What Kind, Indeed?

He was pecking her face with light kisses after sex when he took her eyelid between his teeth, pulled gently, and let go. “Weird feeling,” she said. “Why would you do that?”

“I eat eyelids,” he said in his best creep voice. “One or two a month usually does me. But I feel a hunger coming on.”

“Yuck,” she laughed.

“The sensation as they rip away is incredible,” he said. “From my perspective, anyway.”

“Augh.” She brushed her hands over her eyes to dispel the images, but he wasn’t done.

“And that little flap of skin sliding down the throat, its taste lingering on the back of my tongue. Everyone tastes different, you know.”

“This is awful,” she said through her laughter.

“The only bad part is the tickle of the eyelash, but plucking them takes so long.”

“And now,” she giggled, “You say something that indicates you weren’t joking all along.”

“You see much,” he said. “Soon, you’ll see much more.” He leaned in close.

“Well done!” she said. “Very creepy.”

“Thanks,” he said in his normal voice. “So, I don’t have to go ahead and be a monster?”

“God, no. What kind of a twist would that be?”