Five

five

Is foodporn a kink?

I walk slowly down the aisle—of the costume shop—brushing the dresses hanging right and left with my fingertips as Ollie huffs once again.

Sari follows us closely as he utters, “Although Krampus appears in many variations, most share some common physical characteristics. He’s hairy, usually brown or black, and has one cloven hoof and the horns of a goat. He also has fangs and a long, pointed tongue that drops out in most portrayals.”

He did complete research on the demon. His dedication doesn’t surprise me, since he’s a medical researcher. I’m glad he’s coming out with us today. Since Meg was poisoned and fell into a coma, he’s shut himself from the outside world, working day and night. He took it hard. It’s good to see him out and about.

I hum. “So, I’m looking for curly horns, fangs, and a furry coat—Chewbacca style.”

“Who?” Sari asks, fumbling with the long braid falling over his shoulder.

“A movie character. He looks like a six-foot, six-inch-tall teddy bear.” I grab two different kinds of plastic fangs, and after a few seconds, I toss the smaller ones into the cart. The horns are not as equally easy to pick. And after too many minutes, I decide to take one of each.

“Some blood of a newt and the paw of a hare, and voilà, you think you’ll be on his good side?” I ignore Ollie’s disdainful question and glance back at Sari with a small smile.

“What else, Angel?”

“Mm, you also need chains to thrash for dramatic effect. Krampus carries them, thought to symbolize the binding of the Devil. The chains are sometimes accompanied with bells of various sizes. Krampus will also carry a bundle of birch branches, with which he occasionally swats children.”

“Birch branches are too hard to find, so a whip it is.” There are some on the shelf on my right, but Sari’s next words stop my hand midair.

“I can give you mine…if… I mean, uhm…” Sari starts stuttering as both Ollie and I turn to look at him with confused expressions.

“You have a whip?” Ollie asks. “What for?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?” I glance at my bestie with an exasperated sigh. “The right one is: do you use it or let someone else do the honors, Angel? ”

Sari’s face has turned as red as the Satan costume hanging behind him. “I never… It was a present. I’ll bring it to your apartment today.”

“A present?” Ollie frowns at him. I can see he’s worried—we all tend to want to protect Sari. He’s such a sweetie. But right now, I am trying to stifle the smirk on my lips. I know Sari is not the pure saint everybody thinks. I mean, wasn’t the Devil an angel before falling?

I’ve been keeping an eye on him and Uri. And I’ve learned a few interesting things about them—since I have a bet to win against my fiancés. But now is it not the time for this. I have an altar to make and a demon to impress.

“A present from one of his many suitors, I presume.” I wink at Sari, and he looks down as he wipes his palms on his white, silk pants. In the last months he has found his own style—thanks to moi ! He enjoys soft fabrics, comfy but classy shapes, gentle colors, and delicate tones. His elegant appearance and graceful moves turn him into sex on a stick—not that he wasn’t before. He’s just more alluring now, looks more comfortable in his skin. I’d die to get my hands on the long camel coat he’s wearing.

“Who—?” Ollie starts to ask, but I interrupt him.

“Bestie, back off. Now…is not the time.” I stare at Ollie, widening my eyes a little while trying to silently communicate to let it go.

He glances at Sari for a couple of seconds before turning toward the cart. “This is crazy, Lor! I can’t keep enabling you,” Ollie declares.

“You have to help me!” I counter, feeling annoyed by his negative attitude. Sully is having more panic attacks lately, and Ollie is worried about letting him go to college next semester. Hence his venting on me.

“It’s, as you’d say, bonkers,” he states blatantly.

“Come on! I didn't ask you to…donate a testicle,” I tell him. “But since we are on the subject, would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Donate one of your testicles,” Sari explains, and I nod.

“A treasure sack, for me.”

Ollie raises his arms toward the sky, looking all irked about what? I really don’t understand.

“What the hell does it have to do with this?”

“Mm, that's a no then. That hurts. You think you know somebody…” I shake my head. “Is Rague the issue here? You think he wouldn’t love a one nut dude. That’s bonkers! He’d adore you even if you were a eunuch.”

“Motherfucker, you’re impossible,” he hisses. “Of course, I’d give you one of my balls.”

“Awwww!” As I jump on him—koala-style—I notice a couple of women gawking at us. “My best mate just confessed he’d chop off one of his balls for me. Isn’t that unconditional love?”

They gasp and mumble something I really don’t give a shit about.

“This is the highest and purest form of love, the gift of one of your juice nuts,” I say loudly, sighing longingly for dramatic effect.

“You are nuts!” Ollie replies. Is the pun intended?

“Your ball is just a metaphor! It means you’ll do anything for me.” I wipe an imaginary tear off the corner of my eye.

“Okay, Okay. Let’s get this over with!” Ollie pushes me unceremoniously off him, but I can see his curled-up lips. He loves me.

“Uri is right, your relationship is the most comical I’ve ever witnessed.” Sari beams at us, light blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

I wink at him while Ollie rolls his eyes. Fifteen minutes later, we are moving to the cashier.

