Posted by Sawney Beane on June 07, 2006 at 23:16:48:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #26
ANYTHING FOR LOVE
by Sawney Beane
5-7 July 1995
5,326 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is perhaps the seminal reluctant diner/eager dinner story. It turned out pretty well I think. It's about a girl and the boy she talks into killing and eating her for reasons that seem peculiar but make sense to her.
---------------------------
I loved Ellen more than anyone can imagine. We grew up together. She was two months older than me and, to my frustration, was once the girlfriend of my older brother. She lived next door since we were tiny children.
Most of our story was uninteresting. Things didn't get unusual until we were eighteen. My parents were preparing to leave town for the month for a stress-relieving European vacation recommended by their psychologist. Things had been rough for them since Jim had died in an automobile accident on the day of his high school graduation. I was preparing to be on my own, and I thought I was hot stuff.
Ellen and I had been dating for about a month, but our relationship had been changing in that direction for a long time. She was the most beautiful thing I could imagine. I can't even begin to describe her, but notable features include long dark hair, soft brown eyes, and medium-sized fabulous breasts. She was my first real girlfriend.
Well, on a Saturday a week before my parents' departure, Ellen and I were hiding in each other's arms in the treehouse behind my house. When my brother and I were children, we used to defend ourselves against the evil neighbourhood girls in that treehouse, but later it made a fantastic lovenest.
I told Ellen that I loved her that day. I think it was the first time. She looked at me with those alluring but somehow always slightly sad eyes of hers and asked me if I really meant it.
"Of course I do," I said with mock indignation, "I wouldn't have said so if I didn't mean it. You can't begin to imagine how much I love you!" I was shameless.
"Really?" she smiled enigmatically, "how much do you love me?"
"I'd do anything for you!"
"No you wouldn't," she sighed with genuine wistfulness. She seemed to be carefully avoiding the obligatory "I love you too." I wanted to hear it, but I rather admired her for it as well since it would seem somewhat insincere if she had said it then.
"Really, I would do anything for you," I assured her solemnly.
"Would you kiss my feet?"
I said nothing in reply but slowly and carefully unlaced her sneakers. I pulled both her shoes off and removed her socks. I held her small feet in my lap for a moment. Fortunately, they looked immaculately clean. Then I began to kiss every inch of them. Oh, how I degraded myself! She giggled when I licked the arch of her foot and tried not to succumb to the tickling. She smiled coquettishly throughout.
When I was done I dropped myself next to her, and she embraced and kissed me. I held her small body next to mine. That moment I knew that I really meant what I had said.
The following day, we were in the treehouse again. This time Ellen smiled devilishly and said, "Let's investigate this claim of yours about how you'd do anything for me."
"Anything at all," I boasted.
"Sure? Would you kill for me?"
"Anyone who tries to hurt you had better watch out; I'd kill for you in a minute."
"Would you die for me?"
"Happily."
"Would you kill me if I asked you to?" She said this with a serious face, but I could only treat it as a joke.
"You'd never ask that," I said.
"You're avoiding the question," she said, still serious.
"Well, I don't know," I stammered, "why would you want me to kill you?"
"I'm sure you wouldn't understand, and you're still avoiding the question."
"I don't know if I could!" I blurted. "I'd die without you."
"Nonsense; you would not; and, besides, you've already promised me that you'd die for me."
I just stared at her for several minutes, and I realized that those sad eyes weren't just a peculiar idiosyncrasy of her appearance; they were an expression of her deepest feelings. Finally I replied, "Ellen, are you asking me to kill you?"
"Yes," she said simply with nothing but seriousness in her expression.
"When?"
"Soon."
"Why?"
"It's what I want more than anything, and I'll love you forever if you do this for me."
"Is it about college?" She had not been accepted to any of the colleges she'd applied to. "They said they'd accept you next year if you take those classes."
"It's got nothing to do with that."
"What is it?"
"I couldn't explain," she said mournfully, "Just understand that it's very important to me."
"Please try to explain."
