Posted by Sawney Beane on August 09, 2006 at 22:36:06:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #48
REUNION
by Sawney Beane
29 January; 8 March 1997
1,028 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 female suicide and subsequent cannibalism. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a throwaway story about a girl with bad timing and the cannibal whose life she manages to enrich. I think it came together from two different ideas. The first was of the bad timing and suicide, while the other was the method of preparing the girl's hand. This story is average or slightly below.
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After suddenly running away and disappearing for three years, Sheila chose a most inopportune moment to return to my life. The sad thing is that I didn't even know she'd come back until it was too late.
When she arrived at my house that fateful Saturday afternoon, she let herself in with the key I had given her so long ago. She must have tried to surprise me by sneaking into my bedroom to awaken me. Unfortunately, she didn't find me asleep. Instead, she found me in the middle of sexual intercourse with my new girlfriend Karen. It was probably the best fuck Karen and I had ever had, and I was enjoying myself immensely, so much so that I didn't notice my ex-fiancée standing in the hall. Sheila was cool though, and she changed her plans almost instantly.
When Karen and I were done, she left almost immediately because she had to go to work. I lounged in bed for a few minutes before getting up and making my way to the bathroom for a shower.
What I saw in that bathroom almost made me faint and crack my head against the toilet. Sheila was in the bathtub, nude and in a puddle of blood. There was no life left in that warm, gorgeous body. There was just a grim smile and a lengthy note taped to her chest. Blood continued to drip from her slit wrists.
The note explained much of what she had been doing for the last three years, which turned out to be a very pathetic story but an interesting one nonetheless. The last paragraph explained what had happened that morning at my house from her perspective. It ended with: "I am sorry to discover that you have found yourself a new lover and no longer have need of me. I can't blame you for it; I did stand you up at the altar, and for that I am very sorry. So don't think that I have any less love or respect for you, but I have no other reason to live, so excuse my borrowing your bathtub. I will always be you true love and you will always be mine." There was a peculiar postscript that only I could understand: "p.s. I remember your telling me your fantasies. No one else knows I have come back, so feel free to indulge yourself. I would be honoured."
Now these fantasies I had told her about were my deepest secret and deepest shame. For many years I had always fantasized about eating a woman. I wouldn't hurt a fly, much less a beautiful woman, but the idea of female flesh between my teeth never failed to put my sex drive into overgear. I had never told anyone except Sheila, and we had enjoyed a few simulations. She didn't mind my gentle biting of her arms and back, but we never drew blood, and, as far as I was concerned, we never intended to. I fully expected to live out my days without ever tasting the flesh of a woman, and that is as it should be.
But here I was with the nude corpse of my ex-fiancée, a woman of fantastic beauty and a nearly-perfect figure, lying in my bathtub. Furthermore, I was the only person on Earth who knew her whereabouts, and she had explicitly invited me to eat her dead body. What was I to do? Any other method of disposal would have been even more difficult.
So I sponged her off and began to make plans for consuming her mortal remains. I picked up her right hand, a hand I had held and kissed and nibbled many times in the past. It was as beautiful as I remembered it, and I knew that I would have to start there. I decided to fry up that right hand for my lunch and decide how she tasted. If I enjoyed her, I would carve up the rest of her body and find some space in my freezer. If not, I would dig her a grave out in the nearby woods.
I found the old scalpel I had saved from my university biology class and touched the blade to Sheila's right thumb. I sliced through her flesh until I had exposed the bone of her thumbtip. I worked slowly and methodically to make a deep incision along the length of her thumb to the wrist. Then I returned to my original cut and worked it down the other side to the base of her index finger. I likewise slit open both sides of that and the next two fingers until I could separate the back of her hand and the palm with a hinge at the pinkie finger. I used a large kitchen knife to remove the whole hand at the wrist and then plucked the bones from within. When I was done, I had an attractive piece of meat, and I fried the butterflied hand in a skillet with salt and pepper.
The first bite was the most difficult. I almost closed my eyes as I cut off a portion of her thumb and placed it on my tongue. The flavour was exquisite, the texture divine. Perhaps it was because she was the only girl I had ever loved, but she tasted wonderful to me. I had to force myself to eat the rest of my meal slowly and not gobble her down as I was inclined to do.
My freezer is almost full and so is much of my refrigerator. I still have quite a bit of girl left to carve up. I'm confident that she will fit, but I'll have to throw out most of my other food. For Sheila, I'll do just about anything.
She's going to give me many great meals. I'm sorry she killed herself so precipitately. There's a good chance that I would have given up Karen in order to return to Sheila's arms, but she didn't give me the chance to choose. I wish she wasn't dead, but I'll be eternally grateful for the culinary gift she gave me in the last moments of her life.