“The ice cream doesn’t belong in the fridge, Tyson. It belongs in the freezer!” She opens a lid and breathes relief. “It’s only partly melted. Phew.”
She opens the top door of the fridge and sticks that container in. She moves some other cartons and bags up there with it and some of the meat, too.
“The meat too?” I check, remembering that section of the refrigerator will turn the meat to blocks of ice meat.
“There’s too much meat in the fridge. It’ll spoil before you get a chance to eat it all.”
“And when I’m ready to eat it, I’ll break a tooth?” I ask.
She smiles. “You can take it out the morning of the day you plan to eat it and it’ll thaw by supper time.”
Oh. This makes sense. Meat only lasts so long before it no longer tastes good. I don’t know from experience, I’ve always eaten whatever I’ve hunted immediately, but my uncle explained that as a child during his first nighttime solo shift and hunt, he came upon rabbit and tasted it, figuring he didn’t have to hunt to eat after all, but it was old and filled with larvae and tasted bad, made him very sick. He nearly died. This was how it was determined he had problems with his sense of smell. He made use of my scenting abilities from an early age.
This recollection makes me feel strange, suddenly. I hadn’t thought about this lately, how much he relied on me for such things. Some tasks he’d have me complete for him. We had a rhythm to the way we did things. I led and he followed. I hunted or took down prey and we both feasted.
He made use of my senses many times while I grew. And then by the time I was a man, his major focus was coaxing me into finding my mate, though my biggest concern was always running, hunting, feasting. I particularly enjoyed hunting evasive animals that were good at dodging me. I thrived on challenges. And I always shared with him the fruits of my labor, often letting him eat first.
Memories sweep over me of me hunting a man and ripping his throat out before devouring a bunch of his flesh in a rage and I don’t recall why. What did the man do? Why did I do that?
The haze. The haze of anger. Uncle was there afterwards. There, leashing me, trying to calm me. I almost destroyed him too, but he injected something into my flank that made me sleep so that the haze would leave.
Bumps rise on the back of my neck and I feel a chill. An angry one as I start to remember some of the errands we had. Errands that filled the space under the garage floorboards with money.
I watch as she moves things around and puts away more things. I’m in the chair beside the wood stove and I like the view of watching her move around the kitchen, her short pants hugging the curves of her ass. My thoughts of my uncle fade away as she lifts her arms up and takes her hair up into her fist and winds the end around and tucks it so that it stays up in a ball on the back of her head. My eyes travel her torso to the swell of her tits.
She comes to me and for a moment I think she’s about to straddle me, but I’m disappointed when she instead bends and reaches into the bag of hers on the floor near me, lifting a black circle out and wrapping it around the ball of hair to hold it in place.
She moves back to the kitchen and uses a knife to slice open a plastic package of striped meat then places the strips in a pan before washing some more dishes. Smells fill the house. Nice smells. Food smells. The yellow soap in the kitchen. The fragrance of that meat has me salivating.
She cracks an egg over the rim of a dish and drops the insides in and then repeats it before stirring it furiously, putting the shell from the egg into a different dish. She moves to the fridge to fetch a paper container and pours white liquid into the bowl of stirred eggs. Milk. I remember milk. I smile as the kitchen smells and sizzling sounds coupled with the warmth of the wood stove and the sight of my mate makes me happy.
She begins running a knife through food of different colors and dumps small chunks all into a pan with a brown sandy-looking substance. A third pan goes onto the stove (I wasn’t aware I had three pans) and she drops a glob of something yellow into that pan as well as the pan with the food bits before dipping bread slices into the egg bowl and flips it before dropping it into one of the pans. If I weren’t so captivated I’d have her on the floor, thrusting inside her. My cock aches at the sight of my beautiful woman with her long bare legs moving around the kitchen, using it in a way it’s never been used.