“It’s a little bit strange. Are you sure?” he asks, though there’s no ambiguity in the arch of my back, the way my tongue rolls across my lower lip and my eyes flick down to his ready bulge.
Our candles have burnt close to the wick during our tap-dance seduction. Molten wax pours onto the nightstand, the dresser. The cramped room is cast in a warm glow, and I see only the cool pallor of his skin. His chest is smoother than I thought, nubile, and only a smattering of twisty hairs.
“I’m sure,” I say, running my fingers through the wiry curls.
He fiddles beneath my eyeline, brushing my flesh with hints of what’s coming. His lips tickle my earlobe, and he whispers, “Did you order extra meat?”
My pulse races, sending blood between my thighs, and when I glance up, his eyes have turned the rusty brown of mild sauce. It’s slow motion as I look down to find it: his hard member placed squarely inside a hard taco shell. I salivate.
“What toppings would you like, sir?” My voice quivers.
“I ordered the supreme.”
A ripple of desire runs through me. On the bed, I find our toys. I plunge two fingers into the sour cream, draw them out and run them along my tongue.
“Don’t be greedy,” he warns.
He flinches at the cool sensation as I slather him in the milky liquid. The ridges of his taut meat tempt me to take him into my mouth then and there, but I resist. Shredded lettuce sprinkles easily onto his thick beef, adhering to the slick cream below, and atop this, I tease him with clumps of cheddar. His manhood twitches. I can hardly restrain my lust and I clutch diced tomatoes in my fist. They’re cool and soft, bursting with juices so much like myself. I place them gently but with confidence along his shaft. The final image is… supreme.
“Number one, your order is ready.” The words catch in my throat. The fear that he will send it back is palpable.
With a clenched jaw he inspects my work to see if the meal is to his liking. His brow is curved as he tips his head and says, “Thank you.”
I come undone. Mouth open wide, I strip his member of its dressings. I nibble away at the hard shell. He moans as I expose him to the air, and I’m hungry for every tiny gasp, a hunger that won’t be sated by lettuce and cheese. My fingers dance between my own legs as I work him with my tongue.
Fire.
Luxurious minutes pass as I gobble him up. Each swallow fills my belly, but the ache between my legs only grows, the need expanding until my core contracts and my pleasure reaches a precipice. A moan breaks the seal of my lips upon him, and my time is as limited as the Flamin’ Hot Cool Ranch Doritos Locos Tacos. He Baja Blasts, his fluids intermingling with the cream in a rapturous Specialties menu of our own making.
Bathing in the aftershocks, he collapses onto the bed. But before I am fully loaded, there is a painful stitch in my abdomen.
I sit up.
“What’s wrong?”
Oh no. I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
“Nothing babe, just–” I clutch at my abdomen as my guts twist. I eye the bathroom door. “Be right back.”
Cheeks clenched, I waddle toward the ensuite. The porcelain perch awaits with its cushioned seat, always too warm by ten degrees. I cross the threshold, cold tile sending a shockwave. The fullness of my innards grows urgent. But I’ve just enough time to take one last look at my work. Eyes closed, arms sprawled, he is the picture of relaxation.
I should close the door.
I know I should close the door.
My intestines gurgle, the sound of water rushing through a pipe. Still watching him, I sit. Buttcheeks cradled in the comforting embrace of the padded seat, I relax. He changes position, propping himself up on his elbow. His muscles flex, but every one of mine releases—a rapturous expulsion that ricochets across nerve endings. I try to stifle my cry in the crook of my arm. There’s no containing the other sounds.
I glance up.
He smiles.
I blush.
It’s a little bit strange, I think. But it’s followed by another thought: He just might be my One. My match. My Fourth Meal.
Rae Knowles (she/her) is a queer woman with multiple works forthcoming from Brigids Gate Press. Her debut novel, The Stradivarius, is coming May ’23, her sapphic horror novella, Merciless Waters, is due out winter ’23, and her collaboration with April Yates, Lies That Bind, in early ’24. A number of her short stories have been published or are forthcoming from publications like Dark Matter Ink, Nightmare, Seize the Press, and Nosetouch Press. Recent updates on her work can be found at RaeKnowles.com and you can follow her on twitter and TikTok @_Rae_Knowles
Taco Bell Quarterly 