I’ve made pasta more times than I can even remember. For spaghetti, linguine, angel hair, fettuccine and all those ‘long noodles’, I needed to use the big fucking stainless steel pot. That’s why I usually made ziti, penne, shells, curlies and all the relatively small types. It still required a decent sized pot for a pound, but we had a few of them that normally sat on the stove at all times.
Fortunately though, one of them already had water boiling in it, since my father was using the stoves for heat and the water to add a bit of moisture to the air. Was it dangerous? Not really. The fires weren’t that high and the stoves were a decent distance from anything that could burn. Still, one of the reasons he slept on the couch was so that he could ‘keep an eye’ on the flames… Supposedly.
Anyway, I walked back into the kitchen, opened the cabinet above the microwave and grabbed the first box of noodles I saw. It was on the top shelf and I was short as fuck, so I had to stand on the little plastic stool that was already there. When I looked at the front of the box, it said ‘Mostaccioli’… Basically penne rigate, tube shaped and with vertically cut ends, but with smooth walls instead of those little ridges. Ultimately, they were pretty much the same thing.
As you might expect by now, I was very careful opening the box and then poured it all out without letting the dry noodles touch my dirty hands. Some boiling water splashed on me, but whatever, that’s just a part of life. Then I immediately went over to the recycling bin in the kitchen, it was between the trash can, the wall and one of the bigger kitchen cabinets. Only a few steps from that little room to be honest. I rushed over to the sink and washed off my hands with freezing water, ran back over to the other side of the kitchen, then opened a cabinet-drawer that was underneath the microwave.
I looked at the pile of giant spoons, then picked one that was steel, with a metal handle. The important thing was that it had a bunch of holes in it. I closed the drawer with my free hand, then washed my hands, while also thoroughly rinsing the spoon off. As I walked over to the pot and started stirring the noodles around, I remembered to put in some garlic-salt and olive oil. Obviously I needed to wash my hands in between each step and even rinsed off the handle to my spoon again, because I thought I accidentally touched it on something.
Once everything was done and all I needed to do was occasionally stir, I put that body on ‘autopilot mode’ and refocused my attention on Ana… Who was essentially just sitting on the office chair with her eyes closed.
“So that’s what happens, heh…” I smiled and snickered, then I went back and clicked on the word-document tab of my internet browser. I always kept the folder and the document open, at least for the story I was currently working on, so that I could quickly get back to writing it at any time. Anyway, maybe it was the result of having two brains working on the same problem, but writing became so much faster than I ever remembered it being before.
When I first started writing seriously, around the time I was twenty-two, I could finish up to ten thousand words in a day. That wasn’t even filler, but just pure content. However, the main reason I wrote so fast, was because I wasn’t that good at all the technical shit. I made so many spelling and grammatical errors, that when I looked back on the ‘edited’ work that I did at that time, it took me days to try and ‘fix’ a single chapter. Hell, even back when I was first working on the stuff, the editing took me longer than it did to write.
It wasn’t just a mental thing either. Maybe it was because I did arm exercises a lot or due to learning to play keyboards, but I hurt my hands, wrists and forearms a lot. They would lock up and I couldn’t write anymore for the rest of the day. That was a physical limitation that I couldn’t surpass, no matter how great my inspiration was.
Of course, there are obviously solutions to that problem. It had a lot to do with the elevation of my chair, the cheap keyboards I used definitely didn’t help, I also masturbated way too much. Eventually, I got burned out within two years of writing. I never managed to get back to the speed I wrote “Hardcore OP-ness”, even after three years.
That was until I spontaneously multiplied…
Ana had about the same dexterity as I did, so things like fingering the keys came pretty easily. Even writing a couple hundred words per minute wasn’t too taxing. So that’s what I did. By the time I started on the second chapter, I needed to switch back to my other body. The noodles were almost done.
