Posted by Sawney Beane on August 13, 2006 at 03:48:52:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #51
DINNER OUT WITH MY BROTHER
by Sawney Beane
8, 19, 28 September 1997
3,477 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: Once again we return to the inimitable Tasty Kate's restaurant. This story was mainly inspired by the idea of the ordering scene. It actually turned out better than I had expected it to, but it's not a classic. It does flesh out the Tasty Kate's mythos a bit better, however.
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NCY 231
I meant for this story to be about my first visit to the world-renowned Tasty Kate's restaurant, but it is, in a sense, a story about my brother. My older brother and I were never what you would call close. This was probably due mostly to our age difference. At the time of the events I want to tell you about, I was nineteen years old, in my first year at university, and in search of a purpose in life. My brother was twenty-nine and had known since he was twelve what he as going to do for a living. He was in marketing, and he was great at his job.
Our personalities were vastly different as well. I was shy, quiet, introspective, and no one I knew was really sure whether I was a bit slow or gifted, and I didn't either. My brother was always the centre of attention, and it wasn't unintentional. For as long as I had known him, my brother was loud, conceited, flirtatious, and overbearing. His position as a top executive in a major New York marketing firm is one that might make a man arrogant, but in his case his position grew to fit his personality rather than the other way around. He was just as arrogant when he was a child.
I never really knew him very well because he went off to university when I was just eight years old, but I've seen enough. Nonetheless, I always tried to be civil. And when he invited me on a double date to Tasty Kate's that time during Christmas break when we were together at home for the first time in many years, I accepted readily without ever really knowing why he had asked me. I didn't relish the idea of a double date with him, but I had yearned to see the mysterious interior of the world's most famous eating establishment. Many times I had looked at Tasty Kate's monolithic black tower in the downtown skyline and wondered what was happening within. It was a dream come true, and it was just as surreal as I had imagined.
Jack took a girl I had never met before. Her name was Carla, and she was a twenty-three year old blonde with large breasts and a vacant smile. She seemed like an older woman to me, but she was just a kid to him. I don't know where he had met her or very much about her, but from the way he treated her, I could tell their relationship was purely physical. My date was a brunette twenty years of age and very pretty. She was a friend of Carla's and was named Karen. There was obviously a lot more going on in her head than in her friend's however, but we never really got to know each other very well, so I don't know what it was she felt so deeply.
Anyway, the four of us showed up at Tasty Kate's on a Thursday night and entered the main dining room about an hour before the buffet was served. Anyone who has been there is profoundly affected by his or her first vision of that vast room and all of its implications. First of all, the very size of the place is amazing, but even more impressive is the thought of how incredibly much business a place like that must do and the related thought of what business it is they are in. It's no wonder that they always say that everyone in America has known at least one person who went off to work at Tasty Kate's.
I was still in shock as we were seated at a booth in the back corner by a hostess in a black bikini who smiled prettily as Jack stuffed a bill deep between her breasts. It occurred to me that Tasty Kate's was probably not the best place to take a date, but there were many couples scattered around the room, so I guess Jack knew what he was doing.
We sat down and looked at the menu. I opened the cover and looked at the small screen. It read:
Welcome to Tasty Kate's: America's Premier Dining Experience
Please Select One:
1) Buffet
2) Choice Cuts
3) Grade A
I pressed "2", and the screen cleared and produced the message: "Will you be ordering from the male or female menu?" I pressed the "F" key, and the screen cleared again and presented me with a photograph of a beautiful woman with brown hair and a big smile. Her body was marked in heavy black lines to indicate the cuts of meat available. I was instructed to touch the screen to gain information about a specific part or to press the symbol marked "Internal Organs" for a view of other available selections.
