When I was busy thinking about my metabolically modified tameness, she stared at me from the kitchen table, fiercely. “Wha’?” My mouth was full of lettuce sandwich which I can barely taste. I munched it and swallowed it. “It’s good. Don’t worry bout it,” I said struggled to suppress nauseation. I will eat anything for her but her.

Before I got married, flesh was viand for me. Fried blood clot was bread-like. I was in no hurry, I lived in a distinctive horror cave I hardly break out. I was a vermin; a coyote. Until my wife’s left arm was slashed by my carpentry, made two minutes of my life a long decaying crave. Of course, I didn’t tell her why I sniffed and licked rots, she was unravel. She passed out as I sunk in.

However… to be frank, it wasn’t that simple. My shame forbid my animal instinct, she was a hell of a Goddess, if I snapped she might be dead. True. But that will make me Necrophilic. It’s very hard to neglect sex. I was a cannibal, my metabolic abnormal has been modified, not my hormones.