"Well, I want you to kill me because I am afraid of dying."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"I told you that you wouldn't understand. Look, you can choose to live or you can choose to die. You can't choose not to live at all, since your parents work that out before you have a say. But every moment you live is a choice of life over death. Most people would choose life for all eternity and I would too, but you just can't do that. In fact, you might die at any moment. Eternal life is impossible, but eternal death is a possibility. As long as you choose life, you have to continually look over your shoulder to keep death from creeping up on you, and the worst thing is you're bound to fail ultimately. If you choose death, you will always have what you want, and you need have no fear of life taking you unawares. I simply can't spend forty or fifty more years worrying about death. I want to choose the path that will lead to the least amount of worry along the way."
"You're right, I don't understand. If you're so afraid of death, why is it better to die now than to die later?"
"I'm not so much afraid of death as afraid of dying. Dying is a painful, nasty, unpredictable business. Since you have to do it sometime, it's best to get it over with when you're well-prepared and can die under the best possible circumstances."
"So you want to snuff it at age eighteen in the arms of your adolescent boyfriend?"
"Yes, what could be better than to die in the arms of the one you love most?" she said excitedly.
"I take it you don't believe in an afterlife?"
"No, of course not, don't be silly," she said disdainfully. "Do you believe in such fairy tales?"
"No, I suppose I don't, really," I said despite my good Christian upbringing and devoutly religious parents. Jimmy's demise had somehow intensified my parents devotion and entirely extinguished mine.
"Will you do this for me?" she said like a pleading child asking for a cookie.
"I don't know," I said, "I'll have to think it over."
I didn't see her at all on Monday. I have to admit that I was avoiding her a little bit. But on Tuesday she was waiting for me in the treehouse. We hugged and kissed for a while as if nothing had happened. I even got her shirt off before she brought up the unpleasant subject.
"Well, have you come to a decision on my request?" she said while I was in the middle of nibbling her left nipple.
"No," I said and moved away from her.
"Please do it for me," she begged. "if you don't I'll have to do it myself, and that won't be nearly as good."
I hadn't thought of that. "No!" I nearly screamed, "please don't kill yourself. You can't do that!"
"I'm sorry, Todd, I have to."
I knew I was beaten. I couldn't physically stop her from killing herself. Even if I called the hotline, they couldn't watch her every moment of her life. And if they did, they'd make it unlivable. The cold determination in her eyes told me there was no way I could talk her out of it. "OK, I'll do it," I barely whispered, and tears streamed down my face.
Since that day, I've had almost continual fears that I gave in too easily. Was there anything I could have done or said? I've had almost fifteen years to think about it, and I still can't think of anything that would have saved her. But the doubt will always haunt me.
Her eyes brightened instantly and she threw her arms around me in pure joy. "Oh, Todd, I knew I could count on you. I love you more than anything." She was genuinely ecstatic about my submission to her horrible will. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the treehouse in each other's arms. I was considerably sadder than she was, but her breasts pressing against my chest helped a bit.
I was determined not to bring the matter up again. Wednesday was uneventful, and Thursday we were down to our underwear when she brought the unthinkable up again without warning.
"Todd, I want you to kill me on Monday," she said softly in my ear.
I was taken by surprise and pushed her to arm's length. "So soon?"
"Yes, darling, it must be so."
"But my parents are going to Europe Saturday night." It was as good an excuse as any.
"I know," she said, "we'll never have such a perfect opportunity again."
"Why do we need an opportunity?"
"Because I don't want you to go to jail because of me."
I didn't really understand, but I pressed my body against hers and ended the conversation. That day was the last really blissful moment for me in our existence together. I soon realized that this was not something that would go away and be forgotten if I ignored it long enough. She was going to force me to go through with it.
Friday and Saturday were full of Ellen's terminal plans. It was an elaborate operation. Saturday night my parents flew to London and left me to my problems. It didn't matter since I couldn't share my thoughts with them anyway. Ellen and I had time for some tender moments in those last few days, but I was sad more than anything.
