Let’s Do it for Real
A short story by
Amy Alexis
I’d like to thank Bob Alue for his constant encouragement as I worked on this story.
Enjoy!
“Bob?”
“Yes hunny.”
“Oh never mind.”
“No, what? I hate it when you do that.”
I smile, look up at you and kiss you.
“Have you ever thought about doing it for real?”
“I thought we just did.”
“Not that…I mean…well…you know…”
“Dolcett?”
“Yes.”
“And who would we roast?”
“Me.”
“You!!...Are you serious”
“I think so yes.”
“How long have you been thinking this way?”
“Every time I think of Dolcett or look at a comic or read a short story on the forum, I wonder…and I’m prime…I mean look at my body…its firm and not an ounce of cellulite anywhere.”
You sit up on one arm to get a better look at me.
I feel your eyes inspecting me so I slip off of the bed and pose for you. You smile. Then you get out of bed and begin a real inspection, holding me here, pinching me there.
“You are serious aren’t you?”
I nod, “I am. I want to do it.”
You grimace and rub your slightly unshaven face with your hand.
“Amy,” you say, “let me make sure you understand – we are talking about ending your life.”
“I understand but the thrill of going out that way….of celebrating my offering with our friends ….it thrills me Bob. I want to I really do. I’m ready.”
You smile and say, “I could talk to a few people, some of our friends that are into the scene.”
“Would you?”
“Kind of feel people out; see who might be in and who I might not want to discuss it with.”
I smile and snuggle into your bare chest. As we stand naked together in the middle of the room, I run my tongue around your nipple. You love it when I do that. I flash my eye lashes up and down on your chest and you giggle.
“Alright, alright Amy, I get it.”
“Do you want me to be your meat girl?”
“I want whatever makes you happy Amy,” you say as you sweep me off my feet and carry me back to bed.
I rest my head on your chest in the quiet of the early morning, content from our love making but suddenly so aroused by the thought of taking the spit for our friends. I feel your hand stroke my bare back, I close my eyes and drift into sleep.
I dream of my day, the day I take the spit. It is a wonderful dream and I awake in bed alone and aroused. You have long since gone off to work.
###
Over dinner the next day you are chatting about everything and anything other than our conversation last night. Finally I can’t stand it anymore.
“Well?” I say
“Well what?”
“Did you speak to anyone?”
“Whatever do you mean dear?”
I give you a lover’s punch on the arm and you laugh as you rub it.
“Yes,” you say, “in fact I was quite surprised at the interest. We’ll have at least ten couples and maybe eight others.”
“Oh my god,” I say.
“Cold feet?”
“No,” I answer but now that the reality is getting closer my excitement is blending with fear to produce a rush in me like nothing I’ve ever known before.
“Good,” you say, “I told them you were on the menu. The wives were jealous that their men were so excited but once they realized they were going to spit and roast you that jealousy eased into an excitement that matched their mates. They can’t wait. They are all Dolcett fans but this will be a first for everyone. Of course we will need to be very careful laws being what they are.”
“What if I…”
“Change your mind? They will all understand. I told them it would be your choice right up to the spit. But even if you do back out at the last minute just the idea and the party will be awesome and everyone is excited.”
“Not that I’m going to back out.”
“No, no, of course not,” you smile and sip your tea.
I get the impression that you really don’t think I’ll go through with it. You’ve always been so proud of me, my body, my looks; it’s been an esteem thing for you. Are you willing to lose that on a day of Dolcett? My guess is you think I’ll change my mind but I really want this and I think you will be shocked when you see the best you’ve ever had browning up on a rotisserie.
“I have something to show you,” I say as I stand.
You sit back in your chair and I walk out from behind the table where you can see my whole body.
I open my short terrycloth robe and let it fall. I run my hands into my hair, spread my legs, rock up on the balls of my feet and move my hips just a bit so you will notice that I am clean shaven.
