Prelude—(four weeks earlier)

A warm summer day. Occasional clouds are seen over the Minnesota Gourmet Cannibal club’s grounds, the threat of rain has forcing the event inside. At 7 p. m. sharp, an enormous group sits down for dinner at the banquet tables. All are served large bowls of tomato soup and large plates of salad. All save two.

At the prestigious head table two naked women, resigned to their fate, are served first, but only each served only a small tumbler of soup and a small glass of fruit juice. Then they were led away.

Jeannie, 5’ 5” and well curved mix of Caucasian/Latina has gotten into the spirit of things and seems excited. She walks with pep and smiles at the appreciative looks the diners give her. Her companion, the 5’7” blonde Melissa, seems more reluctant. She has tuned out all the looks and soft comments and walks slowly. Soon the door closes behind them. Diners began to speculate on how they’ll taste, making comments like “did you see all the breast meat on that blond?”

Behind the scenes, the cooks injected the women with fast acting pain shots, plopped them on serving trays, put apples in their mouths, assured them they’d taste great, and slid the trays into large Ultra-Microwaves.
(Shaving of body hair, baths and internal cleanings had been done earlier.)

The other diners eventually finished this first course, and then the baked potatoes were served. Next came corn, breadsticks and fruit in green Jell-O. Then a hot tray of Jeannie was brought in. Then a hot tray of Melissa.

Much later, desert was apple pie and whipped cream (as if anyone had room)

Later, the executive council decided they liked that the meat was given some of the first course. It showed they were, after all, dinner guests. Besides, it doubled as an internal seasoning. Willing to try variety, they also decided to book the visiting chef.

Note-When the ecological disaster had run its course, all civilized nations had entered their women into permanent “meat lotteries” to try to restore the balance of the sexes and control population.

Present day-
The visiting chef was a graduate of the Fijian cannibal culinary academy. Using the old stories as a starting point, experimentation had revived the areas traditional cannibal dishes. As a sort of “food missionary” she went out and, for a fee, demonstrated the revived techniques.

On Friday she arrived at the airport. A limo driver met her at baggage claim, and took her to her hotel. One quick shower and change later, he took her to the club. A committee led by the chef-coordinator showed her the grounds. She inspected carefully, nodding at the clubs preparations. So far, all was in order. There was just one thing left to check. “If I could inspect the meat?” Asked the visitor. “But, of course” came the reply. “They’re being kept comfortably in the larder.”

In the larder, rock music played, but not too loudly. The TV was on, showing an action show. Two young women were sitting in padded chairs, facing the TV but talking on their cell phones. The coordinator loudly announced “Ladies! The visiting chef is here to inspect meat!”

In hindsight, the issue was apparent right away.

The meat gals made apologies into their phones and soon hung up. The CD player (but not the TV) was turned off. As was traditional summertime uniform in the larder, they both wore baggy knee length red T-shirts with the word “MEAT” on the back in black lettering. Otherwise they were naked but for simple white sandals. A gesture from the coordinator and those clothes were on the floor.

Paula was inspected first. The 5’5” white skinned brown haired lass had exquisite facial features. Below them, the visitor ran her eyes and fingers up, down and around, with occasional light pinches. A bit of plumpness gave her excellent curves. The visitor smiled admiringly, and said “Fine curves equals fine eating.” Feeding off that, Paula beamed and said “Thanx, chef.”

Amy was inspected next. 5’8” and well curved she was mostly white but some black ancestry gave her a nice shade. Her dimensions gave tribute to the fact that she worked out regularly. Her legs in particular were exquisite. As the visitor paused admiringly, Amy mentioned that “I bike regularly, with spinning classes in winter.” A moment later she added “At least I did.”

“You did a fine job, exquisite meat” said the visitor.

“Both Paula and Amy here are club members.” the coordinator mentioned with pride. A moment later she continued “When we buy meat from the meat commission, we make an extra effort to get any of our own members whose numbers have come up. The personal connection between us and the meat can enhance the experience.”

