Flesh Eaters

Chapter 2

2

“Ouch… ouch… you’re hurting me!” Karen Taylor cried out pitifully as the sweaty middle-aged man on top of her thrust himself in harder.

“Please stop… take it out… I’m still a virgin.”

The man appeared completely oblivious to her anguished protest. If anything, her objections seemed to heighten his arousal.

“Ow… please, sir… I didn’t mean to do it… I’m only 15… I won’t do it again.”

Eventually, Karen felt him erupt inside her. The man’s body convulsed for a few seconds before he slumped his full weight on to her tiny frame.

Karen felt the air rush out of her body. She gave him a couple of seconds to finish releasing his load, then she tapped him gently on the shoulder. Taking the hint, the man rolled off her and lay exhausted on his back, taking in huge gulps of air.

Karen slid off the bed and took out a couple of wet-wipes from the packet on the bedside table. Carefully, she removed the used c****m from the man’s flaccid p***s, and disposed of the soggy mess in the bin.

She grabbed her dressing gown from the hook and slipped it over her n***d body, before making her way to the bathroom to wash her hands. Karen could hear her mattress springs squeal their objection as the man moved his considerable bulk across her bed to retrieve his clothes. By the time she returned, he was fully dressed.

The man looked at her with a beaming smile. “You’re very good,” he said, pleasantly. “If you tell me your size, I’ll bring a school outfit for you to wear next time, if that’s all right, of course?”

Karen managed a half-smile. “We’ll see,” she answered, noncommittedly.

Just then, they both heard the sound of a baby crying from the next room.

“Look, you’ll have to excuse me, my daughter needs feeding,” Karen explained, almost apologetically.

“Yes, yes, of course.” The man left the room and walked down the hallway towards the front door. He waited there until Karen caught up with him. As she reached the door, he held out his hand. Karen took it and shook, while turning the knob with her free hand.

“Lovely to have met you,” the man said as he crossed the threshold, “I sincerely hope I can see you again.”

Karen managed another half-smile as she closed the door behind him.

Hurrying into the lounge Karen bent over the travel-cot and lifted her baby into her arms. The little girl stopped crying and began to gurgle as she recognised her mother’s smiling face. Karen held her daughter to her breast and kissed her tenderly on the top of her head. Moving to the couch, Karen undid her dressing gown and exposed her breast to allow her to feed.

The sensation of her baby daughter gently suckling on her n****e felt a million miles away from the repulsion she had experienced only moments earlier, when the sweaty businessman was performing the same action.

Karen knew that, if she were going to continue with her present regime, she would have to find a way of compartmentalising her feelings so that her everyday activities did not become too loathsome to her, especially when she needed the money to feed her baby.

Karen gazed around her sparsely furnished council flat. There was hardly enough in it to call it a home, but it was all she had. She reflected on the circumstances which had brought her to this state, and immediately felt the urge to cry. It was a feeling she had grown used to having to deal with over the last three and a half months, virtually since her daughter had been born.

She gazed down at the sweet cherubic face of her baby girl as she suckled contentedly. Although the baby had not been planned, Karen knew that she had made the right choice by deciding to keep her. The baby’s biological father had been a mistake she made one night after drinking too much at a friend’s birthday party. She had contacted him when she told him she was pregnant as she believed he had a right to know. But it was clear from his reaction that he had no interest in being part of his child’s life.

The last Karen had heard about him was that he had taken a job abroad, and Karen could not help but wonder if it was because he was afraid that she might try and bring the Child Support Agency down on him.

If he had taken the trouble to ask, she would have informed him that if he did not want to be around for his child, then she was not going to try to force the issue.

To be fair, Karen knew that there was an easy alternative to her present living conditions. Only last month, her mother had made her an offer to move back in with her. And as her mother lived on her own in a huge Victorian house with four large bedrooms, it was not lost on Karen that by refusing to go she was denying her daughter a much better start in life.

But she also knew that moving back home would be the biggest mistake she could ever make.

Her mother would never forgive Karen for the death of her sister, Josie.

Whether she was conscious that she was doing it or not, her mother had affected a tone in her voice and a look in her eyes whenever she was in Karen’s company that exuded accusation to the point of hatred.

To tell the truth, Karen had always known that her parents favoured her older sister over her, even from a young age. But Josie, on the other hand, did all she could to make Karen feel loved and wanted, and would often challenge their parents openly when she felt they were being unfair to her younger sibling.

When their father died, their mother turned to Josie alone for comfort. It was almost as if Karen had ceased to exist. But Josie, try as she might, could not handle the way their mother smothered her without allowing her sister to share the burden.

So, eventually, unable to stand the overwhelming sense of suffocation, she moved away. Of course, their mother blamed Karen, and refused to believe that Josie had not been influenced by her.

After she left home, Josie and Karen grew even closer. They would speak on the phone all the time, text and w******p each other daily, and meet up whenever they could, even if only for a quick coffee.

