Here is a gem of sexual feederism found in serious literature. The excerpt below is from the novel
The Sheltering Sky
written by the celebrated "beat" author Paul Bowles. First published in 1949, the
book is about an American couple, Port and Katherine ("Kit") Moresby, who journey to Morocco to
discover an exotic world of Berber culture. Along the way Port dies unexpectedly of a feverish illness,
and his grieving widow is kidnapped by a caravan of traveling merchants. The leader of the caravan, a
man named Belqassim, is enamored by Kit's snow-white skin. He imposes himself upon her and forces Kit
to become his new wife/concubine.
The excerpt below is of the marriage ceremony, the conjugal lovemaking, and the subsequent
captivity of Kit within a windowless cell wherein she is fattened. Please note, however, that the fat
woman mentioned in the passage is not about Mrs. Moresby (at least, not presently) but of an enormous
black slavewoman who is her captor.
By bringing these two women together Bowles implies a subtle "before & after" image. The
fattening process must have its consequences: the woman who eats fat (as does Mrs. Moresby) will
eventually be fat (as is the black slavewoman, whose massive form suggests the logical result of
any prolonged feeding). This ability to convey images by implication -- rather than by frank
description -- is a hallmark of true literary talent. Lesser writers can cook up a batch of
moonshine. But it takes a genius like Paul Bowles to make a subtle vintage wine.
Excerpt from "The Sheltering Sky" by Paul Bowles:
... As Belqassim fed her [Kit Moresby] a cake, she
sobbed and choked, showering crumbs into his face. "G igherdh ish'ed
our illi," sang the musicians below, over and over, while the rhythm
of the hand drum changed, slowly closing in upon itself to form a circle
from which she would not escape. Belqassim was looking at her with mingled
concern and disgust. She coughed lengthily in the midst of her sobbing.
The kohl from her eyes was streaking her face, her tears were wetting the
marriage robe. The men laughing in the court below would not save her,
Belqassim would not save her. Even now he was angry with her. She hid her
face in her hands and she felt him seize her wrists. He was talking to
her in a whisper, and the incomprehensible words made hissing sounds. Violently
he pulled her hands away and her head fell forward. He would leave her
alone for an hour, and the three [other wives] would be waiting. Already
they were thinking in unison; she could follow the vengeful direction of
their thoughts as they sat there opposite her, refusing to look up. She
cried out and struggled to rise to her feet, but Belqassim shoved her back
fiercely. A huge black woman tottered across the room and seated herself
against her, putting her massive arm around her and pinning her against
the pile of cushions on the other side. She saw Belqassim leave the room;
straightway she unhooked what necklaces and brooches she could; the black
woman did not notice the movements of her hands. When she had several pieces
in her lap she tossed them to the three sitting across from her. There
was an outcry from the other women in the room; a slave went running
in search of Belqassim. In no time he was back, his face dark with rage.
No one had moved to touch the pieces of jewelry, which still lay in front
of the three wives on the rug. ("G igherdh ish'ed our illi," insisted
the song sadly.) She saw him stoop to pick them up, and she felt them strike
her face and roll down upon the front of her dress.
Her lip was cut; the sight of the blood on her finger
fascinated her and she sat quietly for a long time, conscious only of the
music. Sitting quietly seemed to be the best way to avoid more pain. If
there was to be pain in any case, the only way of living was to find the
means of keeping it away as long as possible. No one hurt her now that
she was sitting still. The woman's fat black hands bedecked her with the
necklaces and charms once more. Someone passed her a glass of very hot
tea, and someone else held a plate of cakes before her. The music went
on, the women regularly punctuated its cadences with their yodeling screams.
The candles burned down, many of them went out, and the room grew gradually
darker. She dozed, leaning against the black woman.
Much later in the darkness she climbed up the four
steps into an enormous enclosed bed, smelling the cloves with which its
curtains had been scented, and hearing Belqassim's heavy breathing behind
her as he held her arm to guide her there. Now that he owned her completely,
there was a new savageness, a kind of angry abandon in his manner. The
bed was a wild sea, she lay at the mercy of its violence and chaos as the
heavy waves toppled upon her from above. Why, at the height of the storm,
did two drowning hands press themselves tighter and tighter about her throat?
Tighter, until even the huge gray music of the sea was covered by a greater,
darker noise -- the roar of nothingness the spirit hears as it approaches
the abyss and leans over.
