Posted by Sawney Beane on October 11, 2006 at 22:00:50:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #82
A THANKSGIVING FEAST
by Sawney Beane
23 November 2001
1,404 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: A little silly but a nice holiday theme. Too late for Canada and too early for USA, but right time of year anyway.
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Many of my fondest memories of childhood involve Thanksgiving. The whole family would get together and celebrate. We'd all gorge ourselves on a fantastic holiday bird. Grandpa would always pick out a good one, and we'd all help prepare her. Grandma made the best stuffing. Everyone, even the Thanksgiving bird herself, seemed to enjoy the festivities.
However, my father wasn't as good in business as my grandfather was, and high quality birds is expensive, so ever since grandpa and grandma passed on, we've had to make due with poultry. It's been almost ten years since we've had a proper Thanksgiving feast, and I've almost forgotten the smooth succulent taste of a fine bird.
At least that was the case until this year. My girlfriend, Melissa, announced in mid-October her intention of snuffing it. We'd been together almost five years, ever since high school, and we were more or less in love. Nevertheless, Melissa had never been very much in love with life. She'd been mildly suicidal all along, but eventually she decided to go through with it.
I had planned vaguely to eventually marry her, so it was a bit of a disappointment, but on the other hand, I did not fail to see the opportunities her decision opened up. I feel I am on reasonably safe moral ground when I say that my efforts to dissuade her from ending her life were sincere. However, when my coaxing had ground to its inevitable failure, I did manage to persuade her to postpone her demise for another month. She seemed quite enamoured of the idea of being my family's Thanksgiving bird.
I asked my parents, and they quickly agreed to the plan. Melissa's family was less enthusiastic, but they also had always felt that their daughter should choose her own path in life and said that if she had to go, they couldn't think of a better way.
So the plan was in place; all there was left to do was wait.
Melissa's last month passed very quickly. We enjoyed ourselves quite a lot. She had given up a lot of the "saving herself for marriage" rhetoric, which made things a lot nicer for both of us. Furthermore, I had never enjoyed such carnal contact with a future meal, and the experience was exhilarating. We talked all the time about how she would leave the world, and both of us found the topic incredibly erotic. Yes, it was a great month.
The evening before Thanksgiving, Melissa was very excited. We had the most fantastic sex I could have imagined. She was pulling out all the stops, and it really paid off. When we finally fell asleep for the last time in each other's arms, I was more in love with her than ever before.
The next morning, we went at it again. This time was even better. We had to be quicker about it, but the sheer frenzied passion of my doomed mate was indescribable. I almost considered asking her to change her mind and devote her energies to sex rather than to dying. Then I reconsidered, realizing that there was no good purpose for either of us to be served by my broaching that topic.
We showered together, and I tried my best to removed as much of myself from the family dinner as I could. In the end I think I failed to get her completely pure, but then again it didn't matter much since I would surely be granted first dibs on her genitals.
I dried her off, and I got dressed. She stayed nude, and we marched into the living room together to meet the fate she had set for herself. It was the first time I had received a round of applause for entering the living room. The whole family was there, all of my brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and parents, nearly thirty of us in all. Melissa's family, of course, did not join us for the feast; that would have been weird.
Melissa enjoyed the attention immensely, and displayed her body proudly to the assembled throng. She truly was magnificent. Her long blonde hair cascaded around her silky smooth shoulders. She had a fine milky complexion and decent sized breasts, a slim delicious belly, and the best legs I'd ever seen anywhere. Good enough to eat.
We didn't lose much time after that. Dad had the chopping block all set up in the back yard. I walked with her out there. Dad came out with the axe, and most everyone else came along to watch.
No one had to tell Melissa what to do. She got down on her knees in the grass and placed her sleek neck on the centre of the block. The blood still showing on the block was ten years old, but it would be refreshed soon. I brushed her hair aside to give Dad a clear target, and I cradled her jaw in my hands. I didn't want her head falling unceremoniously onto the lawn; no one could say I wasn't a caring lover.
She smiled slightly and stared into my face with her bright blue eyes. Her last words were a very soft "I love you", and I kissed her as if it were our last kiss. It was.
There was a horrific thumping sound, and I fell over backwards into the grass. I was holding Melissa's head in my hands, and blood was spattering all over my best shirt, but I didn't mind. Dad may have been lousy in business, but he did know his way around an axe. He'd gotten through her neck in one swift blow. The look on her face was peaceful. Not even the surprise and fear you usually see. Just "whoomp" and she's gone. Good effort.
I didn't really want to watch Dad and my uncles gutting her. It was just a little bit too much, so I put her head down next to the chopping block and went inside to help Mom with the stuffing. We really did need a lot of stuffing.
I felt a little bit sad then, even with all my family congratulating me and complimenting me on my girlfriend. It was an odd feeling. Something like anticlimactic, and something like regret. It took several hours for Melissa to cook up to the steamy golden brown you want in a Thanksgiving bird. I had some time to brood.
But then dinner came, and Melissa was served. She looked a bit plump with all the stuffing we got into her, but other parts of her look very much as she had in life. The legs in particular looked the same except with a golden tan. That and they were painfully hot to the touch.
At the sight of our feast, my sadness melted, and I, still wearing my blood-stained shirt, smiled as I carved the first helping from Melissa's body. We all had thigh meat for the first course, and it was fabulous. Melissa melted in my mouth, and the flavour was even greater than that etched in my Thanksgiving memories.
For subsequent helpings, I consumed most of her genitals and a nipple. I also enjoyed part of her right foot; she'd had such lovely feet. I never was much for giblets, but I did help myself to her heart.
Everyone had a grand time, and by the time we were through and collapsed exhausted in front of the television to watch football, very little was left of my former girlfriend. A pile of bones on the dining room table marked her passing, but we'd picked her pretty much clean. We wouldn't have the pleasure of leftovers in cold sandwiches this year.
My brothers and cousins were all eyeing their girlfriends in a somewhat unusual manner, and the girlfriends, all of whom had enjoyed the feast immensely, seemed to look back at their boyfriends with an oddly wary nervous look. We may find a candidate among them for next year, but I know none will ever live up to the example of my darling Melissa.
All of my misgivings and regrets had gone and would stay gone. I knew then that we had done the right thing for everyone, and I still know that now. Melissa was a great girlfriend, but she was an even better Thanksgiving bird. I know that she feels the same way about it as I do.