Posted by Sawney Beane on July 22, 2007 at 13:03:41:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #119
MIND'S EYE
by Sawney Beane
16 January 2005
884 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 gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just a portrait of a meal.
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"Do you think I'm supposed to eat that part?" Tim said, poking uncertainly with a fork at the slab of meat in front of him. It reminded him of the time he had been served a fried shrimp head at a Japanese restaurant and had to guess whether it was for decoration or eating.
"Yeah, I guess so," replied Ron indifferently from across the table. His less ambiguous meal was a large round steak more than an inch thick and cooked to a bloody rare pink.
"I've never seen them serve it that way," Tim commented, looking at the large triangular piece of meat on his plate. The longer point of the triangle pointed towards him and featured an unmistakeably shaped crevasse flanked by succulent-looking lips of flesh. The hole though his steak was plugged by a rather large cherry tomato, which gave it a weird distended look.
The strange bit, however, was the upper two thirds of the triangle and the two smaller corners, which sported a thin grove of uniform curly black hair. The hair had apparently been wetted and dusted with some sort of powdered spice to give it an artistic sprinkling of reddish colour. Nonetheless, the whole thing was an appetizing golden-brown colour and glistened succulently.
Tim poked his fork through the very edge of one of the smaller corners and with a sharp knife carved though the tender flesh, removing a tiny bite, which he hesitantly raised to his lips. The taste was exquisite as usual, and, although the unusual feature made for an initially odd mouth feel, he quickly began to appreciate the texture.
"It's good," he remarked to Ron, as if the other cared.
Ron failed to reply, his mouth being full of thigh meat, a trickle of blood running down his chin.
About that time, a stunning nude blonde strode purposefully by their table but didn't stop as they already had their food. This blonde had been brought by earlier by the waitress and used to demonstrate the various cuts of meat available on the menu. The blonde's flawless body had been adorned with thick black lines and captions in block letters to demonstrate the names and origins of every slice.
"Hey, Ron, you think that one's gonna be roasted tonight?" Tim asked his gluttonous companion.
"Naw, she's been in here three or four years now," Ron disillusioned his less-experienced companion. "They just use her to whet the appetite, and I bet she gets paid a bundle for it." He snorted derisively, "The ones in the refrigerators are usually not so perfect; that kind is plenty rare."
Tim, feeling the mild reprimand in his friend's commentary, returned to slicing larger pieces of his thick steak and enjoying their taste. After a few minutes of noisy conversation-free chewing, he began musing aloud, half to himself, "I wonder who she was?"
"Who?" Ron asked, although not with intense interest.
"The girl," mused Tim, "You know, this one." He said pointing to the half eaten pussy in front of him.
"Who cares?" replied Ron.
"Well, I just wonder what she was like?" mumbled Tim. Then he added almost in a whisper, "Do you think they chopped her all up or did they just take this off her?"
Ron laughed, "She's in bellies and fridges by now, mate!"
"Yes, probably," mused Tim, "But think about what this is!"
"What?"
"This thing I am eating," said Tim. "Whoever she was, you know this was very important to her. It probably gave her more pleasure and pain than anything else in her life! She had it on her for twenty years or so. Think what it must have meant to her."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Why do you order that shit, Tim?" he said, "You know it makes you crazy!"
"I don't know; it's just...special."
"Right."
"I wonder if she even used it," Tim said aloud.
"Huh?"
"I mean, I wonder if she was a virgin."
"Why do you care? You want virginal cunt meat on you pussy platter? You're cracked Tim."
"No, it doesn't matter," said Tim. "It would be a shame if she didn't use it, but I'm just wondering." He poked the crevasse experimentally. It looked tight around the cherry tomato, but that could be from the cooking. "You think maybe she's someone we know?" he asked after a minute or so.
"Probably imported Asian crap," Ron snorted dismissively.
"What?"
"They get a lot of meat from overseas; it's cheap and plentiful," explained Ron. "And some guys think it's tenderer too."
"Oh," said Tim, his mental image of the girl whose womanhood he was consuming shifting abruptly from something similar to the statuesque blonde demonstration girl to a petite long-haired Asian girl with golden skin and dark penetrating eyes. He looked again at the colour of the meat, but the roasting process made the race a bit difficult to interpret.
"Don't matter none," said Ron. "The only important question is does it taste good?"
"Yes, you're probably right," said Tim absentmindedly while chewing intently on a larger piece of flesh and forming an increasingly detailed mental picture of the girl's short life. "She does taste good," he said softly, and the happy smile on the round face of the girl in his mind's eye broadened noticeably at the compliment.