Afterwards, she lay wakeful in the sweet silence
of the night, breathing softly while he slept. The following day she spent
in the intimacy of the bed, with the curtains drawn. It was like being
inside of a great box. During the morning Belqassim dressed and went out;
the fat woman of the night before bolted the door after him and sat on
the floor leaning against it. Each time the servants brought food, drink
or washing water the woman rose with incredible slowness, panting and grunting,
to pull open the big door.
The food disgusted her: *1
it was tallowy, cloying and soft -- not at all like what she had been eating
in her room on the roof. Some of the dishes seemed to consist principally
of lumps of half-cooked lamb fat. She ate very little and saw the servants
look at her disapprovingly when they came to collect the trays. Knowing
that for the moment she was safe, she felt almost calm. She had her little
valise brought her, and in the privacy of the bed she set it on her knees
and opened it to examine the objects inside. Automatically she used her
compact, lipstick and perfume; the folded thousand-franc notes fell out
onto the bed. For a long time she stared at the other articles: small white
hand kerchiefs, shiny nail scissors, a pair of tan silk pajamas, little
jars of facial cream. Then she handled them absently; they were like the
fascinating and mysterious objects left by a vanished civilization. She
felt that each one was a symbol of something forgotten. It did not even
sadden her when she knew she could not remember what the things meant.
She made a bundle of the thousand-franc notes and put it at the bottom
of the bag, packed everything else on top and snapped the valise shut.
That evening Belqassim dined with her, forcing her
to swallow the fatty food after showing her with eloquent gestures that
she was undesirably thin. She rebelled; the stuff made her feel ill. But
as always it was impossible not to do his bidding. She ate it then, and
she ate it the following day and the days that came after that. She grew
used to it and no longer questioned it. The nights and days became confused
in her mind, because sometimes Belqassim came to bed at the beginning of
the afternoon and left her at nightfall, returning in the middle of the
night followed by a servant bearing trays of food. Always she remained
inside the windowless room, and usually in the bed itself, lying among
the disordered piles of white pillows, her mind empty of everything save
the memory or anticipation of Belqassim's presence. When he climbed the
steps of the bed, parted the curtains, entered and reclined beside her
to begin the slow ritual of removing her garments, the hours she had spent
doing nothing took on their full meaning. And when he went away the delicious
state of exhaustion and fulfillment persisted for a long time afterward;
she lay half awake, bathing in an aura of mindless contentment, a state
which she quickly grew to take for granted, and then, like a drug, to find
indispensable.
One night he did not come at all. She tossed and
sighed so long and so violently that the Negro woman went out and got her
a hot glass of something strange and sour. She fell asleep, but in the
morning her head was heavy and full of buzzing pain. During the day she
ate very little. This time the servants looked at her with sympathy.
In the evening he appeared. As he came in the door
and motioned the black woman out, Kit sprang up, bounded across the room
and threw herself upon him hysterically. Smiling, he carried her back to
the bed, methodically set about taking off her clothing and jewelry. When
she lay before him, white-skinned and filmy-eyed, he bent over and began
to feed her candy from between his teeth. Occasionally she would try to
catch his lips at the same time that she took the sweets, but he was always
too quick for her, and drew his head away. For a long time he teased her
this way, until finally she uttered a long, low cry and lay quite still.
His eyes shining, he threw the candy aside and covered her inert body with
kisses. When she came to, the room was in darkness and he was beside her,
sleeping profoundly. After this he sometimes stayed away two days at a
time. Then he would tease her endlessly until she screamed and beat him
with her fists. But between times she waited these unbearable interludes
with a gnawing excitement that drove every other sensation from her consciousness.
Finally there came a night when for no apparent reason
the woman brought her the sour beverage and stood above her looking at
her sternly while she drank it. She handed back the glass with a sinking
heart. Belqassim would not be there. Nor did he come the next day. Five
successive nights she was given the potion, and each time the taste seemed
stronger. She spent her days in a feverish torpor, sitting up only to eat
the food that was given her...
________
(*1)
Sentence 1, paragraph 5 of the excerpted text: To whom does
the word "her" refer? The paragraph is obviously about Kit Moresby. But
according to the rules of English grammar, the pronoun could refer to the
immediately preceded subject, in this case, to the "fat woman of the night
before." (the black slavewoman?) This subtle ambiguity may be intentional.
If so, Bowles is giving us a titillating vision of Mrs. Moresby: as a docile
slavewoman fattened to the precipice of immobility!
by Mary Alice Bonita
(pages 303-307 Vintage International 1990 edition)