1: First Date
No drug or alcohol was responsible for his distraction, her touch was simply so light and confident that his nervous system allowed every invasion of his body, unalarmed.
It was so gentle that he didn't realize he was being devoured, skin to marrow. He was wined and dined until only his brain and sensory organs were intact, and still they were focused on her.
She continued. She ate his story lovingly in chronological order, which is feat in itself with the messy anatomy of a brain.
Slowly synapses bowed and softly broke, like a stretched out piece of overchewed bubble gum. As she picked at his brain eventually the story of the man could not be explained by that of the child before him, and some time after that, the explanation for the day at hand could no longer be the day before. All those moments existed separate from each other now. A confusing existence, but thanks to stomach acid, a brief one.
She was left with memories of herself from the moments immediately leading up to this one, the details of the date orbiting around his her, and here her cutlery grew still, hovering over a tangle of grey matter.
She was remembering she had a mantra.
Don't do strange things when you're inspired. Just remember you're retired.
She suddenly felt less seductive than bloated. She felt full of an almost-stranger's bodily fluids. Yes blood, semen, saliva-- but she was now aware of a few of less poetic value.