I touched the video girl's foot, and she said "Thank you" quietly before the screen shifted to a picture of a petite human foot severed at the ankle and tastefully arranged on a platter with various garnishes and roasted to a golden brown. Seeing this shocked me more than I had expected, but I read the description below: "FOOT: a podiatrist's dream. Choicest feet of female volunteers cooked to your specifications and served with bread basket, choice of potato, garden salad or soup, and choice of sauces. Average uncooked weight: 0.5 kg 1,250 NA$" I was suddenly surprised to realize that the price given for this moderately-valued selection, 1,250 North American dollars, was more than I paid the university for an entire semester of dining hall meals. No doubt this was an infinitely better meal though.
The keys at the bottom of the screen were labelled "BACK", "COOKING OPTIONS", and "ORDER". I pressed the "back" button and then looked at the girl's breast just for kicks. It looked good on the plate, but 5,000 NA$ seemed a bit steep, even if I wasn't planning on being the one that paid. I eventually settled on a thigh steak at 1,000 NA$ because I wanted to be conservative during my first visit and selected "Broiled, medium well" in the cooking options section and "Caucasian" in the optional race section. Then I selected chips and salad and looked up. The waitress was just arriving.
I looked at this gorgeous woman for one rapturous moment before I regained my senses. Tasty Kate's clearly knew where to find their waitresses. She was wearing a red bikini and had long slightly curly blonde hair. Her breasts were large but not fatty-looking like so many busty women's. I was barely able to show her my menu when she asked if she could take my order. She smiled knowingly and copied down the information about my order displayed on my menu's screen.
"You'll be very happy with that," she said, "the steaks they're serving this evening are delicious."
Karen ordered a male hand and was obviously here for the first time like I was. Carla, however, was clearly an old pro and ordered the penis platter. Jack, however, had a surprise in store for us all. He was pretending, as was his habit, that he couldn't work the menu all by himself. The thing was very easy to use, but he exploited this tactic even in pizza joints to force the pretty waitresses to lean over his shoulder and show him what to do.
This time that blonde vision was right on top of him with her right breast draped over his shoulder as she explained each option. He let her show him everything and appeared interested in every last detail but still uncertain. When at last she stepped back, he asked in a casual voice, "By the way, are you on the menu?"
She was a little bit startled but not as much as I would have expected. A wide smile appeared on her coquettish face as she said, "Certainly, sir." When Jack stared at her for a few seconds in silent contemplation, she added flirtatiously "But I'm quite expensive, sir." She pointed to the tattoo, which I hadn't noticed, just to the left of her delicate navel, which I had noticed. It consisted of a black circle around a large letter "A" below the word "Grade" and the words "Property of Tasty Kate's, Inc., Philadelphia PA" in a ring around the outside. Below the letter "A" was a six-digit serial number.
Jack ignored her warning and said quietly, "Take off your top, please."
To my surprise, the waitress complied without reluctance, and her firm breasts were revealed in all their glory. Then she removed her bikini bottoms as per Jack's next request and showed us her closely cropped blonde pubic hair and moistening genitals. I'd never seen such a beautiful woman nude and in person before, and I was duly appreciative. Carla and Karen did not appear as uncomfortable with the scene as I would have expected. Jack was clearly in control.
Jack miraculously became an expert at using the Tasty Kate's menu computer and enter the section marked "Grade A" and chose "Lookup by serial number" before typing in the waitress' serial number. The screen cleared, and the nude waitress waited in patient silence as we looked over her file.
The menu screen was taken up partially by an interactive photograph of the waitress herself. She was nude in the photo and could be rotated by means of the cursor keys. That was interesting but hardly worth spending much time on when the real woman was standing right next to us. The text on the side was much more revealing.
We learned that the waitress was named Suzanne Thomson and that she was a twenty-six year old employee of Tasty Kate's with two years of experience. She was a former resident of a nearby suburb who enjoyed golf, gardening, and sewing and had been a grocery store clerk before joining Tasty Kate's comestible staff. The computer also told us all of the physical details that were obvious from looking at the genuine article. Had we cared to take the time, the computer also offered us the option of reviewing Miss Thomson's sexual history, life philosophy, religion, education, political views, or reasons for choosing employment at Tasty Kate's. But Jack had seen enough.
