Excerpt #1

My table bussing duties completed, I joined Maggie at the stove. The warming food smelled good. She took a taste of one of the pots. “Almost.” she said, “Not quite warmed enough.” She handed me an oven mitt. “Why don’t you take the things out of the oven and set them on the table.”

I did as instructed. The warmth of the oven when I opened the door felt good. The rolls smelled as if they were freshly baked. I took the tray out and closed the door. Maggie turned the temperature setting up a couple of clicks above ‘warm’, and closed the oven door. “This would be our little fireplace,” she said, “keeping us toasty as we eat.”

I placed the rolls in a large bowl that I had lined with a paper towel for the purpose. I put a plate on top of it to retain the warmth. The pasties I arranged on a large serving plate.

I cut a sampling of the pasties into pieces, not exactly quarters, but as near to same-sized as it is possible to cut something that has a curved yet almost triangular shape. I found a small plate and arranged the samples on it in a manner that I hoped suggested ‘presentation’.

I brought the plate over to Maggie and held it for her to make a selection. She kept her eyes on the stovetop but acknowledged me by turning her head towards me slightly and opening her mouth just a bit. I picked up a selection and put it into her mouth.

“Lentil.”

She ate, not taking her eyes off her pots and pans.

As she ate, I took the opportunity to study her in a way that might not have been wise had she noticed.

Her hair was brown with the faintest hint of auburn and not quite shoulder length. It hung compactly about her head in tight tiny ringlets. It was not the sort of hair to run fingers through, but would be a delight to nuzzle close against on a cold night.

Maggie turned her head slightly towards me again, mouth open, waiting for another piece. I noticed that she wore no lipstick.

“Vegetable,” I said as I placed it into her mouth, not bothering to mention the hint of curry.

She ate.

The dark sweater that she wore was loose but not baggy, creating a tension between concealing and suggesting the shape of what was covered. The loose fit of the sweater only accentuated the snug fit of her skirt. The shortness of the skirt only directed attention to the stockings with their multicolored bands, which only called attention to her legs.

She inclined her head towards me again, her lips open and receptive.

“Sweet potato.”

I placed it in her mouth. As I did, I took note of the tilt if her head and the curve of her neck. I imagined how she would look when she offered her neck to be kissed.

“Ready,” she said.

Excerpt #2

On the walls were displayed black-and-white and color photographs interspersed one by the other, some framed, some matted. All the photos were of flowers, of varieties of orchid.

“This is Jan’s work?” I asked.

Maggie nodded.

I began to stroll the corridor as one does in a gallery, studying each of the photos in turn.

Upon closer inspection, I was surprised the see that the photographs were not of flowers at all, but of models, women who had been posed in such a way that the opening of their orifice was made to resemble the orifice of an orchid. Their legs and arms had been arranged to be petals and sepals and labia as labellum. The focal point of each photograph was the opening of the ‘flower’, waiting to be entered. All that was lacking was the scent

Maggie watched me as I walked the exhibition. I paused from time to time to study a particular work more closely. These were not soft floral arrangements; this was no rose metaphor for womanhood. It was a blooming of cunt; not a thorny prick among them.

I wondered for which Maggie had posed.

“What do you think?” she asked at last.

“Very… floral,” I said.

Maggie’s expression told me that she was expecting a more expansive response.

“It was an interesting choice,” I offered, “to have women…” I struggled for the right words “…to have women present themselves as orchids in that way. Flowers waiting to be pollinated.”

Maggie said nothing. She took my hand. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s have some tea.”

Maggie led the way to a closed door opposite to where we had come in. When she opened the door, we were at stub intersection: a short hallway to the left led to what appeared to be the bedrooms; at an oblique angle to the right was the kitchen. We had come full circle. As Maggie reached for the light switch by the door, I noticed the photograph of her and Matilda hanging on the wall. Matilda, Maggie’s special flower. Maggie threw the light switch, and the photo gallery was once more plunged into darkness.

About the Book

All he was wanted was his dinner, plain and simple, and then he would be on his way.

She suggested that he try something different for a change.

That is how the night began.

A man.
A woman.
An order of vegan macaroni and cheese.

That is how the night began.

It became an evening of conversation. The talk was of art, literature, history, until…

This Is a story that addresses that age-old dilemma:
When you have gone home with someone you have just met, to a mysterious house on a dark and foreboding street, and that person wants to draw you, and asks that you pose in… a certain way… what do you do?

Buy the book on Amazon.

Giveaway

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My Dinner from Eleanor’s

by Trilby Singer

Giveaway ends March 16, 2018.
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