Susan's Snake

"Say, that thing could strangle you." I said. "...not likely," Susan said, "He likes me too much." "But pythons have a nasty habit of strangling their victims." I was puzzled. "He might think certain parts of you are food" I decided not to say what parts I thought they might be. She got the idea though. I started grinning slyly. "No one could do a thing here if it starts squeezing your neck."

I thought maybe this was some kind of sexual thing with her. Hard to tell. She WAS a herpetologist after all. I found that a lot of them were a bit out of synch with the rest of the world in some way or another. She was no exception. "Hey I like you," she said, "Why don't you come over for dinner after I feed this big guy? We could drink a little wine and mess around with this snake." I thought it was an interesting invitation. I had seen snake handlers back home. As much as they did with them, one of the things they didn't do with them was to wrap them around their necks. Even so, a boa constricter, anaconda or python would be large enough to pop your head off your shoulders. I think secretly that may have been my motivation for going home with her. "I had a friend that was into snakes, poisonous ones". I said. "He would go to Big Bend and trap them and bring them to his menagerie in Alpine. It was illegal but the thrill was always there." "EEEEEWWWW." She lit up when she heard that. "Yeah," I continued, "He was up in the Mother primeval once by himself climbing around a huge rock pile looking for pit vipers. He wasn't paying attention and his leg slipped into a crack but his momentum still carried him forward and he broke his leg like a cracked egg. Bones and everything were sticking out and he almost bled to death." "Did he make it out of there?" she asked. "Yeah he had to crawl all that night to get back to his car to get some help." I said, "He almost lost his leg." You started making dinner and brought this package out wrapped in clean white butcher paper and placed it next to the cutting board. She drew out a rather large cleaver. "How about snake steaks?" she asked. "It tastes like chicken." I somehow KNEW she was going to say that. We both laughed. "Sure," I said, "And why don't you break out that bottle of 1981 vintage Snake Oil to go with it?" I made salad for dinner that night. We had fun and we sloshed down enough cheap wine that neither of us cared much what happened next, if anything. She let the snake run lose in the house. "He keeps the mice down and snacks on cockroaches that manage to get in." I didn't think much about that. I had other things on my mind besides that stupid python. The dinner didn't last long until we found ourselves in her bedroom pounding each other like noodle dough. I was only focused on one thing and nothing else mattered. "Oh wow..." she said. Then she raised and spread her legs and slipped her hand down to her crotch. Susan gave out a little sigh and a moan. The next thing I see is the fucking python slithering up her bed post. Then it started heading towards her. It was headed right between her legs. "Whoa!" I immediately decided to get the hell out of there. I grabbed my clothes and rushed out to her front porch, naked as a fresh peeled banana. I got dressed and got the hell out of there. The next couple of weeks I didn't answer the phone. I never went to the zoo again.