I watch your eyes widen and a smile cross your face as you stare at my clean pussy.
“I know you’ve always been fond of my blond patch,” I explain, “but I’ll need to be clean shaven for the spit so I thought I’d see what it felt like today.”
I can see you are turned on by the bulge in your pants. I step closer to you.
“Go ahead,” I say, “touch it.”
You reach out and touch me…gently. Your fingers on me have always been perfect.
“Wow Amy,” you look up at me. I run my fingers into your hair.
“Do you like it shaved?”
“No hair in the meat, isn’t that what they say?”
“Imagine it hot and cooked, carved out and on your plate.”
“Are we really going to do this?” You seem doubtful.
I nod.
“I’m ready.”
“You might have to shave it again before Saturday,” you tell me.
When you said that, I lost my breath.
In that moment I realized you were no longer looking at me as your girlfriend, as a woman you loved. You were seeing me as meat and it both frightened and thrilled me.
I knew also that you had already begun to emotionally distance yourself. I knew of course that if you were going to spit me you could not afford to hold to your love and romantic feelings but it frightened me how easily you seem to let go of it.
You were playing with my pussy like you might inspect a prime rib behind the butcher’s counter. I could see the difference in the way you looked at me, feel it in the way you touched me.
The fantasy had already taken a turn for the real. The slope was too suddenly very slippery.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you mean,” You laugh as you take my naked body into your arms.
“I’m going to die on Saturday.”
You stare up into space almost exasperated but you hug me a little tighter and say, “I thought this was what you wanted. I told all of our friends that it was entirely your decision and, if you change your mind even at the last minute, everyone will understand. Hunny, no one has ever done this, not that I know of. We are on uncharted territory here.”
I rest my head on your chest and you lay a kiss upon my hair.
“Will you miss me?”
“Awe darling,” you rock me, “of course I will miss you. Listen if you want to go and do the whole thing as a live role play that will be fun too. I think everyone is nervous, and scared, and also thrilled to finally get a chance to do Dolcett for real but they might just as well be relieved if you change your mind. We will all be guilty of murder if you see this through. And, no one has ever eaten a real person, real cannibalism. Hell, I know people that can’t eat deer or rabbit.”
“And you are all willing to take that risk?”
“Everyone yes, I knew exactly who to ask. I know they can keep their mouths shut and I know how obsessed they all are with the whole Dolcett thing.”
You take my by the shoulders and hold me back so our eyes can meet.
“No one will force you to do anything and I’m not sure we can do it either but the wheels are in motion Amy and you started that motion yourself.”
###
On Friday I call out sick. I’m not sick but I take meds that clean me out as if I’m prepping for a simple colonoscopy but I’m prepping for so much more. By tomorrow morning I’ll be clean. I’ll shave again in the morning to make sure there is no bristle and then we’ll leave and unless my fear overrides my passion, I won’t return.
I’ll have, in exchange for my life, the experience of becoming meat for my friends, the experience of consumption and sacrifice, of spitting and roasting.
You’ve grown increasingly distant. I realize you need to But it still hurts. With each passing moment you treat me less as a person and more as a product for consumption. You look me over; you feel but don’t fondle my breasts. You run your hand over my ass and down the back of my legs but only to asses my grade of meat not for arousal.
Last night when you went down on me, you looked up and smiled and said, “That is one fine filet and it’s all mine. No one eats your pussy but me on Saturday.”
I didn’t sleep Friday night but you laid next to me breathing heavy in blissful sleep.
In the morning you rubbed my pussy, not to arouse me but to check my level of bristle.
“Better shave again. No bristle in the meat.”
I had planned to shave it again anyway.
You slapped my naked butt as I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
You watched as I shaved and told me, “You will not have ID, cash or any personal items like jewelry. You will get into my car for a one hour drive to a very special place. Located in the country, this place not only affords comfort and silence but also no scrutiny. It’s the best chance we have to really make this thing happen. Everyone involved is sworn to secrecy. I will report a missing person on Tuesday. The police will investigate but there will be no body.”
