The Harpening

Entry 1
Just finished unpacking. Damn, Louisiana is hot. I don’t know if it’s the humidity or the interdimensional portals they keep opening up to let more monster-people through, but I am sweating bullets. New Orleans is beautiful, if a bit dirty. Better hit the streets and find my ass a job before culinary school tuition eats a hole in my pocket…
Entry 2
Man, this town is weird. I knew some cities signed more monster host treaties than others, but N’Orleans (as the folks round here say, y’all!) is just swarming with them. I’ve never seen so many bare tits in my life. Supposedly it’s part of the matriarchal culture of most monster civilizations… I’m not complaining. The view’s amazing. Almost crashed my car when I saw a centaur woman with DDD’s trotting (or is it cantering?) down the block. What a city.
Entry 3
Got a job! Took fucking long enough. You’d think three years of culinary and experience in major New York restaurants would be enough, but I guess the name Boyardee doesn’t get you where it used to. Especially when your first name is Chad. Chad Boyardee, what were my parents thinking? It sounds like a code word for some horrible sexual disease. Well, off to my shift at Arby’s. Can’t wait.
Entry 4
Okay, had my first personal encounter with a monster-girl today. The lack of monster-guys is definitely weird, apparently there was a chromosome deficiency going around, which is why they hooked up with our universe… Anyway. I was bussing tables at Arby’s when this bird-girl tries coming in the door. Naked as a jaybird (hah hah) and kind of chubby, bird legs from the knees down and wings from the elbows out. Kind of cute, too, if you didn’t mind the sticks in her hair and the big nose. (I swear she looked almost Greek. Is there a Greece in monster-land?) The manager chased her out with a broom while the other customers pretended not to notice. I was confused until they told me not all monster-women (we just call them that for convenience, I can count the amount of monster-GUYS in this town on one hand and a dick) are created equal. I guess monsters like slimes, orcs, and harpies—this girl was a harpy, are way dumber than the rest of them and mostly came along as pests or parasites to the others. I think that’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. You should have seen the look on this harpy’s face, it was like she wanted to say something but no one had ever taught her the words. This town is getting to be a bit of a downer…
Entry 5
Well, this is interesting.
I’m just starting at the Arby’s and so I’m a bit low on the totem pole. The other waiters make fun of me for my physique (“You’re so ottermode,” whatever that means) and the customers are pretty sharp with me if I keep them waiting, especially the vampire girls, they want those blood shakes pronto! So they demoted me to dishes and trash duty. Good thing I did, because I think I saved a life today.
I was going back behind the building to take out the trash when I found her. The back lot is this really sketchy little space like twenty feet square, where all the restaurants seem to have their dumpsters squeezed into this one tiny area. God knows how the trash truck even squeezes in there. Anyway, I lifted the lid to the Arby’s dumpster and guess who I found, sitting on the trash, sucking on half-eaten fried chicken bones?
That’s right, the harpy. At first we just stared at each other, her big green eyes meeting mine and her mouth dropping open. She was a little chubbier than last I saw her; her belly had pooched out a bit, and it was pretty obvious why. As one of the “parasite” species, she had literally been eating our garbage—sauce and cream and grease was all over her, smeared on her chunky little boobs and all over her thighs. I swear, every time she moved this girl jiggled like crazy. I admit I got kind of hard just looking at her.
Then, she decides to swallow the entire chicken bone right in front of me. I don’t know if she thought I was going to take it from her, or something, but she just gags it down and of course she starts choking on it! I freaked out, dropped the trash bag and reached in to help her, but she slashed at me with those big chicken feet and I got a nice cut for my efforts. So I stood there in shock watching her cough and make little gagging sounds until I realized I was going to have to try harder, or she was going to fucking die. So I dove into the dumpster. I know, literal dumpster-diving on the job, super good idea, right? But it was either that or explain to the manager why a dead harpy was in his garbage, and God knows I’m already in enough trouble for copping a feel off that lamia waitress.
So I dove in there and basically wrestled her until I was behind her, avoiding the feet and wrapping my arms around her middle. I could swear this girl didn’t have an ounce of muscle anywhere in her torso: my hands just sank in, like into a memory foam mattress. I don’t know what kind of stuff she was eating, but her figure… It didn’t feel bad, is all I’m saying. In fact it felt nice. Really nice.
Of course, my boner was the least of my concerns as she starts going really quiet and getting blue in the face. So I took my shot, did what they trained me to do when some fat fuck starts choking at a restaurant: I Heimliched the shit out of that bitch.
I made a double fist and drove it into the fat of her stomach, right below where I guessed the rib-cage would be—she had a couple stomach rolls going on so it was hard to be sure. It took a couple tries to find her diaphragm but I finally managed to hit the sweet spot, and she gagged and the chicken bone flew out. Then she just sort of collapsed on top of me, gasping. Again, not the most ideal situation to have a nude girl on top of you, especially one with a nice round ass that now rested directly on my… Anyway.
I remembered the claws. As soon as she could focus, I thought she might come after me again, so I very gently extricated myself and slipped out of the dumpster. I grabbed the rest of the fried chicken bones, for safety purposes, but I did leave my bag of thrown-out leftovers next to her. It was the least I could do.
I didn’t tell the manager about what happened. Oddly enough, I don’t really feel like getting fired. Besides, she’s kind of cute. I’m a “look out for number one” guy, but those eyes… I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.
Entry 6
I called Animal Services. They don’t handle monsters. I called Monster Services, they only handle situations between sapient monster-women who can pass the Bechdel Test (the Department of Monster Services loves their made-up jargon) and the occasional rampaging horny dragon woman. Which is apparently a thing that happens down here.