“We both recently graduated and came of Age” said Paula.

“Joining the club increased our chances in the draft slightly, but how else do you enjoy a cannibalistic culture.” Added Amy.

“So how many whole body feasts have you been at?” Asked the visitor.

“Just the last one. Those women were delicious.” said Amy.

“Finger looking good.” said Paula. After a brief pause, she began to make small talk. “We assisted the cooking group. The Ultra-Microwaves had the first woman from fully healthy to fully baked inside of ten minutes. Little longer for the bigger one. Then they were each served after the meat had a few minutes to set. You’ll have no complaints with our club’s Ultra-Microwaves.”

“Right” said the visitor, “especially since I won’t be using them.”

“Cooked in parts then” said Amy.

Paula nodded “We saw the dispatching video on orientation. Do you use gallows, guillotine or axe beheading?”

The Visitor started to be exasperated. Despite the hypno-learning tapes, English is difficult for a non-native speaker. And that TV noise in the background made it harder for her mind to sort which words mattered.

She paused, to collect her politeness. The chef/meat relationship is more intimate then casual observers think, avoiding problems can pay big benefits.

She said “Sorry” to the meat gals and turned to the coordinator. “I thought your e-mail said you’d have them see that download I recommended of rediscovered Fijian cooking.”

Puzzled and calmly polite, the coordinator addressed the meat. “When I visited last, I said I’d send it right to your phones. You should have called me if you didn’t get it.”

“Oh we got it” said Amy “The bonfire, the native dance, the happy people eating and jabber…” she hastily corrected herself “chatting in a foreign language.”

“It was like a foreign film” said Paula, “without any subtitles, as if anyone wanted to read subtitles anyway.”

“The narration was redone in English” said the visitor “It started within the first two minutes.”

Amy was embarrassed “My BFF Stephanie called. A crisis about helping my old flame Dave get over my loss.”

Paula didn’t even seem embarrassed. “The Hawaii 5-0 movie started on TV. Demon James was so hot in that film and it was my last chance to see it. I totally kept glancing at my phone, though I turned the sound down.”

A Pause. The Visitor smiled encouragingly. Paula went on. “I saw flashes of hot women.” She was suddenly aware of the ambiguity “I mean platters of steaming hot women coming from the cooking area to the club members. They were well satisfied.”

The Visitor almost explained the difference between a tribal group and a cannibal club. But no point to that. Instead she focuses on what to do next. “Can you pipe that into the TV here? We could all watch it.”

“Of course.” Said the coordinator. She hastily phoned a technical friend in club maintenance and engineering.

Soon the Meat gals were dressed. Because it was their cell, they were allowed the chairs. The coordinator and the visitor sat on the floor. (No great sacrifice, the carpeting was quite deep.)

The TV began to show the download. It was only 26 minutes. When it was over, Paula asked “So, what’s the schedule for tomorrow?”

“Dinner is at 7.” said the coordinator, “and we’ll want you 2 served by 7:20.”

She looked at the visitor, who glanced at her notes. “You two have about the same cooking time. First we heat the rocks, and then we’ll do final preparations at 9:15 and start cooking you around 10:45. ”

Both gals seemed upset. “Strange” thought the visitor, “before they seemed resigned to their fate.” Then she thought she knew the problem. “The barbarity of old Fiji has passed. You’ll be given pain shots. Other women I’ve seen cook showed no sign of pain” The Visitor was careful not to say that many showed regret about dying.

“So how long well we last?" Asked Paula.

“You’re both in the prime of health.” Said the visitor. “Probably around an hour and a half.”

“Each?” said Amy.

“Yes, each” said the visitor.

“Like the footage of those native women sweating, buried up to their heads?” asked Paula.

“Right.”

"Can we have our hands free?" Asked Amy

“No” said the coordinator, “We need those hands cooking. They are a delicacy.”

“So we can’t use our phones?” Asked Paula.

“No, you can say your goodbyes beforehand. And the club will ship all your personal effects to any address you wish.”