Sunday was when Ellen's elaborate plan was set in motion. That evening we went to a movie together and then kissed for a while in the parking lot. We were home by eleven, and we made sure her parents saw me kissing her good night on the doorstep.
I went home and turned on the lights and radio and the like and drove off to Lake Elizabeth by a circuitous route that included stops at a few teenage hangouts. Ellen told her parents around midnight that she was going to feed the ducks at Lake Elizabeth. She did this often because she thought that it was a beautiful spot. Unfortunately, her parents didn't seem properly concerned with her well-being and let her go with a curt "Be careful, dear."
She arrived in her red sports car, a graduation present, just a few minutes after I did. She parked in the dark end of the small lot and walked to the dock where the ducks could be seen in the lone streetlight. I parked in the shadows beside the trees along the exit and walked over to her. She was staring out over the water with a small distracted smile on her lovely face. I tried to talk her out of going on, but she just threw her arms around my neck and thanked me profusely for helping her do what she had to do.
There was no one else around, and she took off her blouse as we walked back to her car. She remorselessly ripped the garment to shreds and left it in the back seat of her car. We left the car doors open, the headlights on, the keys in the ignition, and most of her clothes strewn about nearby. I had been charged with bringing a change of clothes for her. I was told to bring her some of my clothes so that I would not have to worry about disposing of her clothing when we were done. She put my T-shirt and basketball shorts on after walking about naked for a few minutes. Ellen even went so far as to severely cut one of her fingers and smear her blood on the steering wheel, seats, and window. It was a ghastly sight when we were done.
No one saw us, and she climbed into the trunk of my car for the ride home. I thought it was unnecessary, but she insisted that we take every precaution. I didn't see another car until we were fifteen minutes away from the scene of the staged crime. We slipped into my garage without anyone noticing and closed the door before I opened the trunk and released my true love. She giggled as she climbed out and said, "we did it, we did it, Todd!" I wasn't so happy about things.
We were worn out from our exertions, so we slept together in my bed. She slept soundly in my arms, but I stared at the ceiling nearly all night. The green digital numbers on my clock read 4:37 the last time I looked before finally falling asleep.
When I woke up, Ellen was gone, so I walked downstairs to find her making breakfast for me. It was delicious, but she refused to eat anything herself and wouldn't explain why.
By the time we had finished, the noon news was on TV, and we sat down to watch. As we suspected, Ellen's disappearance was a featured story. I watched the tears well up in Ellen's eyes as she watched her mother's distraught discussion with the reporter. Her mother made a big fuss over how careful they had been (a blatant lie) to make sure she was not out alone at night. I told Ellen that she could still change her mind and go comfort her mother, but she just said, "No, it must be as it must be." No one seems to have suspected my involvement, and, conveniently enough, a serial rapist and murderer had escaped from prison two days earlier. He was immediately blamed, and efforts to track him down were intensified.
Around one o'clock, a police officer came around to my house to ask if I, as a neighbour, knew anything that might help in the investigation. Ellen hid in the basement while I went to the door. As I let the policeman into the house, the tears in my eyes were real. I told him that I'd just found out about Ellen's disappearance on the news and that Ellen and I had planned to go to the movies together that very night, so I was very shocked. He left without raising an eyebrow, and that was the extent of my interactions with the police during the entire incident.
Ellen and I made out, watched television, and generally had a good time the entire afternoon. I was just beginning to hope that she had forgotten the reason for our machinations when she said calmly, "I'm going to take a shower and then we can begin." It was around seven in the evening.
She stripped and threw my clothes in my room. I sadly admired her gorgeous body as she strutted down the hallway to the bathroom. She took a very long shower, which made me happy; any delay was a good thing. When she came out finally, I tried to distract her. "Wouldn' t you like to have something to eat first?"
"No, I'm on a diet," she smiled prettily.
"Not even a sandwich?"
"No, but I will have a glass of water while we set things up."
I fetched the drink and met her in the basement. She'd been around the house earlier gathering up things we'd need. When I saw the basement, I realized that she'd been scouting out facilities and materials probably for weeks to make sure we had everything necessary.