That’s when I left the spoon in the pot and went over to the ‘wall cabinet’ to the left of the sink. There were two doors, but the things I needed were on the left side. First of all, I took out a tall glass bowl. It could hold about twelve ounces or so, which was plenty for what I needed. I started washing it off in the sink, then walked over to the cabinet closest to my door, and pulled out a ‘Garden Vegetable’ tomato sauce jar. I could only fit about seventy-percent of the jar in the bowl, but I didn’t want to fill it to the brim: I only ended up using a little more than half. I put the jar in the middle shelf of the refrigerator, then washed my hands again. Grabbed a tiny concave blue-glass plate, rinsed it off, placed it on the bowl, then put that in the microwave.
Only needed to heat it up in the microwave for about a minute and a half, since it was already room temperature beforehand. Meanwhile, I needed some paper towels. There was a rack near the middle of the kitchen table, which had a type of paper towel that’s kind of annoying. It had skinny rectangular pieces, so when you tried to pull off just one of them, it usually broke in half. When I tried to take only two pieces, three came off. Then I placed them on the ‘right’ corner of the table, with the clean, inner side of the paper towel facing upwards.
I quickly turned around and stood on my toes to reach the top shelf of the cabinet. There were like five large metal bowls, three glass ones of massive, medium and small size, along with a few kind-big and tiny metal bowls. It required an absurd amount of time and energy to separate the big glass bowl on the bottom, from everything on time. The next step was to thoroughly and vigorously wash off the bowl in warm water.
Finally, I used both my brains to simply place the bowl down onto the paper towel. Instead of trying to hold it in one hand, as I slowly filled it with noodles over by the stove, I brought the pot over to the kitchen table. By then, the microwave was beeping for the second time, reminding me about the sauce.
However, I still needed to put the whole pot of mostaccioli, with as little water as possible, into the glass bowl. By the time I was finished with that, the microwave beeped at me again. That bowl was massive, yet it was almost completely filled with pasta. When I poured the sauce over the top, my stomachs were angry at me for taking so long.
“Finally…” I let out a sigh, washed my hands again, got two forks, rinsed them off… Then at long last, placed them into the bowl and went downstairs. Even though I only made a pound of noodles, once they soak up all that water, it ends up being around two or three pounds. The bowl itself was probably a pound too. I had to open and close the door with my foot, but that was pretty normal for me. It would have been more dangerous if I tried to control both bodies at the same time.
Even though I was ‘being careful’, I still practically ran down the stairs. After going up and down them so many times a day, it just became a habit. Within a few seconds, I was already standing next to the semi-conscious woman who was sitting in my chair. I placed the bowl down onto the upper part of my desk.
It was high enough that I practically had to stand up to even eat out of the bowl, but holy shit did that pasta taste good. Garden Vegetable sauce basically had tomato, onion, garlic, basil, carrots, zucchini and some other random stuff. It was delicious.
Ana pushed the chair back and stood over to the left, while I moved into the spot right in front of the desk. Normally I would watch a TV show or read a chapter of something while eating, but it required all of my attention to eat with two bodies at the same time.
Imagine the sensation of eating one of your favorite types of food after being extremely hungry. Then double that feeling. Maybe it wasn’t as exciting as fucking myself in the ass, but eating noodles together was still pretty great.
There were two ways to pick up and eat mostaccioli. The first was to just stab the fork directly down and impale one or two at a time. Then my personal favorite, and the more dexterously challenging method, was to swoop in and slide a prong of the fork inside an end. Then I would simply pick that up, with the sauce in or on it, before shoving it into my mouth.
Unfortunately, I kept having this issue where both my right hands would try to pick up the same noodles. Even though I was ambidextrous enough to use both my hands to masturbate and/or pick up food with two separate forks simultaneously, both bodies using the same hand made it a bit confusing. It was hard for me to focus on two separate noodles, so I tried a method where I would alternate. First Ana, then Michael, as I shoveled pasta into my mouths.
In conclusion, the first morning was a little rough, but still went pretty well.