Dig in

It’s been three weeks since I was bitten.

I’ve stopped counting the days, but I still count the weeks. Just a flash of white, and I go back to zero with a sigh.

It would seem I’m very biteable; I can’t begin to tell you why.

Some of us just are, to be honest.

Don’t feel bad.

The third last time, I was standing in my kitchen, peeling off flakes of blue cheese with the tip of a knife. It wasn’t a complex job, but it was mine. My teeth may even have been digging into my lower lip as I cut; I can’t be sure.
I didn’t see Heidi sidle up, I was so focused. She was humming under her breath to Serge Gainsbourg on the stereo, shifting her weight from side to side as she gazed at the food. She’s the only one I know to get as excited about feasts as I do. I should have known what was coming.

She wrapped one arm around my shoulder and leant in close, her head resting against my neck.

This smells so good, darlin’.

I may have smiled; I certainly kept slicing.

I want some now.

And her tiny little teeth in my shoulder made me jump, made the knife slide out of my hands.

I was at the bar in Westgarth Street. No, not the one with the zebra print couch – the one with the torn pool table, under the Cramps poster. Can I continue? I was watching the shots of tequila being lined up at the bar and wondering what kind of person did that at 4am. I was beginning to think maybe I was that kind of person, my hand steadying myself on a stool, when a mouth opened just in my line of vision and settled, quite firmly, on the tattoo painted down my left arm.

I blinked, twice.

I mean, people don’t really do that, right?

He had curly black hair and a crooked grin. I didn’t think I knew him. I didn’t think I knew much that night though, to be honest. And then he had a plump hand on the back of his collar and the weight of a Samoan bouncer behind him, dragging him out where the street light would do his tired skin more favours.

Some tattoos are just more biteable than others, I guess.

The last time, I was in the beer garden of a pub with more double basses and fiddles than Alabama. It was late afternoon, and I was watching him scroll down the menu with those blue eyes. I was so busy watching him that I forgot to read the list myself, so when he went to order I just chose the words my eyes fell on. It was the last item, sticky date pudding.

I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to eat that delicately.

This was going to get messy.

He had so much fun watching me he forgot to eat his nachos with extra guacamole. I slid the spoon into my mouth, again and again, sucking the sauce off slowly and watching him laugh. We both knew I’d slide my finger around the bowl afterwards.

I didn’t disappoint, feeling the thick butterscotch sauce ooze around my fingertip. And when I held it out towards him, neither of us spoke.

I slid it over his bottom lip and felt the warmth within, the softness of his tongue curling around my finger. When he caught it between his teeth and pressed, so softly, my smile was not one you’d want to take home to meet your mother.

I’m not the kind of woman you can ruffle the hair of. We all get affection where we can, after all.

It would seem I’m very biteable; I can’t begin to tell you why.

Some of us just are, to be honest.

Don’t feel bad.

Currently unavailable for purchase



I actually hate being bitten…but it happens all too often.

And yes, watching me eat sticky date pudding is an event, or so I’m told.

I have no sugar shame.

I love the words that fall between the cracks; where I have to roll my sleeve up, jam my arm down into the darkness, and yank the stories up by their hair.

I write with black coffee, and bare feet.

Both seem to help.

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Comments

  • Lisa  Jewell
    Lisa Jewellover 2 years ago

    Holy moly…..I’m a blushing….biteable, indeed. Finger sliding around the bowl, this I’ve seen and shall never forget. A lush inking my darling. xoxoxoxo

  • Matt Penfold
    Matt Penfoldover 2 years ago

    LOL, great read, you certainly are tempting Bell, I’m surprised that you don’t get bitten more often ;)

  • Lisa  Jewell
    Lisa Jewellover 2 years ago

    oh and babe,

    I was listening to this song while reading…

  • TextureoftheSin
    TextureoftheSinover 2 years ago

    any time sticky date pudding is being eaten is an event I am partial to :)

  • berndt2
    berndt2over 2 years ago

    Mmmmmm….. Delicious 8) I kind of lost myself in this one – took me a while to recover sufficiently to actually comment!

  • jenxie
    jenxieover 2 years ago

    i do love how I get lost in your writing

  • Leith
    Leithover 2 years ago

    Enjoyed this little bite Bell.. saucy and at once, sweet. There is nothing like an unannounced gnash from a welcoming set of ivories, and this little morsel had me wincing with delight! As usual you are worth your words in teeth marks my friend.

  • msdebbie
    msdebbieover 2 years ago

    Ah the biteable ones! One of my dearest friends, Samantha, still remembers a time when I was talking to her (tipsy waiting for a train at South Yarra Station when I lived that side of the river), and there was a lull in my alco-babble. A complete stranger was just walking along the platform when he leaned over, kissed my neck, and kept walking. I’d had similar experiences about two other times so I just told her the details nonchalantly, and she was flabbergasted. Just saying That doesn’t happen all the time…but your story totally takes me back to that time. And it’s true – we shouldn’t feel bad. Far worse things that being tempting like a sticky date pudding!!! I’d love to request this one for one of your readings sometime. Delicious :)

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