I was always hungry,no, I wanted to be fed.No, not that.I wanted to be filledonce and for all, a manfilling me, a huge man,stuffed completely by a man.They couldn’t, of course,no one could,they smelled somethingon my breath, my need,my arrogance.Not arrogance,derangement, thinking myselfsupreme. Invulnerable. Royaltyto their temporary lust.They knelt before mebefore they took meand left. I couldn’t stop myself—Four dozen brown-butter kringlersfrom the Norwegian Bakery,half a cherry piefrom The Marketime Grocery,where it smelled like sausages,and I bounced checks.I’d drive to an overlookin Ballard, eat every bitwith a quart of milk.I felt full, no, not full,like I might dieif I hit my stomachagainst the steering wheel.Looking out on the blueof the Sound, I saw Mount Olympus,with its mantle of ice—like a godI couldn’t talk to.Sitting in my car, I watched an old manwalking in a southwester, his nylon parkacovering him completely,a small black Scottie dogon a leash. I was jealous of them,the way they aimlesslytook their way throughthe lawn and wet rhododendron.Couldn’t stand to look at them.Climbed in the backseat.Pushed a cottony tampon down my craw,held it with a string.Careful. No fingernailto make my throat bleed.I felt beautifulwhen my stomach decanted,concave under my fingertips.No, I didn’t. I feltlike a lizard. When I breathed,I smelled little pearls of vomit.I felt hungry. No, I wanted to be fed,no, I wanted a man. That’s the wayI wanted it.