When Josie died, it hit Karen far harder than her mother would accept. As far as she was concerned, Karen was the cause for all her grief and, although she could never forgive her, blood was still thicker than water, which was why she felt compelled to offer her daughter and granddaughter a proper roof over their heads.

Karen looked down at her daughter, and rubbed the back of her finger against her soft cheek. The little girl smiled up while continuing with her feed. Could Karen subject her little girl to life with her grandmother? Only as a very last resort, she assured herself.

Even if it meant resorting to p**********n to make ends meet.

At that moment, Karen’s mobile shrieked into life.

It was a withheld number, as she had expected. With a deep sigh, Karen answered.

“Hello.”

There was a slight pause from the other end, then a husky male voice said. “I saw your number online, is that the right place?”

“Yes, that’s right,” replied Karen, trying to sound as cheerful and welcoming as possible. “Would you like some details?”

“Yes,” came the gravelly reply.

“Well, as the advert states, I am in the Stockwell area, I am five feet three inches tall, slim with long blonde hair, and my fees start from 30 pounds for a basic massage.”

Karen waited. She could hear the caller breathing heavily down the line. Even though she had only been doing this a relatively short time, Karen had learnt not to give out her address until after she was sure the caller was genuine. It was not always easy to decipher what kind of man you were dealing with, especially as she could not see their faces, so she had to rely on instinct for much of the time.

She could still hear the man breathing as if he was deciding on whether or not to proceed.

“Would you like to make an appointment?” she offered.

“Yes… please.”

The “please” sounded more of an afterthought to her, but at least it showed a modicum of manners.

Karen was just about to reel off her address when a sudden feeling of dread came over her. This was not an isolated incident – since advertising her services, she had often felt uncomfortable enough not to tell her caller where she lived, and the a***e she usually received as a result told her that she had made the right decision.

She waited a moment, still deciding how to proceed.

The caller remained silent, but his heavy breathing made Karen feel more uncomfortable by the second.

Finally, she made up her mind. “I’m so sorry,” she apologised, “I’ve just noticed that I am fully booked for the next couple of days. Perhaps you could call back next week?”

The caller made an odd noise as if he were attempting to extract a piece of food that was stuck in his teeth. His breathing remained slow and heavy.

The silence was beginning to unnerve Karen.

She knew that some people, especially men, found it awkward to communicate with a member of the opposite s*x. But, when you could not see their facial expression, it added a certain air of menace, which made Karen feel very uneasy.

Without realising she what she was doing, Karen instinctively crossed her ankles over each other. She considered just disconnecting the call, but even in such a circumstance as this, she did not want to appear rude.

“Are you still there?” she asked tentatively. “If you call back next week, I’m sure I will have a free slot by then.”

She waited.

The breathing grew louder as if the caller was trying to eat his phone.

“I’m going to f**k you!”

The snarled statement hit Karen like a slap in the face. For a moment, she could not believe what she had just heard. She moved the mobile away from her ear and stared at it, as if by doing so she might find some kind of answer for the sudden outburst of aggression from the caller.

Her immediate instinct was to switch off her phone, but at the same time she had embedded in her a vein of indignation that would not allow such behaviour to go unaddressed.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to keep the natural panic from her voice. “I do not appreciate your language, and there is no excuse for you to be so rude!”

She waited to allow her statement to sink in.

The caller did not respond.

“I am just trying to make a living here by offering a service to kind, appreciative gentlemen, so I think you need to seek your comfort elsewhere.”

“I’m going to f**k you!”

Karen switched off her phone.

Now she felt foolish for trying to reason with the man. Evidently, he was used to dealing with a different kind of woman, perhaps one of those whom she had seen plying their trade at the laybys near docks, where truckers often stopped for the night.

Karen so was glad she had not offered him her address.

Even so, with modern technology being what it was, she had heard that people could get hold of devices just like the ones the police used, that could trace a call even when the number was withheld.

She wondered if she should report the man to the police herself.

Maybe they would trace his call and warn him off.

Of course, then she would have to confess to them the circumstances surrounding why he had called her in the first place, and that was not something she was prepared to do.

Karen knew that what she was doing was not technically illegal, but all the same she was not proud of it, and certainly too embarrassed to explain herself to the Old Bill.

Karen dropped her phone on the couch and returned her attention to her baby.

The little girl had finished suckling, so Karen lifted her over her shoulder and gently began to pat her on the back. While she did so, Karen stood up and walked down the hallway to her front door. She peered through the peep-hole along the corridor that led to the bank of lifts at the far end. The concave lenses distorted her view, making it appear as if everything outside her door was trapped in a folding tunnel.

She half-expected to see a knife-wielding maniac emerge from the stairwell and make straight for her door. But the corridor was deserted.

Karen slid the safety bolt home, and continued her vigil for a few moments more, before finally carrying her baby back into the living room.