Almost together, both gals began to complain “But that’ll be really boring, there’s nothing to do, that’s waaaay too long. Are you sure you can’t just kill us first?”

“No,” said the visitor “My specialty is live whole femme”

Talks continued. And continued. Finally, a compromise was reached.

The day was clear. After checking the forecasts, there was no need to use the contingency plan of bringing outside into the storerooms. Instead, an enormous bonfire was started, with plenty of lighter fluid. The designated stones were placed in the fire.

Although numerous hook ups had been offered, they were only taken advantage of before the last night. Paula and Amy pushed their beds together and spent their last night each with the one person who knew EXACTLY what they were going through. They also stayed up late enough to be asleep till their attendants woke them at 9:00.

The meat gals felt no need for breakfast, the appetite suppressant pills they’d taken still working just long enough. Quick showers and hair washings. After toweling off the skin, the visitor came in and checked to see if any more shaving needed to be done to augment earlier efforts. When she was satisfied, two club members who were also certified Masseuses began full body massages, to tenderize every inch of their surface. Butter flavored oil mixed with various spices was used. The ears were done first, then the hands. As soon as those parts were completed, each meat gal put on her iPod. Large candles made in part from mixed with Fijian herbs were lit for flavoring. One of the masseuses realized the candle was also subtly flavoring her skin. It would wash off unless…she irrationally began to worry if she would be grabbed and “Surprise-cooked.” It took her a few hours to shake that fear and feel normal.

Meanwhile, the enemas were completed. A large hand cart arrived (no one wanted the gal’s feet to get dirty) and staff pulled them to the place.

The gals noticed that the East Lawn, between the fire pit and the volleyball court, was now less grassy. Two holes had been dug. They also noticed just how hot the fire had been built up to, and were not surprised that even non-meat members were following the visitor’s lead in stripping down.

Soon they knelt on blue mats, hands together in the front. The Visitor took an oiled red rope and trussed each, in this position, to eliminate movement. She then injected the left thigh of each with a pre-measured pain shot.

The needles were carefully capped and disposed of. Safety first.

Meanwhile, other club members used Microsoft Arm Extenders- fireproof version, to take stones from the fire. Many were red hot.

Their iPods were then taken away, to be mailed to their next of kin.

The visitor checked that each hole had about the same number of stones. She then kissed each meat gal goodbye, thanking them for helping her demonstrate Fijian cooking. The coordinator and many other nearby members did the same. Despite not having their iPods, the meat gals didn’t seem bored with this part.

The visitor and the coordinator then placed each meat gal in a hole.

“Whoa!!!!” said Amy.

“That’s a rush! Said Paula.

The visitor covered each with palm leaves, while explaining “This is more directional heat then an Ultra-Microwave, but heat rises and should toast you each quite evenly.

Under the visitor’s direction, members with shovel began to return dirt to each hole, stopping when each was buried up to her neck. Amy was higher up then Paula, for she was taller and no one had thought to make Paula’s hole shallower.

Paula said to the coordinator “Remember, you promised.”

The coordinator said “Right, my succulent friends” and kept the terms of the compromise.

Hours later, digital thermometers were placed in their mouths, to augment the visitor’s sense of smell. When she was satisfied they were done, they were dug up. They were washed out with warm water, even in the internal cavities, to remove any dirt. When the safety committee was satisfied, they were toweled off and placed under hot lamps till the diners were ready for them. Then spices were added and they were served.

The club members, even Amy and Paula’s friends, thoroughly enjoyed the dinner.

The executive committee realized their cooking methods had become limited, and decided to continue trying to put variety into the feasts.

On her flight to her next stop (Chicago) the visitor carried with her the image of the compromise that had been reached. Each meat gal sweating away as she cooked, looking at an upright mirror to see her own head sweating away. Back home, it was enough for doomed women to experience their own cooking, but American young adults were so used to being entertained all the time, usually by moving pictures, that seeing themselves experience it made it more real and stopped any fear of the experience being boring. Americans, she mused, were a strange tribe

Edited by Ace, 6 month(s) ago