How to Feed the Kids



The kids used to eat everything and I mean everything capital letters like bread with grease and lemon rind-sicles and waffles with paste, etc. I would prop them up and their faces would dig right in, grunts and all; cute, but scary.  Dessert would be washing their faces with a warm washcloth and putting them to bed in order to begin the fucking at a reasonable hour. By the time orgasms had occurred their restlessness would begin.  Their timing was impeccable.  It was as if they knew mommy and daddy needed their coming.  We thought of thanking them, but then, we knew it would only jinx things.

But now the kids don’t eat a thing unless they are forced. They have ‘opinions.’  See, my daughter wants only vegetables that were grown for royalty. Where do you get that, really? I’ve searched online; things dot UK.  The closest thing I found was “Princess Diana Peas.”  My daughter hates peas.  I make her salad.  She pushes the greens around her plate and all I see are her cheekbones slicing holes in her face and the way her collarbones stab every shirt she wears.

The twins, my boys, think their pubic hair won’t grow in if they ingest any dairy. They also outlawed any sort of meat because they say dairy comes from animals or at least come from mammals with ‘breast milk shit.’  That is a curse and I scold them because I am their mother.

The boys are set on getting as many pubes as possible before they start high school. I catch them drinking beer to keep their strength up. “Dad says it’s ‘the food of men’ and we are men!” I tell this to their father in a blaming sort of way and he just shrugs and says, “Put them to bed, let’s begin the fucking.”  I try to tell him we have to make sure the children eat or they could die but he just closes the door, locks it and pushes my head down.

As he goes about things I think about how to tie down the children in a gentle way so their mouths are the only things open. I think about where to buy nutritional pastes I can squeeze into them, their mouths, make them eat it. I think about holding their lips closed until it goes down telling them, ‘please, please swallow.’ I think about this while on my knees. I think that what I am thinking of is apropos.



xTx is a writer living in Southern California. She has been published in places like PANK, Smokelong, Storyglossia, elimae, >Kill Author and Wigleaf. Her new story collection, Normally Special, is available from Tiny Hardcore Press. She says nothing at


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