She'd informed me that we had to do it in the middle of the basement floor because there was a drain there and later I could wash away any blood with buckets of water. She had all sorts of things strewn about: my mother's kitchen knives, lots of rope, and my backpack, which she'd filled with goodies.
I swallowed hard as she stood in the centre of the room unabashedly naked beckoning me to come to her. This simply couldn't be real. She put the glass of water on the floor next to my backpack and hugged me tightly.
"Todd, thank you so much; this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."
I couldn't reply. I managed a faint smile and watched passively as she unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it to a far corner of the room. My pants, socks, and underwear followed shortly thereafter. We stood there pressing our bodies against one another.
We'd never been completely naked together before. I knew she'd been with a fair number of guys before, and I had also known for a long time that she'd make love to me as soon as I asked her. But I was shy about such things and never could ask her. She seemed content to wait for me to make the first move...until this day.
"How are we going to do it?" I asked with a resigned tone.
She smiled sweetly up at me. "You're going to strangle me while we're having sex."
I stepped back. "I can't do that! You want me to strangle you with my bare hands?"
"Sure you can," she said lightly, "It's easy."
I changed the subject. "We're going to have sex first?"
"During. You didn't think I would leave you before we'd gone all the way, did you?"
"I hadn't thought about it."
"Sure you had. Anyway, I'm surprised you didn't talk me into it sooner."
"I'm not good at that."
"Don't tell me you're a virgin!"
I didn't tell her, but my blush gave away my disgraceful secret.
She smiled that broad, slightly frightening smile of hers. "Well, your first and my last...what a nice bit of continuity."
"I hope I can do it right."
"Don't worry. If you're half as good as your brother, I'll die happy."
"You fucked Jimmy?" I blurted in shock. This I had not dreamed of.
"Of course, several times," she flashed me a disdainful smile.
"But Jimmy's dead."
"Of course, but he was alive when we did it."
I regretted my stupid statement. "I'm sorry; I was just surprised."
"That's OK. Are you ready?"
"No."
"We'll start anyway."
"Do we have to do this?"
"Yes."
I suddenly had a horrible thought. Denial had prevented my considering this detail earlier. "How am I to dispose of your body?"
She smiled smugly, and I knew something horrible would come out of her mouth. I wasn't disappointed. "You're going to eat me."
I blinked in shock. "I can't do that!"
"Why not? Almost all of me is edible, and you can dry my bones in the oven and then crush them and spread them in the garden. It's perfect, and you have a month to do it."
Well, that much was true: I would surely eat more than her small bulk in the month before my parents came home, but it was unthinkable. "I can't eat you; I love you?"
"Yes, what better way to stay together forever? I'm confident that I'll be you're favourite food as well."
"This is insane."
"Perhaps but necessary all the same."
"I wouldn't begin to know how to eat you."
"I left a book of recipes in your backpack as well as detailed butchering instructions."
"What!"
"Of course you'll have to cut me up when I've died so that you can put me in the freezer. Otherwise I'd spoil right away. It's easy really. All you have to do is tie my ankles together with the rope and hang me upside down from that hook." She pointed to the hook in the ceiling that had once supported Jimmy's punching bag. "Then you take the knives and cut where the instructions tell you to. I haven't eaten anything in 48 hours, so you shouldn't have to worry about cleaning any nasty things out of my intestines."
I sat down on the floor. "This is too much."
"No, it's fine." Her eyes lit up with sudden inspiration, and she rummaged about a bit in the backpack. "Look, I'll draw lines where you have to cut."
I sat there in awed silence and watched her contentedly draw all over her naked body with the permanent marked she had found in the bag. She was at it a good fifteen or twenty minutes, and when she was done she tossed aside the marker, spread her arms, and said "ta da!" There she was, covered from head to toe in the sort of grid you see in charts of different cuts of beef. I couldn't believe my eyes. She seemed so proud of herself though.
"See, just read the directions and cut along each of these lines in the order it says."
"Ellen, I simply cannot eat you!"
"You must; that's the most important part."
