rattling heart. That’s caveman kind of fear, instinctual, evolutionary, necessary. I sucked in my gut, tightened my arms against my sides, and slid into the one good hiding place in the main room, right next to Bertha’s tank.
Bertha was riled up, having sensed me. She wanted dinner, mice, rats, something exotic, like when Rizzo found baby raccoons in the attic and tossed the screeching infants in the tank. She engulfed those innocent babies, one after the other until they became bulges in Bertha’s skin.
I felt Bertha’s head smack her side of the glass, striking at the fake panorama of field grass pasted there. I winced each time she struck. My shirt had ridden up in my squirming, and the glass warmed my skin. I imagined her teeth digging into my soft flesh, her speared nose driving into my navel, glossy scales wrapping my intestines.
When Drew entered Bertha’s room, he started dancing again, humming a slow, high-noted tune. He moved toward Bertha’s tank. I heard the metal scratch of the latch lifted. From my vantage, Icouldn’t see what Drew was doing, but I guessed, swallowed dryly. And in a few seconds, Drew waltzed into the center of the dimly lit room with Bertha vining his shoulders. He offered his hand to the teacher. She took it, and the two of them danced with Bertha. Rizzo would have his head. We could go back to the old days when customers were won with expertise instead of good looks and flashy acts.
Drew leaned toward the teacher. Their lips touched, torsos pressed. The teacher hooked her leg around the back of Drew’s knee. Bertha slithered off his shoulders, plunked onto the stained carpet. She’d done her part and wanted to hunt, seek out the escaped mice that often roamed the basement exhibit. Her tail swished the carpet.
Bertha must have smelled my sweat. She twisted toward me, her tongue snatching molecules of hot fear like a child catching snowflakes. I should have jumped out then, put Drew in a half nelson, muscled him to the floor, but I didn’t. Bertha’s eyes hypnotized me. Snake charming in reverse. I stared until her head disappeared into the shadow at my feet, then her body, then the tapping of her nose against the pleat of my slacks.
The teacher slammed Drew against a wall of chameleon cages, sucked his lower lip. Drew’s fingers slipped beneath her shirt, climbed her belly, and fumbled with a breast. I felt myself growing. I didn’t intend to watch—I was no pervert voyeur—but I needed to keep my mind off Bertha, all ten feet of her, which now wrapped around my leg, up my thigh, and was twisting higher. When I flexed my leg, her body squeezed. I tried to relax. She’d be to my midsection soon, squeeze tighter, strangling liver, then lungs. I wondered if she could fit my body inside her mouth if she really tried. I’d seen her jaws stretch, like when Rizzo finally found and trapped the raccoon mother. He’d tossed her in Bertha’s cage just to see. And Bertha proved how much she could swallow—the burly mother raccoon was no match, just another lump under her skin. Surely I’d be more of a challenge. The weight I’d put on over the years, up to 250 pounds now, was for once a good thing, a defense.
Drew was lean, tall and skinny. The teacher had to reach her armshigh over her head to wrestle the T-shirt off his body. He was hairy. All mammal. My chest and stomach only grew sparse sprigs of hair. I was mostly smooth, naturally so, sleekly so. If only I could talk to Bertha, I could convince her how much better of a meal Drew would make: easier to stretch into her jaws, better meat, worth the hairballs. I couldn’t talk sense into Bertha, though. She was twisting through my legs, flexing over my erection. It had been so long since a woman had touched me. Bertha pulsed, pangs of serpentine pleasure I tried to ignore. Before us, the teacher grinded against Drew, the young college graduate, the handler of snakes, the tall and lean and desirable.
I couldn’t take it,
Bertha was riled up, having sensed me. She wanted dinner, mice, rats, something exotic, like when Rizzo found baby raccoons in the attic and tossed the screeching infants in the tank. She engulfed those innocent babies, one after the other until they became bulges in Bertha’s skin.
I felt Bertha’s head smack her side of the glass, striking at the fake panorama of field grass pasted there. I winced each time she struck. My shirt had ridden up in my squirming, and the glass warmed my skin. I imagined her teeth digging into my soft flesh, her speared nose driving into my navel, glossy scales wrapping my intestines.
When Drew entered Bertha’s room, he started dancing again, humming a slow, high-noted tune. He moved toward Bertha’s tank. I heard the metal scratch of the latch lifted. From my vantage, Icouldn’t see what Drew was doing, but I guessed, swallowed dryly. And in a few seconds, Drew waltzed into the center of the dimly lit room with Bertha vining his shoulders. He offered his hand to the teacher. She took it, and the two of them danced with Bertha. Rizzo would have his head. We could go back to the old days when customers were won with expertise instead of good looks and flashy acts.
Drew leaned toward the teacher. Their lips touched, torsos pressed. The teacher hooked her leg around the back of Drew’s knee. Bertha slithered off his shoulders, plunked onto the stained carpet. She’d done her part and wanted to hunt, seek out the escaped mice that often roamed the basement exhibit. Her tail swished the carpet.
Bertha must have smelled my sweat. She twisted toward me, her tongue snatching molecules of hot fear like a child catching snowflakes. I should have jumped out then, put Drew in a half nelson, muscled him to the floor, but I didn’t. Bertha’s eyes hypnotized me. Snake charming in reverse. I stared until her head disappeared into the shadow at my feet, then her body, then the tapping of her nose against the pleat of my slacks.
The teacher slammed Drew against a wall of chameleon cages, sucked his lower lip. Drew’s fingers slipped beneath her shirt, climbed her belly, and fumbled with a breast. I felt myself growing. I didn’t intend to watch—I was no pervert voyeur—but I needed to keep my mind off Bertha, all ten feet of her, which now wrapped around my leg, up my thigh, and was twisting higher. When I flexed my leg, her body squeezed. I tried to relax. She’d be to my midsection soon, squeeze tighter, strangling liver, then lungs. I wondered if she could fit my body inside her mouth if she really tried. I’d seen her jaws stretch, like when Rizzo finally found and trapped the raccoon mother. He’d tossed her in Bertha’s cage just to see. And Bertha proved how much she could swallow—the burly mother raccoon was no match, just another lump under her skin. Surely I’d be more of a challenge. The weight I’d put on over the years, up to 250 pounds now, was for once a good thing, a defense.
Drew was lean, tall and skinny. The teacher had to reach her armshigh over her head to wrestle the T-shirt off his body. He was hairy. All mammal. My chest and stomach only grew sparse sprigs of hair. I was mostly smooth, naturally so, sleekly so. If only I could talk to Bertha, I could convince her how much better of a meal Drew would make: easier to stretch into her jaws, better meat, worth the hairballs. I couldn’t talk sense into Bertha, though. She was twisting through my legs, flexing over my erection. It had been so long since a woman had touched me. Bertha pulsed, pangs of serpentine pleasure I tried to ignore. Before us, the teacher grinded against Drew, the young college graduate, the handler of snakes, the tall and lean and desirable.
I couldn’t take it,
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