I nod.
“Come on baby we better get going. Wear as little as possible we will only have to burn it after.”
I wore a terrycloth robe, high heels, and nothing else.
As we drove you asked, “Are you sure you want to do this Amy. Say the word and I’ll take you home right now.”
“It’s not just for me Bob. All of our friends will be there.”
“But every one of them has the same mixed scared excited feelings. Everyone would be thrilled and terrified if you did it and on some level relieved if you didn’t”
“The police can’t know.”
“We’ve rehearsed our stories, created alibis. You’ll be one of hundreds of young beautiful women that go mysteriously missing every year.”
“How many did you say would be there?”
“Ten couples – that’s twenty, plus five single men and three single women. They all know you. They all think you are one of the most beautiful women they’ve ever seen, they all can’t imagine why you would offer yourself to be our lunch but they all are showing up anyway. And of course, not any one of us has ever tasted human flesh or smelt it cooking. I’m thinking some won’t have the stomach for it if it happens.”
“Can my meat feed that many?”
“I’m sure of it but everyone is bringing a dish anyway. It’ll be like a good old fashioned fourth of July picnic except for one detail…”
“A spit roasted girl.”
“Exactly…that would be you hun.”
You pull off the main road and drive over gravel and dirt. I can hear the crunch of earth beneath our tires. My mouth is dry. I am frightened but insatiably curious.
You are driving slow; slower than you need to.
“Are you sure Amy?”
I smile at you and nod.
I wanted to know. I wanted to experience, and this was my idea.
Everyone is there when we pull up. They stop talking and watch.
I step out of the car.
Everyone is staring at me, watching and waiting, perhaps to see if I really want to do this.
I walk slowly and deliberately to the pit, keeping my eyes fixed on the flames, on where my body will soon be turning and cooking. As I approach on this warm day I feel the intense heat eight yards away but I keep walking. I want to feel it; I want to feel the fire on my skin.
I notice the steel spit on a picnic bench. It has a smaller anal attachment for stability just like the one in the comics.
For a few moments I stand in front of the fire.
No one has yet said a word.
Then, I untie my terrycloth robe, slip out of it and toss it to the fire. The flames consume it in seconds.
I turn around nude to face all of our friends.
They applaud and cheer. The men howl and whistle.
I feel the heat of the flames against my bare behind.
Everyone comes to me with smiles on their faces. The eyes of the men never meet mine; their focus is lower, on my breasts, my bare naked pussy. The women hug me and tell me how brave I am, how much they’ve been looking forward to this day, and how they wish they had the nerve to make it this far.
Suddenly, so suddenly for me, this crowd of friendly greeting and admiring friends begin to pull and push me toward the table where the spit awaits.
No one asks if I’ve changed my mind.
Someone begins to oil my body even before I am forced down on my back atop the table.
Another person grabs my long hair and cuts.
“Don’t want all that hair falling into the fire now do we,” she says as she holds the length of my now severed hair in her hand and smiles.
I am lifted onto the table and pulled down by many hands so many hands that I cannot see who they belong to.
My legs are spread, forced apart by more mysterious hands.
I can’t believe how rapidly this is happening to me.
I can’t believe how eager everyone is to see me die.
I see the spit rise above me then sink back between my legs. I try to life my head to see but someone pushes my head back, not to rest on the table but to lay behind it. He tells me this is to position my mouth for the spit that will soon be arriving.
“Keep your mouth open Amy,” he tells me, “so I can see the spit when it comes out.”
“Wait,” I finally say but he only smiles. No one responds, as if no one hears and then I feel it.
It touches me; the cold steel tip between my legs on my most tender part.
I flinch and others press on my body to keep it still. The more I struggle to move the stronger their hands become.
To resist is futile. They cannot or will not hear me; they cannot or will not release me.
There are so many hands on my body holding me down that I couldn’t move a muscle if I wanted to.
