The Fungus

Barbara closed her eyes as Shirley knelt on the bed between her splayed legs. Then she gasped with pleasure as she felt the warm wetness of Shirley’s tongue probing the lips of her vagina. The tip of the tongue then moved up to her clitoris and she gave a low, shuddering moan, arching her back as the first pulse of pure ecstasy throbbed through her body.

All thought of the attractive blonde woman in the movie theater had fled from her mind.

Much later, sated and exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. But during the night Barbara had a horrible dream that she was choking. She struggled into semi consciousness but the choking sensation was still there. Her mouth and throat seemed to be filled with a soft, furry substance. She tried to come fully awake, to cry out, but found herself falling back into unconscious again — an unconsciousness that led to a much deeper oblivion than mere sleep.

When dawn arrived she was still lying there in Shirley’s arms. They were joined at their mouths by a pale yellow pulpy mass.

Neither of them was breathing. The venereal fungus which had grown at an accelerated rate throughout both their bodies during the night, and killing them in the process, was visible at their other orifices too. It grew between their legs to form furry yellow diapers and covered their ears like huge, fluffy ear muffs. And though they were both dead, the fungus grew on.

3

Tuesday, 9.45 p.m.

The tall attractive woman with the long blonde hair paid her bill and left the small Indian restaurant in Goodge Street. Naseem the waiter had taken the dishes out into the kitchen and scraped the remains of her meal into a small bin which would later be emptied into the large, round container that sat out in the alley behind the restaurant. The big container would be collected by the pig feed company that had the edible waste franchise for the Goodge Street area.

Naseem was just re-covering the table with another paper table cloth when Derrick Lang and Philip Bell entered. They were laughing loudly and Naseem flinched inwardly. He knew this type of customer only too well.

“Hi, Panjit, old pal,” said Derrick Lang, a grossly overweight man of about 30, as he sat down at the table. Lang always called waiters in Indian restaurants Panjit. It was one of his favorite jokes.

“I don’t know how you get away with it,” said Philip Bell, after Naseem had handed them each a menu and retreated to the small bar at the end of the restaurant.

“They don’t mind. Shows them you’re not racially prejudiced.”

Bell nodded in agreement though he hadn’t quite grasped the logic of Lang’s theory.

“Watcha’avin?” asked Lang, frowning over the menu.

“Lager, to start with,” said Bell, “then I might have a lager and maybe after that a lager.”

Lang shook with laughter. Then he called out to Naseem, “Two lagers pronto, Panjit!” He paused for effect then said, “And my friend here’ll have two as well!”

They both laughed some more.

“Only kiddin’ Panjie boy. A pint each.”

Naseem, who was already on his way to their table with two pints, deposited the glasses in front of them and left without a word.

Lang said, “I’m having a vegetable biriani.”

“Vegetable!” Bell made it sound as if Lang had made a homosexual pass at him. “You’ll be telling me you eat nut cutlets next.”

“I read where vegetables help you lose weight,” said Lang, a shade defensively. “And because I’m large-boned, meat makes me put on weight quicker than most people.”

Bell looked at him. Rolls of fat creased his shirt as if he had a dozen salamis strapped around his body. His buttons were straining to keep the fabric together and several chins sat on top of his neck like a series of miniature stomachs. “Well, yeah, you do have large bones, Dekker,” he said tactfully.

“Yeah, and the fact is if you eat a lot of vegetables you can also eat as much meat as you like and still lose weight.”

“Gerroff.”

“No, straight up. I read it in The Sun, I think. Or maybe The Daily Mail. It’s something to do with the vitamins in the vegetables. They make the meat fat burn up without you having to do any exercise.”

“How about that.”

“You should try it yourself, Phil. You could do with losing a few pounds too.”

“Well, maybe,” said Bell, even though he knew he wasn’t over-weight in the slightest.

“You don’t have to go all the way at once. You can have, say, a meat madras with a cauliflower bhajee. Cauliflower must have lots of those vitamins.”

Bell nodded thoughtfully. Lang took it for agreement and called Naseem over. He ordered food for both of them and another pint of lager each. “You’ll thank me for this,” he said.

“I will if you pay,” said Bell and laughed uproariously.

The evening went quickly as they swapped jokes and solved the various social and political issues of the day. Bell even enjoyed his cauliflower bhajee, but Lang hadn’t been so keen on his vegetable biriani this time and consoled himself with the thought of having a doner kebab on the way home.