Posted by Sawney Beane on November 07, 2006 at 23:18:35:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #92
AIRPORT ENCOUNTER
by Sawney Beane
16 June 2002
1,204 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 imagined consensual gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another vignette about an unsuspectingly lovely morsel. Not much but it's something. The long airport wait was real, and there was a woman there who had no idea what her beauty was inspiring.
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The thunderstorms have grounded all the planes in the area, and my flight is cancelled. I'm on standby for another flight several hours later, and there's no telling when and if that one will go - or whether or not I will get a seat on it. It's one of the busiest airports in the world, and there are literally dozens of flights cancelled and dozens more planes waiting to leave the terminal. The number of unhappy people here is impressive. I am trying to get home after a long work day, and I didn't pack for overnight, so I'm wondering what I will do if I don't get out. Should have brought a toothbrush.
Then something happens that makes my day a whole lot brighter. I'm sitting at the end of a crowded row, and a cute girl sits down across the aisle directly in front of me. I glance at her surreptitiously, and I realize to my astonishment, that she's you!
There is an advantage to anonymity. You don't know who I am, but I recognize you-the girl of my culinary erotic dreams. It's true; the man sitting across from you is me. You know, the one who thinks he's concealing the fact that he's devouring you with his eyes, but you know he is checking you out because he hasn't turned the page in his paperback for several minutes and probably won't as long as you sit there. But you don't know who I am. You don't know you're being consumed.
I find you startlingly delicious. It's always difficult to tell if a woman will look as good in person as she does in dreams, but I think I like you even better in this way. Maybe it's an illusion, but you seem curiously unaffected by the unhappiness surrounding you. You read a magazine of some sort - I can't see the title.
You're wearing clothes that reveal enough to make my mouth water and yet leave plenty to the imagination. Starting from the bottom. You are wearing sandals, which give me a good glimpse of your feet. They look great. There's something I find very sexy about your ankle bracelet, but even aside from that your feet look perfect. I imagine them together in a baking dish, roasted to a perfect golden-brown. Delicious!
My eyes slide up your succulent calves, so muscular and meaty. There are so many ways to make those taste great, I am almost overwhelmed. I imagine myself gnawing on your perfect girl drumsticks. Then I move on to your knees. I have a special attraction to knees, and yours are quite yummy, but I can't stay long because your best meat is calling me.
Your thighs are a feast for me eyes! They are so gorgeously powerful and yet so beautiful, not to mention delicious. What I could do with hams like those! I can just see them, roasted with a nice honey glaze. I imagine them in the oven, and I see myself sampling the tiniest morsel before devouring them with the passion they deserve. Oh it is too much!
Near the end of your beautiful thighs I run into your denim shorts, which keep some of you secret. I'll investigate some other day. Your amazing rump roast is, of course, concealed from my view, but I can imagine what it will taste like. Never anything like it.
Now we come to my favourite of favourites. The magazine you are reading makes it difficult for me to see your belly as clearly as I would like, even though your shirt is short enough to show off some of your ribs. I can see that there is something in your lovely navel that I will have to remember to take out before dinner. It would be painful to drive your bellybutton jewellery through my lip. Your abdomen is so indescribably gorgeous; I can't get enough of it. I don't even know what I will do with it. Right now I just stare and let my mouth water for you.
We'll have to select a very nice barbecue sauce for those ribs. And the breasts, well, I'll have to find a very good recipe for those as well. You have so much that will bring out the best of my culinary skills. It would be a shame to prepare you poorly, even though I'm sure you'll be delicious despite any mistakes I make.
I can see your arms quite clearly since your shirt is sleeveless. What can I do to do justice to these masterpieces? I'll think of something. The shoulder roasts will be fantastic as well, meaty, soft, and delicious.
Now I've reached your neck. Makes me wish I was a vampire, but I'll take care of you anyway. Your head is all that's left. Not much meat here, but I have to like your head since it is the thing that makes you crazy enough to want to be my gourmet delicacy. Your face is quite nice too, especially when it has that innocent expression that seems to say, "Oh, my! I think I am being chased by cannibals-well, come to think of it, maybe that's not such a bad thing." Well, I'm sorry, but that's how I imagine you would look. Nothing left but your golden mane.
Suddenly, I pull myself together. I think in devouring you bit by bit I have revealed my lust a little too clearly. But I look around, and no one seems to have noticed my transgression. You seem as unaware as everyone else; you're completely absorbed by the magazine you are reading. Maybe I got lucky.
I should introduce myself. I want you to know me, but how can I do that? I am very shy with beautiful women and would be unable to talk to you. So I cling to my anonymity. I will probably regret missing this opportunity for many years.
Then you stand up, and I can again see your belly clearly and gloriously. It's all I can do to conceal my excitement. But you're walking away, leaving me. My chance is going, and I'll never see you again. Before you go, though, you look straight at me with your gorgeous soul-piercing eyes. It's just for a split second, but you smile almost imperceptibly and a bit coyly. It's as if you're saying, "I know it's you, and you don't have to worry-someday, when we're both ready, I'll be on your dinner table." Or did I just imagine that?
I watch you go, my yummy delicacy fading into the distance across the terminal. Which plane will you get on, and where will you go? How will I find you when it is time for dinner?
The seat in front of me is soon occupied by another woman, but the void you have left remains unfilled. Still, I retain a satisfied feeling in my stomach, the feeling of having eaten a large delicious meal.
My flight does eventually leave, and I get the last available seat. I'm going to get home six hours late, but I'm no longer unhappy about it. When the flight attendant offers me peanuts, I reply, "No thanks, I already ate."