It occured to me one fateful day in my kitchen when I was making tacos that perhaps a big reason for the feeling of emptiness was because I had always kept my need for food and my need for sex separate. I had just finished having sex with a fuckbuddy of mine, Bert. He said he wasn't hungry for tacos, said that my cock had "filled him up enough" and he was getting a bit disturbed by my talking about the notion of "filling" and "emptiness" and of how much in torment I was. I also had to talk him into letting me where my werewolf mask while I fucked him, which is a big fetish for me. I don't always have a mask with me, but whenever I am in my own apartment I always like to wear it while I am ramming in the rod because ever since I was young the werewolf mask has always been a symbol to me of my motto: A WEREWOLF ALWAYS GETS HIS FILL. And the werewolf mask and the motto worked for awhile until I got older, when about in my mid-20's I began to wonder: "But am I really getting my fill? It seemed like I always always hungry!" I'd eat, then I'd shit and a few hours later I wanted more. I'd feel lustful, go seeking out a cock to suck, and an ass to fuck and soon I'd just cum and be wanting more. What did it all mean?

After fucking Bert I was hungry and all I had in the kitchen was stuff for tacos. I stood at the kitchen table naked except for my werewolf mask and I watched Bert stumbling through my living room, his pants around his ankles as he struggled to pull them up without falling down. I began to get an erection as Bert faced his bare, luscious ass towards me. I wanted nothing more than for him to stay for tacos so I could lure him back to the bedroom later. I was still sweating underneath the mask. I felt so much hunger, so much heat and emptiness as I said to Bert, "You sure you don't want to stay for tacos, Bert?"

"No, I have to leave, especially since you insist on keeping that creepy werewolf mask on. You said that after you fucked me you'd take it off. And all your talk of hunger and emptiness, what is that all about? That shit is a little too deep for me. When I met you at the bus stop you seemed like a cool guy who just wanted to fuck. All this other stuff is a little too deep fpor me, sorry."

"Not as deep as your rectum, Bert," I said, getting angry. "I shoved my cock as far into that poop hole as it would go and a howl still screamed through my piss slit that echoed into what sounded like a endless canyon of nothingness. Your rectum is as vast and empty as your stomach must be right now yet you refuse to eat. Off with you then!"

Bert left and I stood fuming, placing the ingredients into the taco shell before me. The shredded lettuce appeared as bright green grass, tomatoes like blood; the meat seemed to bring back memories of the raw earth I had been grown from and it was like life itself was being held in my hands and I was about to take a big crunch into it, a huge messy bite-- a werewolf getting his fill-- and for some mysterious reason I got so hard looking at the taco I held in my hands. I didn't realize the significance at the time but I began to feel an enormous lust for life simultaneous with a raging urge to fuck. Surely I wasn't about to fuck the TACO? Had my life really taken such a desperate turn?