“It’s real flies, sir. Caught and prepared by our chef, Marcel, then sautéed together with cepes and garlic and folded into the rice. To go with it we suggest a youngish white. I can recommend a particularly good Chilean, should sir wish.”
The restaurant’s website did claim to offer exotic food, which is why Marcia suggested coming here, so we weren’t all that fazed by some of the dishes on the menu. What did surprise me, however, was that she had chosen this particular place. After all, throughout our honeymoon she had only wanted to eat at the local greasy spoon just around the corner from our hotel. “Honeymoons are for romance,” she would say, “Not for wandering around finding places to eat.”
Fortunately the menu wasn’t that long – always a good sign if one’s looking for quality food, so I didn’t have much trouble choosing my dish. Not the mushroom and fly risotto, mind you. Marcia, on the other hand was looking troubled.
“This is difficult,” she said. “I think I’ll have something off menu.”
She looked at me with sad eyes, murmuring, “Goodbye, my lovely, you should know the sex was great,” wrapped her eight legs around me and plunged her fang into my soft belly. I hung on for a minute or so, feeling the warm venom rush around my body, before blackness descended.
Personally I had thought the sex had been, at best, mediocre.