"Cancel their orders, darling," he said, "I know what we're going to order."
Now for the first time, the waitress seemed surprised, not unhappy but surprised. "But, sir, there are only four of you." It was obvious that many people had flirted with her by talking about eating her, but none had been so serious about it as Jack was.
"How soon can you be ready?"
"I would have to speak to the assistant manager, but we could probably have my head on the chopping block in fifteen minutes," she replied without any sign of fear, "but do you realize that I am a Grade A employee and am only available for whole body sale?"
"Yes, of course, I can afford you."
"I'm sure, sir, but I will yield over 45 kilograms of meat, and there is no way the four of you can eat that much. I need not add that waste is strongly discouraged both by the Tasty Kate's corporation and by the comestible employees' union. Perhaps you should find about twenty more of your friends and come back. You can write down my serial number so you can order me easily."
Jack was expressionless during this polite but insistent entreaty. "Tell you what, babe, we'll pay your whole price today, and we'll eat all we can. Then, if you're still alive, you can wait or else your manager can keep your body in the fridge for us, and I'll bring my company banquet here next weekend, and you can be a feast we'll all remember."
The waitress was convinced by this plan, and her smile broadened, "I'll go talk to my manager." It was clear that, strangely enough, her objections were to being wasted rather than to being killed and eaten.
I never really understood where Tasty Kate's found so many men and women willing to become food, but they seemed to stream in steadily and persistently. It surely helped Tasty Kate's that theirs was the most prestigious restaurant to meet the oven in, but it always surprised me that there were that many people anywhere who wished to die in such a way. I suppose, however, that it wasn't so many years before Tasty Kate's opened that there weren't too many people willing to admit in public that they would like to eat another human being. The few that did admit it were in prison soon thereafter. So maybe there were as many closet entrees then as there were closet cannibals.
Anyway, this blonde waitress was about to become our dinner, and I'd never had such a beautiful meal. She scampered off to tell the assistant manager that she'd sold herself and would have to be replaced. As she did so, she was still stark naked and managed to turn many heads in the immense dining room.
When Miss Thomson returned, she had the assistant manager on her arm. He was a dignified tuxedo-clad monster of a man, and he managed to keep everything running smoothly, despite the unusual situation.
"We will, of course, have to move into a private banquet room," said Miss Thomson. Jack nodded his assent, and she continued, "Have you decided upon a means of preparation, sir?"
"Difficult choice," said Jack half to himself, "what do you suggest?"
"Will you be allowing me the luxury of anaesthetics?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Some people say that the drugs affect the taste of the meat."
"I never noticed, so go ahead and drug yourself up as much as you want."
"Very good, sir. Thank you. In that case, I have the perfect preparation method." She explained everything in detail to Jack, and he was well pleased. Then the waitress and the manager led our party up the stairs to the second floor and one of the smaller banquet rooms. The manager left us alone with Miss Thomson with a promise that he would summon his best chef, who would be with us shortly.
We looked around at the furniture of the wood-panelled room and noticed a long table surrounded by many chairs and with a large metal grilling surface of the kind found in Japanese restaurants at one end.
Suzanne Thomson was busy sticking herself with several syringes at first and then she waited with obvious signs of impatience for ten minutes before announcing, "We really needn't wait for the chef. Who's ready for some appetizers?" She cupped her large breasts in her hands, making it obvious what she was getting at.
Jack gave a magnificent leer before sucking and licking her left breast. Suzanne offered me the right, but I demurely declined, as did the women in our party. When Jack had had enough, Suzanne casually picked up a knife, and-I'll never forget this moment-she touched it to her belly and moved it rapidly upward, neatly severing her right breast. She repeated this on the other breast and plopped the two pieces of meat onto the grill. They sizzled immediately, so the grill was obviously hot and ready.
Suzanne halted the bleeding from her chest with a special ointment Tasty Kate's had developed for the purpose. Then she stepped over to the grill and fried her own breasts for us. She butterflied each, slicing them diagonally into even halves without severing the nipples, and added some salt, pepper, and sauces as she cooked them to perfection before flipping the pieces with the nipples onto Jack's and my plates and the remaining pieces onto those of our dates.
