close and gently seized two fistfuls of her thick, curly hair. He had to lean way down to bury his face in her hair. Carrie knew she must stink of sweat, grease, beer, and cigarette smoke, but he breathed in her odor and said, "You even smell like an angel."

He did the same to Carrie as he had with Erica, smelling her all over. He paid careful attention to her underarms,, pulling her close so her sweaty armpits rubbed against his nose. He extended his tongue and licked the damp skin, and then he took her palm and drew his tongue from her wrist to her fingertips. He sank to his knees and put his hands on her hips and smelled the skin of her belly. He lifted his head and put his nose in the deep valley of her cleavage.