Page 4 of Romanced By the Rat
Oh, yeah. I have a rat penis now. Every man dreams of a bigger dick. Being turned into a rat is too many layers of fucked up, but having essentially a micro-penis? It’s a new level of despair. Okay, proportionally, it’s not that small compared to the rest of my body. I have never seen another rat penis in my life, but I imagine mine would be pretty impressive. At least that’s what I tell myself because God, do I need a win.
I bet Jeremy has a big dick. Why am I thinking about his fleshy member? Well, I don’t have a lot to think about as a rat. I’m without modern distractions such as television or mindlessly scrolling on my phone, so now I think of dicks, specifically the blond, curly haired waiter’s.
Maybe I want to be him. Maybe I hate him. Maybe something else. But as the dark-haired beauty from the day before walks through the front door, I can tell she immediately is searching for the same man who holds my attention. Envy boils in my rat veins.
I was never good with women. I’ve always been shy and kept to myself. There were a few who held my attention. I always became obsessed, contemplating their thoughts, their day-to-day activities. I’d write poems, draw sketches of their features in the margins of my paperbacks, and the most devastating part ofit all is that they never returned my affection. Of course, it was my fault. I never made it known, too afraid of rejection.
When the dark-haired woman walked into Ratcliff’s yesterday, my heart stopped. It was like all the times I’d fallen in love before, but much more intense. Some say that love at first sight is a myth, and maybe that’s true. Perhaps what I feel for the woman sitting alone at the two-person table in the middle of the restaurant isn’t love, but it’s intense and suffocating.
It’s good she’s back only a day later. She might continue this trend, and then I can endlessly absorb her beauty from afar.
Jeremy walks up to her table, takes a deep breath, and straightens his button-down. He’s been assigned her table.Shit. He’ll be her waiter, give her a horrible experience, and she’ll never return. It’s not like I can run down there and remedy the situation. If his god-awful service doesn’t turn her away, a rodent scurrying around sure will.
I race across the rafter, sliding down the wall and hiding in a fake plant close to her table to get a better view. If this is my last time being near her, I want to get as close as possible.
“Hi, I’m Jeremy. I’ll be your server this evening.” His eyes sparkle, and his hands fidget around each other. Of course, he’s nervous. Every table he approaches leaves a wave of anxiety wafting off him, but he’s even more uneasy than usual, and from her wide pupils to the slight part of her lips, she’s just as smitten as he is.
Great. She’ll fall in love with him, ignore his failures, and return daily.
And I’ll watch.
Somehow, this is worse than him scaring her away.
“Hi, Jeremy. I’m Charlotte.”
Charlotte. The name feels like chocolate melting in my skull. I’m lost in the sensation of this new information. My recent obsession has a name. I barely register the thick silence thatpasses over the two until I can practically taste the tension on my tongue.
“Oh, um…Well, can I get you something to drink?”
She startles, shaking her head and regaining her train of thought. “Right, yes.” She scans the menu, her eyes darting. “I’ll take the house, Pinot Noir.”
“Got it.” He turns on his heels, but stops in his tracks and turns back to her. “That’s wine, right?”
Her face scrunches in confusion before she cracks a smile, the most beautiful, diamond-breaking smile I’ve ever seen. She waits for him to reveal the joke.
“Sorry, I’m new,” he says, scratching the back of his curly mop.
“Oh, that’s okay. Yes, red wine.”
“Got it!” He points finger guns at her before skipping away.
God, is this his attempt to flirt with her? Charlotte watches him, confusion skewed across her perfect face. It’s almost like I can feel her arousal deflating. I doubt she’s the type of woman to judge someone based on their lack of intellect, but it’s like she’s bringing herself down to earth, telling herself that he’s just not that into her. I like to imagine that if I were him, I’d pick up on her signals better, push forward, and reveal that her feelings were reciprocated. I’m not sure if it’s the truth. I’ve never been bold, but if I looked like Jeremy, I’d like to believe I would be. If only I could be him, control his perfect self to make my dreams become my reality.
Jeremy returns fifteen minutes later. I enjoy the time without his presence, just able to watch Charlotte as she gazes around the dining room. She’s a people-watcher too. I can already tell that we have a lot in common.
“Sorry about the wait,” he says, placing the glass of wine down on the white linen tablecloth. Drops of red splash around the spot. Charlotte startles. “Sorry about that,” Jeremy says, leaning down to clean up with a napkin in his pocket. He moves tooquickly, knocking the wine glass with his shoulder and sending its contents over the front of Charlotte’s yellow dress. She squeals, staring down at her ruined outfit.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” He doesn’t give himself a second to think before pressing his napkin against her damp chest, attempting to soak up the mess. He freezes, his hand against her breast with only a wine-soaked napkin and her damp, thin dress separating them. Their eyes meet. The air thickens and my cock twitches. I can’t tell if this is good or bad but I’m eager to see what happens next.
The moment falls away, and Jeremy pulls himself back. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.” He rubs his large hands down his face.
Charlotte parts her lips. “No, it’s fine. I’m…”
“No. It’s not fine. I’m new, and I am doing a horrible job. Your meal is on me. Let me go get another server so you can enjoy yourself for the rest of your dinner.”
Charlotte reaches for him, to stop him, to tell him it’s okay and that his accident doesn’t make her think any less of him. I can see it in the small lines at the corners of her lips. But Jeremy is already stomping away, his cheeks red and his head hung low.
I’ve had confusing thoughts for Jeremy ever since he’s shown up, but now I can’t help but feel sorry for him. He doesn’t know his potential. Charlotte would be putty in his hands if he just pulled his head out of his ass.