Each of us was complimenting our hostess on her taste and cooking skill as we savoured our first bites of her divine flesh. It was my first taste of human meat, and I'll never forget it. We were just finishing up the marinated mammaries when the chef strode in a scolded Suzanne Thomson bitterly for her impatience and for usurping his role. We defended her, however, and he set to work on the next phase of the meal with scarcely concealed irritation.
Suzanne asked us for our next orders. "Well, what will you be having next?" she said, "If you are interested in keeping me alive for as long as possible, I recommend you work on my arms or legs, but it's up to you."
My brother smiled hungrily and, without consulting the rest of us, informed her that we would all be enjoying her arms for this meal. Suzanne Thomson's expression was one of mild nervousness but not unwillingness as she reclined in the middle of our dinner table. The chef used a sharp carving knife to sever the flesh of her armpit and shoulder before jerking the limb violently to rip to bone out at the shoulder joint. He set the meat aside and stitched the wound closed with the speed and workmanship that comes from much practice.
Thomson did not cry out in pain or terror. The anaesthetic kept her comfortable, and the most severe psychological stress for her seemed to be the sight of her lost limb on the table next to her. In a few more minutes, she was bereft of arms, the chef having repeated the process on her other side.
Suzanne watched intently with the rest of us as the chef worked his magic. He used a meat cleaver to cut most of the upper arms into tiny round steaks, each about two centimetres thick. While these were cooking on the grill, he skilfully cut off the hands and elbows and diced the forearm meat with some vegetables to make a delicious-looking stir-fry. Each hand was cut into five pieces with one finger on each and tossed onto the grill. The elbows were seasoned and placed in a pot with quartered potatoes, which was placed in a small oven beneath the grill.
In what seemed like no time at all, we were being served all manner of dishes that had once been Suzanne Thomson's arms. The small steaks were tender and juicy, delicious when seasoned just a tiny bit. The stir-fry was divinely prepared with teriyaki sauce, and the ladyfingers were out of this world. When we finished up with the elbow roasts, my stomach felt ready to burst. Each of us had enjoyed the meal immensely. Jack was still coming on to the armless beauty, and he even let her taste a few bites of her own meat, which she accepted gracefully.
I was sorry when it was all over, but I knew we were finished when Jack helped Miss Thomson to her feet and promised to return for the rest of her on Saturday. She said she would be ready and waiting. She took her leave gracefully, and the sight of that armless, breastless nude woman walking away from me has haunted my dreams ever since.
With that we left the world famous restaurant, and Jack and I spent some time in adjoining hotel rooms trying to coax our way into the knickers of Carla and Karen. I could tell from the squeaking sound coming through the thin wall that Jack was more successful in this endeavour than I was. Karen was clearly turned on that night, but it wasn't by me. I heard that she turned herself in to Tasty Kate's three years later, and was selected to be served on the buffet. Jack and Carla were in attendance, I believe, but I was not invited and could not afford a taste of her on my own. Quite a shame, really.
Anyway, the Saturday after we disarmed Suzanne Thomson, Jack took a gaggle of his clients to a big banquet and meeting convened for the sole purpose of consuming Miss Thomson and not for any good business purpose. Still, I have no doubts that Suzanne's performance favourably impressed Jack's clients and strengthened his already tight hold on their accounts. I was not invited to that party either, and I very much wish that I had been. I would have liked to have seen Suzanne Thomson facing the complete destruction of her wonderful body. I am sure she ended her life with the same giddy excitement that she exuded as we mutilated her for dinner that night. There were no leftovers, and certainly no doggie bags.
I've been back to Tasty Kate's a few times, but not very often at all. My teaching job doesn't allow me such pricey luxuries very often. When I do go, however, I always think about Miss Suzanne Thomson and my incredible brother Jack. I don't understand either of them in the least, but at some level I have to admire them both.