"But it's sick!"
"Nonsense. People are made of meat just like everything else. Besides, you're always nibbling on various bits of me anyway."
"That's different, and you know it."
"Yes, I suppose it is, but how else are you going to get rid of my body?"
"I'm not, Ellen," I said firmly, "This is enough nonsense; I'm not going to eat you, and I'm not even going to kill you."
"But you promised!"
I don't know how she did it, but in the short space of twenty more minutes she made me wearily consent to both the killing and the eating part. I think she must have been magic or something.
"Now the sex part," she said matter-of-factly as she laid out a blanket on the floor and laid herself down on her back. She was shockingly beautiful, and the incision lines she'd made with the permanent marker didn't detract too much from this. I wanted nothing more than to make love to her. It was the other part she insisted upon that worried me.
But to put it very bluntly, my penis was not ready for this. To its credit, it had been standing at attention when she first undressed me, but the intervening time and the rather distressing discussion about cannibalism had taken its toll. I pointed this out, and she smiled slyly.
I was still standing at her feet, so she sat up and approached me on her knees. When she started to lick my genitals, I immediately forgot my worries. She'd done this one time before to me, and it was the farthest we'd gone. My penis disappeared into her mouth and ten minutes of measureless pleasure later, it reappeared considerably larger.
"Now you're ready," she said reclining again with a smile.
"For some things," I replied somewhat mournfully.
I started by kissing her knees and legs. Then I kissed her arms, shoulders, hands, belly, and hips. Eventually, I made it to her breasts and later to her fuzzy crotch. Finally, I assaulted her face with kisses. Throughout all of this, she had her eyes closed and a smile of pleasure on her face. To my surprise, she was entirely relaxed. I drew this out as long as I could, because I didn't like to think of what came next.
Finally, I couldn't wait any longer, and I entered her smoothly. I gasped as I felt the warmth of her for the first time. She arched her back pleasantly and pressed her chest against mine. I moved back and forth for a few minutes, and she reacted well. But she suddenly opened her eyes and looked deep into mine with her hands pressed against my cheeks.
"Do exactly as I say," she commanded pleasantly but firmly, "place you hands around my neck and start squeezing gently. Press harder and harder, and, when you reach your orgasm, squeeze my neck as hard as you can. Don't let go no matter what until you're sure I'm dead. My mind is entirely committed to this, but my body will protest. Don't let go, even if I beg you to. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said sullenly.
"Thank you; I love you very much."
Her muscles pressed against my penis, and she closed her eyes and adopted a faraway smile. The sex came back to my mind, and I began to enjoy myself again. I placed my hands loosely around her neck as she had instructed, and her smile broadened.
As I continued, I reluctantly increased pressure on her neck, and she seemed to be aroused by this. As I increased pressure, the motion of her hips and pressure of her genitals increased. My sexual exertions intensified, and this feedback loop increased the pressure on her neck further. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see her.
At one point, I opened my eyes and noticed that I was squeezing her quite firmly. Her face was flush with pleasure and from my strangulation. I reflexively loosened my grip a bit, and she opened her eyes in silent reproach. I resumed and closed my eyes.
The pleasure increased and increased until my mind suddenly exploded. My fingers tightened without my conscious command. Her chest had been heaving, and she was moaning, but now she couldn't breathe at all. Her body continued to undulate, and the smile persisted for a few minutes.
She let out a few inarticulate sounds that were mostly groans and moans with a few stifled screams. Also, I thought I noticed her begging me to stop. I immediately loosened my grip considerably. Her eyes snapped open, and emitted silent distress and reproach. When she regained the power to speak, she hoarsely whispered, "I told you not to stop; keep going!"
My orgasm had just ended, but I kept moving my hips and again clasped my hands as tightly as I could around her neck. Now I couldn't keep myself from watching her, and I observed her transformation from red to purple to bluish. She was undulating almost to the end as if still in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy. My motions slowed and finally stopped. Eventually, her body relaxed, and her hands fell from my back to the floor at her sides. It soon became apparent that I was in carnal contact with a corpse.
