Starving

 


Jeffrens always says “Carolina” in his last movements until he cums inside of my mouth. I cannot stop thinking: who is Carolina? His wife’s name is Flor, and I am Diliana. Anyway, his flavor is awful; I swallow all because he likes it and because I prefer it than when he cums inside to me with the risk of getting me pregnant. I don’t want another kid much less his kid.

 

I know it sounds weird, but I like to watch my children’s picture when Jeffrens is playing with my mouth. It is a specific photo where we are the four of us. I think we took it three years ago. We are on the beach, and we smile in a way we haven’t done for a while. I wear a beautiful flowering dress; I am a little overweight, but my curves are amazing. Daniel is so cute with his well round cheeks; David is a chubby three-year-old boy who is not looking the camera because he is playing with the sand, and Diego is just a baby on my arms. That picture reminders me why I allow Jeffrens to fuck me.

 

Three years ago, we ate as much we wanted. It is a crazy sentence; we assume that having three meals per day is mandatory it is something we don’t think about it; it just part of the routine. Our lives changed in thirty-six months. Today in Venezuela, we are lucky if we eat.

 

I remember the first time I had to decide that my kids would skip one meal. It was a Monday afternoon after I went shopping grocery. There was no food at the supermarket, and these people who sold food on the streets (we called them bachaqueros) had prices I could no afford. With the same amount a year before, I had bought food for a week, that day I only could get food for three days. I decided my boys would skip the dinner. To make it less traumatic, I gave them some juice or milk mixing with water.

 

Daniel understood what it was happening. He heard in his school other boys talking about the big crisis we lived, and about how people die because they lacked medicines or food. He is only eight, and he talks like an adult. David was different; he was complaining all the time he was hungry; he always wanted more, or he asked why we stopped eating meat, bread, rice, beans or chocolates; I never had a right answer for him. Diego was too young to understand; he only stole his brothers’ food.

 

At that time, I even ate once per day. Of course, I chose myself first when I had to skip meals. I told myself that finally, I would get the figure I always wanted. The problem got bigger; two months later, the same amount of money I had used to buy three days, it became two-day-food.

 

With the lack of food, my boys started being thinner and thinner — no more chicks or color in their faces. Their skin lost color and brightness; they stop growing up; they have been wearing the same clothes for over a year. Their grades went down; they did not have the energy to play or to study; they only wanted to sleep. I hadn’t eaten for a longer time, so I was a shadow of the woman I used to be. The dress I am wearing on the picture is today as a big top. I could see my bonds easily under of the skin. I looked ten years older.

Desperation was the word to describe our situation. Desperation because we did not have options or solutions. There was no food anywhere; our family, friends, and neighbors were starving like us. There was no light at the end of the tunnel until the day Jeffrens knocked on my door.

 

He lived in the house next door for ten years. I had no relationship with him; I saw him a few times when his wife, Flor, invited to their house to drink some beers. He knocked on my door and showed me some pieces of meat he was selling. He said it was horse-meat, but it had the same nutritional value than regular beef. My first thought was how disgusting it is to eat horses, but I looked at the picture, and I remembered that my family had not eaten any meat for weeks.

 

“Diliana, mamita, it is protein. Believe me, it is good meat. It is fresh. Why don’t you buy me some?”

 

“The truth is my boys need some protein. How much is the pound?”

 

“It is $10 per pound.”

 

“Jeffrens, I can’t afford that. I have no money.”

 

He looked me up and down for a couple of minutes. I felt uncomfortable; that was not the kind look I expected from him. It sounds like a bad joke, but I felt like a piece of meat. I did not like his attitude with me.

 

“So, Jeffrens, thank you for the offer, but I can’t.”

 

“Are you sure? I think I can make an arrangement.”

 

“Thank you again, but I won’t have the money in years. I don’t want to have any problem with you.”

 

“What about if it is not money what I want, mamita?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Diliana, you’re hot. I always watch you when you go to the supermarket wearing those stretch jeans and short skirts. I know you need a macho.”

