Last night I dreamt of the titty again.
Heaving, luscious pillows they were, limitless mountains I might climb at will. A devilish smile crept upon my face, and for a single fleeting moment, I was happy.
Then I woke from a deep slumber into my dark reality.
My eyelids lifted, my lips parted, and alas, a stark realization of the bleak present: I was awake, all alone, and with nary a single titty at all.
I grew immediately frantic, writhing and moaning in my bed, lest my sudden dissatisfaction remain unheard or, worse, unacknowledged by the lackluster cast of characters who surround me.
My needs were so simple, my wishes so clear. Yet here I was forced to dole out my only true desire once again: “Titty!” I began to call, and yet I had no words. Instead, I let out a bloodthirsty scream.
She lumbers over in the darkness, the woman who guards the titties, casts her tired eyes upon me. "Oh dear!" she says, mocking sympathy. "What's wrong with baby?" She knows, and she knows I know she knows. Feigned ignorance demeans us both.
“Titty!” I cry again upon deaf ears. Titties and nothing else, you fool! It has been two hours almost, the milk-less seconds ticking by, practically a lifetime of starvation. “Titty now!!!!!” I wail in desperation.
The woman fumbles in the darkness and in her hand appears a strange contraption, a titty-shaped torture device. "Where's your binky?" she asks, so-called binky clearly in hand. "Here it is!"
It was all a goddamn farce.
“No! Never!” I screech, praying to God not for this blasphemous travesty, but only for my beloved titty. The unfeeling harpy ignores my pleas, jamming the imposter into my mouth. I shake my head back and forth, wailing as loud as my lungs will allow in hopes a neighbouring passerby awakes and appears to my rescue. None comes.
It is torture and nothing less, this shameful appliance, tasting of chemicals and with nary a drop of the nectar I crave. Still, I suck, with all the fury and might I can muster, frustrated tears filling my eyes.
"Good girl," she says, her words cruel and patronizing. Has she bought it? Does she think me a good girl after all? I hold my breath as her grip on the device begins to loosen. She sighs, assumes success, retreats into the shadows.
I wait, calmly and still, for her feet to cross the floorboards, for her tired form to collapse into the bed. Then just as her breath slows into sleep, I spit out the monstrous fraud and screech my life’s only demand into the darkness: “Titty!!!!!!!”
Then she’s back, colder and more unfeeling than before, oblivious to my plight. Delicious sustenance leaks from her, wastefully dripping away as I suffer in thirst. But I will not succumb in silence; I will fight her until the very end. “Titty NOW!”
She sighs, unbuttons, lifts me from my exile and relinquishes her prize. Sweet victory is all mine. I gorge, gulp, my eyes gazing up angrily at her the whole time. This is what I wanted and now I have it, they say. But who the hell are you?
Then I’m cruelly ripped away, given just a taste but not a dribble more. “Is that enough for baby?” asks the titted form. Could she possibly be so deranged? It is not enough. It is never enough!
She throws my body up against her, pounds forcefully onto my flesh. “Have a burp,” she commands, striking me harder and harder, demanding I surrender the reward for which I have toiled so long.
“Burp,” she demands again. “Burp, baby, burp.” I furrow my brows and purse my lips. As God is my witness, I will never burp.
Ah! I burped. She is too strong, at least for now. Until the tables turn, small revenges will suffice. So I burp into her hair and down her back, which pleases me greatly. I smile sweetly, reveling in her misfortune.
Only she then smiles too. “Oooh!” she exclaims in pathetic delight. I have her just where I want her. “Mommy loves baby,” says the naive stooge.
She callously places me back into my dank cell, wraps me tightly and kisses me against my will. This isn’t over, I vow.
And then just as she dims the lights and walks away, I poop.