Chapter 9

I feel bored to tears. I feel fed up and tired with life itself and everything else. I am all by myself here at my house and dwelling, totally and figuratively doing nothing at all. Stian has departed off for work and I know that he will come back back any moment in a little while. Yes. I have to cook and steam and heat up dinner and evening meal for him. It is murky and gloomy outside with little if not any slim flicker of radiance and luminosity and the forest bordering our house is all this dreadful and chilling and bloodcurdling. I am not terrified or frightened or worried of it nevertheless. Why, you might probably question. I love this place. It is hushed and belle natural and harmless in every revere and esteem in similarity and dissimilarity with the earsplitting and congested and crammed-full that township house places are. Phew!

In a hurry and hastily—before I start to cook or bake up anything, I snatch and grab my phone that is lodged and put down on kitchen slab and I type this coming wording message to Stian. Of course! He might be busy finishing and wrapping up stuff and chores that he has been toiling and working on since the day commenced, but I don't care in any case. He has to seek out and make up time for me. He certainly and specifically has to do so. Yeah—he has to do it! Oh Stian, my poor love!

Hi, angel! I am missing you. What would you like for ceremonial dinner anyway, huh?

Before I hit 'Send' to him, I reflect and weigh up things carefully and charily and then in conclusion make up my mind to send the text to him as a Multi-Media Message (MMS) rather. And that is what I vaguely and beyond doubt do. I take a photo of myself while I blow him an indiscernible kiss inside our large kitchen itself and then lay in the words that I typed beneath the snapshot itself and mail and onward over the whole thing to him. It is 165 kilobytes in bulk and dimension and it reaches him in less than ten seconds. Yuppie! There we go...

Five minutes soon after, my phone dingdongs and peals sweetly and I know even without confirm it out that that is Stian Elberd coming back to me. I at last verify the ... MMS ... and yes, it indisputably and in fact and beyond doubt is him!

Simmered (or boiled) eggs and baked chicken and fried carrots and unprocessed cabbage sliced and muddle up with mayonnaise and a filled tumbler of strong, sugary juice and a plateful of grapes and cut apples. Will you get ready this for me please, my sweet angel?

I type and note down to him:

All heard and understood, chief.

He inscribes back speedily again.

What would you like I myself to bring you home, huh? What, treasured one?

I counter:

Come dish up your penis for my exceptional dinner. It is all I really and solely want. Is that plain and elaborate enough to you?

He answers back.

All heard and comprehensible. I will be on my way back there any minute soon from now. Take care please...

I smile to myself cordially and brusquely. Stian will be here any minute now to serve me up exactly what I ordered him to and I must hand him out what he demanded me to as well. Don't you think this is great and brilliant? Don't you? I definitely and certainly and somewhat do think so myself. Dummy!

I cook. Fast; with awareness; cautiously and with great and lots of care and concern. I slash and hack up the cabbage into tiny and miniature pieces, then merge and mix it up with mayonnaise and a bit salt and vinegar. Having placed and accumulated it into a large and spacious glass-crafted basin, I lay it on a huge tray and only wait for the moment when I am going to serve and dish it out. With this said and through, I get grapes and chock-full size apples, the apples of which I slice and hack them up before I set and put them together with the grapes. The strong, sweet orange juice is not any tricky and complex to make and serve up. I just need two big, magnificently shaped glasses for it. Yes! Tonight, Stian and I will be toasting and whooping it large and big time. Will you come join us as well? Will you please? I stir fry the carrots, then roast the chicken, then boil the eggs and make up a separate bowl of soup to eat along with them. Good! It is all at last deal done and carried through!

Just when I have ceased serve up the meal, the door pings and dings, and I know it for positive that it is Stian who is already there and waiting for me to open up for him. I dash and speed my way there. When I haul the door open, I see and learn to my thrill and glee and great anticipation that it is in fact him and no one else. Fine-looking and handsomely dressed he may be, he seems a little bit tired and worn-out and dead beat

'

"Stian," I greet and welcome him, seizing and nabbing up his briefcase work carrier for him. He kisses and pecks me lightly and smoothly on the cheek. I like it! I love it and am so stuck out on it! I smile warmly and benevolently at him as he footsteps into the house, all joyful and famished and energized at the same time. I shut the door ... and then we eat and munch up our snack ... and then we chat and natter temporarily ... and then now to finish with comes the time and hour for me to get a hold of my preceding appeal. Yes! Stian has already showered and changed his clothes. He is all spanking new and full of life and bouncy and cheerful and strapping looking and carefree. My breathtaking and first-rate and dazzling Stian! I love, love, love him! Don't you yourself?

He looks at me bashfully and timidly. Why is he becoming indecisive now to give me my... ? I mean I must get what I applied and asked for, or must I not, huh? Must I not really? "Come on," I tell and let know to him, "Don't give me that withdrawn and introverted look, hubby! I want my penis for banquet! I want to devour my fucking goddamn banana penis as my special dinner! Give it to me now already, will you?"

"Who told you it is your penis?"

I toss back at him furiously and heatedly. "Who told you it does not belong to me?"

"You are such a witty girl, Ragnhild. Where do you want me to dish it up anyway?"

"Right here on this very plate." I even shift and move about the salver that is seated on our banquet table right close and nearer to him. He looks at it in stun and astonishment. I tell him, "Put it here already, will you please, Stian?"

"What? You want me to fucking slice my valued and beyond price John Dong and put him here on this plate for you to eat and devour. You are mad, Ragnhild. I didn't know you are this crazy and foolish—"

I climb up on the table straight away and inch towards him silently and inaudibly. He falls quiet and noiseless this exact moment, staring and gaping at me like he has see a living ghost or zombie creep and edge straight after him. When I make it to where he is, I gaze down at him lustfully and raunchily and then brush and sweep and budge my lips against his aggressively and intensely. He is taken back and shaken at the same time. I crash and run and thrash my lips against his all the more brutally and viciously and ferociously. It makes him grunt and weep out, pleased and contented and satisfied deep inside with all this and everything else that I carry out. Stian—yes, yes, yes him; I love and adore him—so, so much as a matter of fact!