 

“You are disgusting. Leave my house now, or I will talk with your wife.”

 

I opened the door to make him leave when he took my chin (it was more like he started strangling me) with his right hand and the other hand was on my boob d. I tried to stop him, but he was stronger.

 

“Mamita, your boys are starving. It is just look them to know they will die soon. I am giving you a chance.”

 

He pushed my head down. I was at the height of his penis, and I started it.

 

When he finished, he put the one-pound-meat on the table and said: “You need to practice mamita.” I cried for a week. I did not talk with Flor the whole time; I could not see her face. I decided not to do this again. I was not a prostitute; even worse, I was a cheap prostitute.

Crying or not, my boys enjoyed the meat. I could make dinner for three days: arepas, empanadas, and stew. The meat was darker and hard; it tasted more metal than regular, but my children were so happy; their faces had more color, and they wanted to go out and play in the park. It was a significant difference in their attitude with and without meat, so the next time Jeffrens knocked my door, I just opened it.

 

The next three months, Jeffrens went to my house once per week. We had a kind of routine, but sometimes he wanted more than my mouth. I allowed him to do anything he asked; my boy’s picture was there remembering me why I was opening my mouth and my legs.

I tried to be cool in front of Flor. I did everything to stay normal with her. Inside of myself, I felt awful. One day, she came to my house; she looked mad. I was afraid she discovered my unconventional relationship with her husband. Guess what? Her news was worse.

 

“Diliana, I just found something horrible about Jeffrens. You know he has been selling horse meat. He said you are one of his clients.”

 

“Yes, I buy it once per week.”

 

“I am so sorry Diliana, but I must tell you the truth. It is not horse meat. I found that Jeffrens has been killing dogs and cats. First, they were street animals, but he was not the only who had this idea, so street dogs and cats were extinguished. Then, he started killing pets. I know it because Jorge, the guy in the red house, he came to us saying that Jeffrens stole and killed his golden retriever.”

 

I had no words. I just got pale and dizzy. That son of a bitch took advantage of me and made me eat dog meat. Even worse, my boys ate it. Threw away the meat I had in my refrigerator. I wanted Jeffrens knocking my door, I want to give him his due, but he did not appear at home after that. Probably, Flor told him that I knew.

 

Our lives were back to the tiredness and skipping meals when my breakpoint came. It was the day my goddaughter, Dilimar, passed away. She was only fourteen months old; she died of hungry. Her mother did not eat for days just to protect her daughter, but Dilimar had some allergies and intolerances, and there was no way to find the special food she needed.

 

Watching Dilimar’s corpse was one of the worst moments of my life; that girl was a skull. She looked like she died weeks before; she had no color, no skin. She was only bonds. Her mother was another skull; she was alive, but she died inside.

 

I panicked; my boys could have the same destiny than Dilimar. I decided not to stop Jeffrens; if we had to eat dog, cats or whatever, we would. My family’s life was the most important. However, Jeffrens did not come over again.

 

Last night, I heard some unusual noises outside. We hear shots every night, but it was different. I usually don’t look at the window; too many people have been killed because of a lost bullet. Like always, I instructed the boys to be under their beds. Usually, when there is a murder or robbery close to the house, people move fast even though the police never come to check. However, there was something in the voices that was different from any common robbery or murder we have in the neighborhood.

 

I went to the window to watch what it was happening. I saw that Jeffrens and two more men were stacking a guy who has died or at least he was too hurt to move. I expected them to run after the murder, but they didn’t. It was weird.

 

I looked again, and they were cutting the guy in pieces. I just watch how one of the men cut one leg and saved in a big plastic bag. There was blood everywhere, and they were covered in blood. It was like a horror movie. I could not watch more. I threw up, and I went to bed with my boys.

 

Today, Jeffrens knocked on my door and offered me a new kind of meat. I just opened my mouth.

 

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