“This cart is overflowing with crap. Are we done here?” Ollie asks.

“Wait. We need one more thing,” I say. “Two, maybe three,” I add, grabbing more costumes.

“Fuck no!” My bestie shakes his head vigorously, taking a step back. His green eyes narrowing on me.

But I state, “This is the chopping-off-a-nut part, bestie!”

A couple of hours later, I’m in my living room surrounded by very grumpy people.

The grumpiness might be caused by the fact that they’re standing in front of the Krampus altar, wearing costumes. Wednesday seems to be the only one enjoying her cute red horns and cape that matches the color of her eyes. She keeps flapping her black wings around like a witch dancing at a sabbath.

I’d smile at that, but I’m looking around the kitchen for an essential item. “My black lippy, has anyone seen it?”

“Your what?” Sari asks me; the white skirt of his angel costume makes a shhh sound every time he takes a step.

“My lipstick, I can’t… Oh, got it!” I can’t summon a demon again without looking my best. Maybe that’s why Krampus started haunting me. The previous, characterless evocation offended him!

I push back the heavy horns that have slipped down my forehead and start applying the final touch to my makeup. Black eyeshadow and eyeliner, red mascara, and gray blush. A little Morticia—and I look fabulous.

The furry shorts I’m wearing are a bit itchy, while the vest isn’t, inexplicably so. I couldn’t find a Krampus outfit, so I settled for a faun one, half goat, half man. This particular one is horrific, but the only furry one I could get with such short notice. The red fishnets give it a spicy twist I dig very much.

Ominous classical music is playing from my phone as I look at the satanic altar. Sari and I did our best, but we don’t have the sadistic heart a follower of demons should possess, so the effect is not that dark.

The black and gold tablecloth is covered in red splatters—strawberry syrup—that have turned the two dolls posed in odd positions on one side a tad sticky. The Grinch is on the right, smiling evilly with melted candies—accidentally left by me too close to the fireplace—on his lap, while Jack Skellington is standing on the left with knives taped to both his hands— courtesy of Gabe. In the middle there’s a frame with a pic of me and Ollie in skeleton costumes from a lifetime-ago Halloween party, to which I taped a drawing of Krampus—I might have made his long tongue reach Ollie’s groin…oops. Scattered around the tables are small bells, tiny paper skull and bone cutouts.

It kind of looks like a lame fifteen-year-old’s attempt to practice black magic to turn their ex into a toad. But it’ll have to do.

“Ollie! Hurry up!” I scream. My horn bumps one of the leather ropes hanging from the ceiling, and I swat at it.

He yells back from the bathroom, “I’m fucking coming. Peeing in this costume is a damn nightmare!”

“You are the nightmare, Satan!” I scream back, as he makes his way to the living room again.

“Do they always shout?” I hear Gabe ask KKJ, to which he responds, “It’s their way to express their love for each other.”

“Bloody get a move on!” I shout.

“You are such a butthole!” Ollie snarls at me with his arms crossed on his devil outfit-clad chest, refuting Rague’s words. The long trident he’s holding embellishes the close-fitting costume that includes a long red mantel.

“The tightest butthole,” I say slyly, not looking at Ollie but instead winking at Gabe. He refused to dress up, but his usual three-piece suit looks fantastic. While the dark brown fur covering my body is turning me into a boiled wiener.

“I don’t understand what we are doing here,” Rague says, looking bloody amazing in his Santa costume. He rejected the hat, and his dark curly hair doesn’t really fit with the white beard, but he’s the hottest Saint Nicholas I’ve ever seen.

“What don’t you understand?” I reply, annoyed by their negative reactions. Only Sari didn’t complain, hence the angel outfit.

“Every single thought firing inside your head,” Ollie feels the need to tell me.

“Is it because your head is only for decoration? Like a Christmas tree?” My bestie is really getting on my nerves today. I need to talk to him as soon as I resolve this nightmare.

He pinches me. “Ow!” I grab Sari’s whip from the counter and make it crack on the floor close to his red boots. Rague growls at me. Bez snarls at him.

“Quit the Neanderthal posturing!” I scold the two brothers.

“Why isn’t Gabe wearing a costume?” Ollie asks with a frown.

“He’s your lawyer,” I state. “The Devil’s advocate.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s quite perfect for my ritual.

Ollie opens his mouth again, but I cut him off. “I know you find all this to be madness since you didn’t miss a single chance to express your unwanted and close-minded opinions. So, let’s chant together and put an end to this. Krampus will show his presence, I’ll continue with my groveling plan, and I’ll be free.”

Everybody nods reluctantly and takes a look at the pieces of paper I handed out before. It’s a ritual in Latin to summon Krampus—I printed it off the Internet from a website called Devil Rebel.

“Oi, U fudn’t fing.”

“Lose the fangs.” Bez snorts at me as his hand palms my furry ass.

Bollocks! I spit them out.

“Ollie, you just read. No need to chant.”