And then I hear someone say, “Do it Bob, come on this is what we’ve all been waiting for, this is what you brought us all out here for, go on, shove it in. I want to see if a real woman can survive the insertion of the spit.”
“I’m thinking she’ll be dead by the time it reaches her mouth.”
“One hundred dollars says she lives, at least for a few moments if not to feel the flames.”
“You’re on.”
Someone laughs and says, “She’s really squirming Bob better get that thing in before she changes her mind.”
I was fighting.
I wanted to move.
I didn’t want this to happen so fast.
It wasn’t like my fantasy at all. I was about to be killed by the hand of my husband and with the help of our friends. I didn’t feel sexy. I wasn’t aroused. I thought it would be an erotic death but a terror griped me in those final moments and all I wanted to do was survive.
And then you do it Bob, gentle at first as if you are trying to fondle me with the spit but then you pushed and it pierced me internally. A chill came over me and my body began to tremble. I screamed and someone put both of his hands over my mouth to muffle the noise.
I can’t believe how cold I am, shivering though I am so close to the flames and the July afternoon is sunny and warm. I can’t remember ever being so cold.
“It’s stuck on something,” I hear you say. You pull it out a little then another, more forceful thrust. I feel it push up just beneath my ribs. I try to scream again but his hands are still there.
Blood explodes from my mouth all over him and he stands back looking at the mess of deep dark blood on his hands, arms, and shirt. Then he gets angry and slaps me hard across the face.
“Bitch,” he yells.
“What the hell are you doing John,” you scold him.
“Look what she did. Come on will ya just spit the meat so we can get it cooking.”
“Oh God,” I hear you say. “Amy?”
I hear you but by this time I am beginning to drift away.
Yes Bob, I think, you are killing your wife, the wife that was the envy of your friends, the friends that will soon taste my flesh.
“Shit, look at all this blood. We need to get her over the pit before her DNA is everywhere.”
“They don’t bleed that much in the comic.”
“God this is disgusting. I’ve never seen so much blood.”
You push again.
“My hands are covered in it,” I hear you say.
This time you are determined.
You push without relenting; you push with all you’ve got.
“I see it,” John says, “Yea man I see it. Here comes the spit right from her mouth man this is awesome.”
“Is she still alive,” you ask.
“Hell no man,” John says. “The bitch is dead. Looks like I just won me a hundred dollars.”
My body is limp.
My eyes are staring blankly.
The person that once resided in that fleshly tent has moved on but not too far, not so far that she; that I cannot see.
You keep pushing until the steel spit extends a good three feet from my mouth. Then John takes my limp hands and pulls them above my head. He rams a spike through my wrists that’s runs through a hole in the spit. The same is done at my ankles and then the anal stabilizer is pushed up my anus and into my stomach.
I watch from above as two men take the front, two the back and carry me to the blazing fire. Once locked in place a crank handle is attached to the rear of the spit and a woman, now nude; begins to rotate me as you my dear husband baste.
The naked girl who is rotating my body is being fondled by her boyfriend who is standing behind her whispering in her ear that he wants to cook her at the next party.
Other men are asking their women to strip; some women are complying, some aren’t, some couples are fighting about it. Some of the men are also naked and one couple is having sex as they watch near where I am cooking.
My skin browns quickly.
It even chars in some places.
You are warm, too near the flames. I can see the sweat in beads on your brow.
I am standing next to you but you have no idea. You still don’t know what death is. You still have no idea that there is no such thing.
I watch as my body slowly turns and with each turn my skin darkens all the more.
“Okay stop a minute,” you finally say. “Let me see how her meat is.”
Then you cut a small piece from my thigh. You dig deep to make sure I am not too rare deeper in.
You look at it, go to taste but hesitate.
“Well come on man we’re all waiting.”
You lift that small piece of me to your mouth again, and again you hesitate.