So I’m up a tree, so to speak. I can’t call pest control because only God knows what they’d do to that poor girl—do “low-intelligence” monsters even have rights? I doubt it. And I can’t tell my manager because explaining to your boss you had a naked Dumpster fight with a bird-girl who’s been eating his trash is not the best way to make friends on the job.
Instead I’m just going to keep going to work. I’m the fastest dish-washer in the restaurant, so my position at the bottom of the totem pole is totally secure. [/sarcasm] Also, this means I get to keep taking out the garbage. Which is suddenly pretty important to me.
Entry 7
I went out to see her again today.
She’s definitely getting fatter. Every time I look at her I think of the pigeons in New York, the ones who eat rice and bread crumbs over and over even though it’s bad for them. The ones who are so huge and fat they look like caricatures of birds.
I did try to see if I could feed her something healthy. She spat out the leftover salad from Table #3 (couple of snooty cowgirls wanted “a bucket of dressing,” their words, not mine) and she wouldn’t even touch the tofu burger we keep in case of elves. So I guess I’ll just keep bringing her the same junk she’s been eating since whenever she got here. I tried to wean her off it by tossing my bags in another restaurant’s Dumpster, but she just flapped out and hovered over to the next one. She’s not an idiot, just feral.
And very greedy. I had to stop her trying to eat an entire leftover steak in one bite. She’s kind of cute, the way she tears into things. Just chomping and slurping and swallowing like it’s her last meal in the world. And so is the next one. And the next… She gets pretty gassy after a big garbage feast. It’s both hilarious and pathetic at the same time to watch her roll over onto her side, tongue lolling out, belching and squinting at the light. I wonder what she’s thinking about?
I think she understands I saved her life. There have been no more cuts or swipes with the claws. If anything, we seemed to have reached a sort of peace. Unfortunately, I have also introduced her to the concept of the buffet: After I tried to put her on a diet a few times she realized she could have ALL the food in ALL the Dumpsters, not just hers. Now I often go around back to find her half-out of the Big Belly Burger trash bin, her chunky ass waving in the air, fat thighs wiggling as she tries to gobble up some scattered fries. I almost got a nosebleed the first time I saw her do that, because trust me, she wears NO clothes of any kind and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a juicier pussy in my life. Covered in peach fuzz, just fat and soft and velvety and…
But I’m not going to fool around with her. It would be wrong. She’s not sapient, right? Just a dumb, fat little bird-girl who thinks she’s in hog heaven now that I give her the choice of the leftovers. Well, we’ll see how long it lasts. I’m sure she’ll move on at some point—birds are migratory, right?
Entry 8
She’s not moving on.
In fact, she seems to be nesting. I found her arranging soft drink cups and styrofoam containers into a bowl shape the other day. And she’s eating even more piggishly than usual. I really hope she’s not going to lay eggs. Wouldn’t that just make my day, having to explain to the boss why his back lot is full of screaming baby harpy chicks.
It’s not as if I could tell whether she’s preggo, though. This girl is getting big. Ever since I showed up she seems to be eating more on purpose, like it’s to impress me or something. I keep catching her eyeing me over her half-a-burger some customer rejected, with her eyebrows arched in a “You like what you see?” kind of way. Maybe I’m just projecting. I always did like big girls, just not big girls with… feathers.
She has very pretty feathers, under the muck and the garbage-grime and the smell. She let me clean them once, just once, they’re beautiful red-brown quills the size of my forearm each. She doesn’t fly very often now, though, and I’m starting to get worried she’s forgotten how. Every second I’m around her, she’s eating. If that’s all she does when I’m not around… Jesus. Talk about your obesity epidemics.
Entry 9
Yeah, this has to stop.
Today I found her stuck in the McDoogald’s Dumpster across the lot. The lid had fallen down, and either it was too heavy or she was too weak from overeating to push it off. Her torso and belly were half-out of the bin and her tits (bigger, now, though still small for a monster-girl compared to the stuff I see every day) were flopping and wobbling like crazy. She was red in the face, and squawking, the lid crushing her to the edge of the bin. Poor, stupid harpy.
I lifted the lid and immediately the weight of her gut dragged her out onto the black-top. She’s getting really big now: her stomach used to be just this chubby pot-belly type of thing. Now it’s easily three times as large (this girl can EAT, damn) and it hangs down really far, like halfway down her thighs. Doesn’t help that it’s perpetually bloated with trash and stale junk food.
Anyhow, she started getting up and I could actually see her legs shaking. She’s maybe five feet tall at most, though her wingspan is pretty huge, and she is way too fat for her height. Not that I’m an expert, but when your ass-cheeks slap against each other every time you walk in a Newton’s Cradle of sweaty blubber, I think it’s time to slow down.
Apparently she doesn’t think so. Her olive skin and curly black hair are infested with random bits of trash I have to keep cleaning off her, and she’s developing permanent sauce stains on her belly and tits, like she’s gotten so lazy and messy her skin just stopped shrugging it off. I had to help her back into “her” Dumpster, lifting her by the waist (she lets me touch her now, when she needs help like that or when I’m cleaning her) and holy God, she was heavy. Damn fatass must weigh easily over two hundred pounds, maybe two-fifty. On a five-foot-nothing frame, that’s a lot.
And do you know what she did once I finally got her into her “nest” again, once I was done straining and shoving on her fat ass and getting farted on because she’d had too much beef? (Gross, I know, but she’s an animal—I just have to keep telling myself that. God, her pussy was INCHES from my face, and unlike the rest of her it smelled so good…) She plunged into her bin and immediately began eating again, mowing down on tossed-out onion rings like she hadn’t just spent hours doing the same thing twenty feet away.
I’m really starting to worry about this girl.