“Why?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Because your singing should be a special event you perform only in your shower…alone,” I shamelessly explain. Rague covers his smiling mouth, while Sari open his lips in shock.

“That's a pathetic, subtle way to tell me I’m a terrible singer!” Ollie retorts with gritted teeth.

“Subtle? I’ve told you a thousand times your voice reminds me of a cat choking on shattered glass.”

“Okay, this is the day where I’m going to kill you. You’ll meet Krampus face-to-face in hell. Problem solved.” Ollie takes a step toward me.

Sari talks before I can. “Where are the hooved shoes?” He stares at my red fishnets-clad feet. The black cherry nail polish looks absolutely stunning.

“The only way you’d get me in a pair of shoes as heinous as hooves is if you’re wedging them onto my corpse,” I explain.

“So tempting!” Ollie lets out a mock grunt.

“I’ll come back to haunt you. I’ll add you to the afterlife list of pricks I want to terrorize,” I counter.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Rague yanks Ollie into his arms. Santa hugging the Devil, that’s a sight you don’t see every day—it’s sort of hot and kinky as shit.

I brush Gran’s tiny urn around my neck. She would’ve loved this, or perhaps not. The uncertainty hurts, because I can’t ever know.

Gabe reaches for me as we start chanting, pressing his palm on my lower back. Ollie sings as well, unfortunately. If Krampus doesn’t come to hear me out, he’ll do it to shut him up.

“ Te iterum humiliter voco, O domine. Nostram deprecationem audi. Oro ne sinas hanc pestem manere. Te remunerabo cum novam damnatam sanguinem. ”

We repeat the chant six times—the number of Satan. Wednesday—in horror movie fashion—suddenly flaps her wings until she gets to the highest roost, staring down at us. Looming, with her red, unblinking eyes on me. The air around me feels suddenly too thick and heavy the more her unwavering gaze focuses on me.

“ Libera me. Libera me. Libera me.” I recite the freeing words alone, raising my hands above my head—as the black magic guru on the Internet told me to do. Is Krampus listening to this?

I lower my paper near the—pumpkin spice—candle and let it catch fire. It burns quickly when I drop it in the small plate on the altar.

When it turns to ashes, the flame of the candle suddenly trembles.

“Look!” I whisper, smacking Ollie’s chest with the back of my hand. “Just like last time.”

“Pretty sure it was my husband panting. He’s frying like a sunny-side-up egg under the heavy Santa costume.”

Rague’s face looks red. I thought it was his way to get in character. I even praised him a few minutes before, when it was all a physical reaction. So disappointed.

“Lori turned up the thermostat,” Gabe tells them.

“Blabber mouth,” I mutter. “I don’t like feeling cold.”

“Cover yourself, then,” Rague states, starting to take off the outfit, followed by Ollie.

“Oh, wait!” Sari suddenly exclaims, jogging to the kitchen. He comes back with a red velvet cake on a plate. It has a couple of skeleton sugar figures on top and what looks like a little brown bear.

“They didn’t have a Krampus sugar doll. The bear was the closest thing to it,” Sari clarifies. “I painted some blood and fangs on him though.”

I squint at it, and yeah, there they are. Perfectly drawn on the tiny, hairy face.

“I thought we could leave a slice for Krampus, as an offering,” Sari adds.

“Well done, Angel.” His beaming smile is contagious. He’s the fucking best.

All the bros love sweets. It’s kind of a family tradition. A tradition Meg started and that now they don’t follow as much anymore.

Sari and Ollie cut and distribute the cake, leaving the piece with the bear figure on the altar. We are eating around the kitchen counter since Gabe and I don’t have a table in here.

“This beauty is foodporn. I think I just cheated on you,” I tell Bez, moaning around a bite.

“The fuck you did.” He frowns at me, but he’s already finished his. His plate is empty.

“Give me that cake,” Gabe orders me, attempting to grab my plate.

I slide it away from him. “Back off! This is mine.”

“What if I tell you, you can have at it from a more delicious…surface?” Gabe quirks a brow at me in challenge. We haven’t tried food play yet. It sounds fun and hot.

“Sitophilia describes sexual arousal involving food. It is arguably the most socially acceptable type of paraphilia,” Sari declares with an enthusiastic nod.

“You can suck the cake off my dick,” Bez feels the need to crassly say as he hoists me up, legs around his waist. I wrap my hand around his nape, while the other keeps a tight grasp on the cake plate.

“And we are leaving,” Ollie states, grabbing his things, and the Santa costume as well. “We’ll borrow this.”

Rague lets out a deep growl—his turned-on growl. I’ve heard it many times before since they like to canoodle…anywhere. Not that I’m any different with my fiancés.

I still scrunch up my nose at my bestie. “Keep it!” I call over my shoulder as Bez carries me toward the bedroom. “Thank you for your help with step one and two ofmygrovelingplan!” I finish hurriedly.

“You’re welcome,” Sari is the only one to reply as I hear the click of the front door closing.

Wednesday continues peering at me. It unsettles me a little.

I still feel her empty gaze on me when Bez closes the bedroom door behind us.