“Girl meat man; and she’s your girl. Not a one of us has ever tasted it for real. Do it man.”
And with that encouragement you do. You place that tiny piece of me in your mouth; you close your eyes and chew.
“Mmmmm,” you smile and the satisfaction is written on your face. “God she’s really good. I had no idea real girl would taste so good. She’s ready. Let’s get her to the table.”
The men slip on gloves to protect their hands from a spit that is so hot it could easily remove any skin that touches it. They lift me finally from the searing flames and carry my dead and cooked body to a long wooden picnic table that has been covered with a cutting board long enough to hold me from head to toe.
One man removes the pin from my wrists while another frees my ankles. My arms are placed at my side and my legs are spread.
With gloved hands you take hold of the spit where it protrudes from my cunt and with one great pull, you yank the spit out of me stepping back as you do so you can pull it free.
A naked woman is holding my shoulders so my body doesn’t try to come off the table with the spit.
Steam rises from my mouth and pussy.
With my legs still spread wide you step between them smiling and rubbing sharp knives together.
I can hear the iron ring as the blades cross each other.
“She’s your girl man,” someone says, “the first cut is all yours.”
“Cut the pussy out man,” another guy says, “I’ve always wanted to see that done.”
His wife slaps him atop his head.
“You’re next baby,” he says to her.
“In your dreams asshole,” she says.
You position the point of the blade to the inside of my thigh and slide it up until it stops. Steam is still rising from the round whole in my pussy as you push the blade in. the crunch of my well done skin gets everyone’s attention and now there is silence as you cut deep and around, almost sawing as you go.
Someone hands you a plate. You place it between my legs and I watch as you slide my cunt onto it. Only a huge cavity remains where my femininity once was.
At that moment a man slams a butcher blade through my neck and holds my severed head up by my still blond hair. My mouth is round from the spit and my eyes are open in a dull stare.
“Amy,” he says, “we love you.” And then he kisses me.
He takes my head in both hands, holds it over his head and brings it down hard on one of the posts that supported the spit. The post penetrates my neck and into my brain.
As you sit with my cunt others gather round my body like vultures cutting and pulling until all that remains are some bones and scrapes, a hand, and one foot with nail polish still on it.
I watch as you cut my cunt with a steak knife, dip the small piece in sauce and chew. Piece after piece I watch you eat what you once made love to. At times you close your eyes to savor.
When everyone is finished and full the remains of my body and head are burned to ashes and you all leave satisfied and sexually pleased. But that night as you lay in the bed we once shared you thought about me. You remembered how my skin felt against yours, how my hard nipples tasted against your tongue, and how my wet, warm pussy relieved your throbbing penis.
You remembered me and longed for me didn’t you Bob?
You’ve killed a few girls since that day haven’t you Bob?
You probably think we are all dead, all gone to oblivion don’t you Bob but we are all right here, right beside you right now and we always will be Bob.
No girl has satisfied you since that day, no amount of sex and no amount of cannibalistic frenzy. Some of the girls with me were unwilling weren’t they Bob. Some even thought that you loved them before you slit their throat and watched as the life blood twitched and squirted from their neck.
It’s become an obsession with you hasn’t it Bob?
When you consumed me, you had no idea how much I was going to consume you, did you Bob?
And now you shake at night like an addict and you aren’t finding satisfaction anywhere.
How, you may ask, am I communicating my story to you?
How can a dead woman speak?
By the hand of this tender medium of course and by the age old art known as automatic writing.
It is by this means that you have received this message from beyond the veil.
If you my beloved husband and murderer will examine the penmanship carefully I’ve no doubt you will find it to be by my own hand.
She is a beauty isn’t she Bob, this medium you have hired?
You want her I can tell.
Well go on then, kill her. She’s in a trance state Bob, you have the perfect opportunity.
Enjoy.
Oh and Bob, I’ll be waiting for you right here on the other side.
It won’t be a long wait now.
Finis
©Amy Alexis
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