I rolled over in exhaustion. As my hands left her throat, their impressions remained in the soft skin of her neck. After my heavy breathing had subsided, I sat up beside her feet and stared at her in disbelief for nearly half an hour. Her eyes remained peacefully closed, and a slight contented smile adorned her still face. I loved her more than ever and prayed that I was dreaming.
When I finally regained the ability to think, I took the backpack and looked at what Ellen had left for me. There was a typed sheet of paper with instruction for disposing of her body. I gasped as I remembered all the horrors I still had before me. The backpack also contained a roll of paper of the kind used to wrap meat. Its purpose was unmistakable, but I didn't know how she'd obtained it.
There was also a long handwritten note addressed "To whom it may concern" and expressing that she had freely chosen to pursue death for personal reasons and that I had been kind enough, although very reluctant, to help her reach her goal despite its grisly result. The note explained that everything that I'd done had been performed under her own direction. Therefore, she did not wish for me to be prosecuted for any crime relating to her demise. The purpose of the note was apparently to be shown to authorities as evidence of innocence in the event that I was caught. I doubt if it would have done much good.
The last thing I pulled out of the backpack was what appeared to be an ordinary cookbook. Inside, the recipes were entirely conventional, but she had crossed out all references to various meats and had written "Ellen" in their place. She had always had a peculiar sense of humour. The recipe for rump roast had "Ellen's arse" substituted for the beef, and sesame chicken now called for "2 cups diced Ellen." In the margins, Ellen had included serving suggestions for which parts of her to use in each recipe and the order in which to try them. She even included recommendations for side dishes. I was thoroughly appalled.
I eventually gathered up the courage to begin and tied her barely warm feet together and lifted her body up enough to hang her upside down by her ankles on the hook. I moved the blanket into the corner and set to work with the scissors cutting her gorgeous hair down to half-inch stubble. I saved the hair in a freezer bag and placed a clean bucket under her head. Then, with a nervous gulp, I cut a long incision with my mother's paring knife along one of the black lines on Ellen's throat. Her blood poured out down her face and into the bucket.
When she was almost completely drained of blood, I cut Ellen's head off as per my instructions. Her remaining blood flowed out, and I removed her breasts and arms. Then I opened up her abdomen. So it went until my poor dead girlfriend was broken down into many small pieces, which I wrapped in the meat paper and arranged carefully in the freezer.
Cleanup was not very difficult. I rinsed down the area, transferred the blood to a bottle stored in the refrigerator. Then I put everything away, washed my clothes and the blanket, and hid the bag of Ellen's hair and her note and cookbook.
It was late, but I hadn't eaten dinner. That night, Ellen started me off lightly with two round steaks cut from inch thick sections of her thighs. I was able to cook them by convincing myself it was beef and sat down to eat. I fought back my negative reaction and placed the first bite in my mouth. To my surprise, the meat wasn't revolting. The second bite wasn't bad. And I'm ashamed to say it, but the third bite was actually quite tasty. I decided that Ellen was quite a delicious woman.
So, although my grief and moral revulsion hindered my enjoying the meals, I was heartened by the quality of the food. Most of the recipes were quite good. I had no trouble consuming Ellen in the month I had before my parents' return from Europe. She was quite small really.
It ended with a succulent dish of her marinated right foot (with mushrooms and scallions) the evening before my parents returned. I spent the day double-checking that everything was in order and that no suspicious traces of Ellen remained. I kept her hair and skull in a special hiding place despite the risk. The rest of her bones I dried, pulverized, and spread in our vegetable garden.
My parents were sad that Ellen had been raped and kidnapped (presumably killed) by the escaped serial rapist, but my mother said she wasn't surprised with the way her parents let her run around all over the place alone at night. They tried to comfort me as best they could, and I genuinely needed it.
I regret that she had to go as she did. But I'm glad I could make her happy. The one residual negative effect is that I now look at women with a somewhat more culinary eye that I once did. That's only a minor inconvenience, and I know that I would never consume a woman against her will.