A bit of a problem occurs.

As I suspected I would be, I was still full by the time dinner came around. It reminded me of that one movie. It was a werewolf movie. The werewolf eats a shit load of people at night, and during the day he can't understand why he's not hungry. That was me, but I understood exactly why. I just didn't understand HOW cum could possibly fill my stomach up for so long.

I skipped dinner, naturally. Even if I WAS hungry, I couldn't eat it. My new tastebuds only seemed to tolerate pussy juice and semen. Everything else, I could probably enjoy licking a cat turd better. Also, like I predicted, Mom wasn't pleased to hear I was skipping dinner. You see, when I was about...thirteen, I think it was, I went through a bit of a phase. Okay, it wasn't a phase, so much as a bout of anorexia. Not a laughing matter, I assure you. I was finally convinced that I wasn't fat and would probably look much better if I was. To that end, I started to eat again.

When I skipped dinner, Mom assumed I was having a relapse. The worst part, of course, was that she waited until MUCH later to talk to me. Fuck, she should have done it after dinner, not at about ten at fucking night, right? Am I the only one who thinks that's utter bullshit? Anyway, she starts going on about the way she worried about me the first time. Like guilt trips ever really worked on me. I always felt guilty about something, I just got used to it.

She pretty much ignored all my well crafted lies (meaning I shrugged and said "I dunno" a lot). That's when I began to feel weird. That same sort of weird I felt before. ...oh shit. I had to get away from my mother before I changed!