Erotic Fiction: The Mukbang
It was one of those days, the kind where you got distracted in the earlier hours of the morning and afternoon, losing track of time as the minutes ticked by. The next thing you know, it’s nearing dinnertime, and you have an insatiable growling in the pit of your stomach. As I stood in my kitchen, thinking about what I would eat while leaning over the cool marble countertop of the island, I couldn’t narrow it down to just one choice.
I decided to look through my cupboards to see what I had. There were foods I could eat immediately, like crackers and pre-cut cheeses, cereals, or some fresh fruit. I also had things I could make fairly quickly, like frozen waffles, a grilled sandwich, can of soup, or microwaving the leftover chilli from the night before. There was also the option to make a real meal — pasta with a thick béchamel sauce, shepherd’s pie, or a pineapple stir-fry. It was all so tempting. All of it. How could someone pick?
I could start by snacking on the readymade foods, filling my stomach as I prepared the easily made options. The rest, I can have delivered from my favourite local restaurant. Mmm, yes. That’s what I’ll do.
I opened the fridge and pulled out everything I’d need, simultaneously calling my favourite Italian restaurant for the pasta. I decided one entrée would be enough.
Placing fifteen salted veggie crackers on a plate, I topped each with a thick slice of marbled cheddar and mozzarella cheese. Beside it, I added some fruit: a banana and a handful of grapes. I began to pop each cracker into my mouth, chewing it just enough to swallow before eating another. The dryness of the biscuit felt clumpy against the back of my throat, so I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with grapefruit juice to wash it down.
While I bit each grape from the dried vine, one by one, I slid yesterday’s chilli in the microwave and popped two frozen waffles into the toaster oven. Both should be ready in a few minutes. The wait wasn’t so terrible, thanks to the snack that I had already laid out on the plate before me. With the whir of the microwave melding into the background, I peeled back the banana’s skin. I slowly slipped it into my mouth, pushing it further and further back, as deep as I could manage, before sinking my teeth into the soft fruit and severing it from the bottom stump. The textured shaft-like shape moved slowly against the back of my lips, the inside of the cheeks. It was perfect: sweet and easily yielding to the bite.
The microwave and toaster signalled their completion within seconds of one another, and I was able to begin round two. I started with the waffles, cutting off a hunk of butter and spreading it over the surface of each in a thick layer. It melted, soaking into the crispy dough almost immediately, just in time for me to pick it up with my bare hands and lift it to my mouth. I took slow bites from it, savouring the saccharine flavours of the waffle itself and the luscious, divine taste emerging from the butter. It was heaven, and I was reluctant to finish off that last bit of it. My attention had to shift to the chilli now.
It was good, not as delicious as it was when I made it fresh the night before, but still tasty. I shovelled it right out of the Tupperware with a spoon, not even bothering to chew much in between each mouthful. The beans slid effortlessly over the tongue and down the throat, making it an easy yet savoury dish to finish. I hadn’t even scraped up the final few spoonfuls when the doorbell rang.
I glanced at my watch. They came in only 40 minutes. That must be a new record. I was hoping I would have had a bit more time to digest, especially as I was already feeling quite full.
The bag holding the pasta was scorching to the touch. I slipped the handle around my wrist and paid the delivery woman, telling her to keep the change as I shut the door behind me. This was the pièce de résistance of the evening, my night’s magnum opus.
I sat at the table for this, pulling out a napkin, fork, and spoon. Settling into my chair, I pulled the plastic lid off of the to-go container and held it above the pasta while the condensation dripped back into the fettuccini below. The smell wafting up from the bowl could not be described as anything short of miraculous. When I finally lifted that first forkful to my mouth, the heavens collided. All of a sudden, I forgot that my stomach was being pushed to its limits. I ate and ate and ate, swallowing the waves of nausea in between each blissful bite. This time, I took careful nibbles between each forkful, letting the flavour and rich creaminess settle on my tongue before moving on to the next.
On and on I went, until that was it. I literally could not eat anymore. As I lifted one of the last few forkfuls of pasta to my mouth, the creamy sauce coating my lips as my shaky hand held it in place, I gave up. My body was finished. I had to run to the washroom to throw it all up.
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