The Connoisseurs
by Alfred Mazure

"There's something about a fine summers evening in England that brings out he best in a man," the Marquis of Merriwedder said contentedly. "No other climate or country is quite so conducive to strengthening his stamina."

The library of the G.E.C.O.C. (Gastro-Erotic Club of Connoisseurs) off Queen's Gate, London, was it's usual center of after-dinner mastication and reminiscences, with the members facing the open French windows so they could enjoy the frolics of some topless waitresses practicing limbering up exercises in the garden below the terrace.

"That's a new one to me," Major Kenneth Stock-Barrel said, pointing his Havana cigar at a pretty young thing adding, in his customary brusque, soldiery manner, "I pride myself on knowing every bloody female arse on the premises and I swear she's new."

At that moment the girl in question straightened out and turned around.

"There," the Major said, "Brand new."

Lord Ffawning, chairman and leading spirit of the G.E.C.O.C., smiled.

"Her name is Dolly; She is replacing little Josie who'll be hors de combat for a few weeks while her little orifice heals at St. Thomas' hospital. I warned her not to take on Sheik Has'n Offal Biggun but (he shrugged and smiled his sympathetic grin) can anyone get through to these impetuous young trollops nowadays?"

"Apparently Sheik Has'n Offal Biggun can," observed Judge Mostelreid drily amidst the general laughter.

Major Stock-Barrel had kept his eye on the winsome Dolly. "That girl will go far," was his professional opinion.

"Not tonight she won't," the Herr Graf von Starkenmachen- Schneebal said firmly. "Her room's only next-door to mine."

When he ordered apricots and nectarines to go with the champagne and Dolly, Lord Ffawning showed surprise.

"I'd have thought some pomegranates would blend better with the girl's red hair. What made you choose apricots?"

The Herr Graf explained that it was Dolly's smell.

"I seldom pick my fruit to suit a girl's color. To me, Dolly's bouquet simply begs for apricots."

A quick comparison of views soon established the wide variety of reasons certain men had for choosing certain foods to go with certain women. Where the Marquis of Merriwedder would always eat Vacherin du Mont D'or cheese when enjoying Lady Angela Monteforine, the Rt. Hon. Philip Dunderfoot Potters would consume asparagus courgettes with the same lady because her extraordinarily deep navel could hold the butter he craved so much when sucking the tips.

Conversely, the Comte de Balzac would invariably insist on upon Crotin of Chavignol during a bout with debutante Jane Wattering-Fowls as only the colour of that particularly delicate cheese balanced exactly the equally delicate hue of her pubic hair.

It was Lord Ffawning himself who capped it all by saying they were all amateurs when it came to real gastro-erotic delights.

"You're playing, gentlemen! You pretend to eat both the fruit and the flesh but, whereas the cheese, or fowl, or fish does end up amidst our digestive juices, the lady of the moment invariably rises from your couch whole and unharmed."

There was a rather hurt silence before Judge Mostelreid said gently, "Steady on, Robert - we can't bloody well devour the darlings, much as we want to."

Lord Ffawning's dry, 'Why not?' was met with exclamations from all sides.

"Come off it," the Major said curtly, "We'd soon run out of birds, eh what?"

Sheik Has'n Offal Biggun had been regarding the chairman with speculation in his lecherous desert eyes.

"Don't tell me you have actually tasted the ultimate...?"

Lord ffawning's lined old face creased into a picture of Mephistophelian glee and, without answering the question directly, began his story.

"Some of you may recall that I spent considerable time in the Far East and, though it would be useless to pretend that I was actually engaged upon anything as distasteful as work, I did do a certain amount of research into certain fields of anthropology on the island of New Guinea, the home of the cannibals. The reason I found myself in such inhospitable regions is a story in itself, not so much of me but of Professor Hans Neubach who had been a fellow student of mine when I was studying literature at the German University of Heidelberg.

To say that Hans and I had been close friends would be a gross exaggeration, but if the quiet, taciturn student did have a friend at all, I suppose I was he. Hans was one of those typical studious characters who are old before they've been young because they are so totally absorbed in their studies that they have no time for the pleasures and relaxations other young men enjoy.

Why Hans should have confided in me, ring leader of all that was ripe, forbidden, bright and lecherous, is a mystery I'll never solve, but he did. He used to come to my rooms in the middle of the night and hold forth on his pet subject for hours on end: chemical transfer of learning!

Even as a young man Hans was convinced of the possibilities of acquiring knowledge through the intake of chemicals. According to him, all our methods of learning were cumbersome and obsolete, a hinder to real progress. Only when man was capable of cutting corners in the field of learning would he be able to acquire, in one lifetime, the vast amount of knowledge needed to cope with future science. At present, all he did was waste twenty years of our short lives acquiring the basic knowledge on which to build further. Hans dreamed of the day when a baby of three would assimilate the learning of a present day professor in one single week by the simple intake of certain chemical memory banks.

When DNA was discovered I was not surprised to read his name among those most closely connected with the research and neither did it come as a shock to me when I found he was one of the founder researchers of the now famous slow worm experiment in the United States.

For those who are unfamiliar with this experiment let me suffice it to say that a group of American students succeeded in 'transferring knowledge of a primitive sort via the mouth.'

They subjected certain slow worms to light electric shocks accompanied by flashing lights. The shocks caused the worms to twitch. The slow worms came to associate the flashing lights with the shocks and in the end there was no longer any need to administer the shocks themselves; the light alone was sufficient to make the worms twitch.

The students then chopped up the worms and fed the pieces to other 'untutored' slow worms and, lo and behold, these untutored worms began to twitch when the lights were switched on; they had acquired the knowledge by eating!

Next time I met Hans Neubach was in New York when I had gone to pursue a film star who was rumored to be insatiable in bed - the lady proved quite human you'll be glad to hear - and I can still remember his excited face when he told me: "Do you realize what this (the worm experiment, not the conquest of the film star) means? We have always laughed at the superstitious savages who ate their enemies in order to acquire their strength, maybe that idea is not as preposterous than we think and maybe we do take in more than sustenance when we eat meat. When it only concerns cows or pigs, creatures very much below our own intellectual standards, there is no gain - but would it not be different if we ate creatures that were higher on the ladder of evolution?"

"You mean Man himself?" I asked.

Hans nodded. "Indeed, Man himself..."

I lost sight of him for a few years, though I happened to read in a scientific monthly that Professor H. Neubach had married a certain Fraulein Brigitte Weinestuber.

The idea of Hans married made me smile.

I could just visualize the serious German with the slight stoop, myopic eyes and gangling body, in the company of any woman, let alone a wife. He had never given any indication of being aware of the existence of sex. I could only assume that the new Mrs. Neubach was a fellow scientist herself, equally dedicated and ugly.

Then, suddenly one spring morning, Hans telephoned me all the way from Sri Lanka to ask me point blank if I'd be willing to finance a scientific experiment. He wanted to spend a whole year in New Guinea studying cannibalism but he did not have the $5000 needed for the venture.

Inwardly smiling at the motives I knew lay behind the idea I cabled him the money and thought no more of it until, some eight months later, I received a telegram saying:

SUCCESS IN SIGHT STOP WHY NOT JOIN ME signed: HANS.

As I happened to be in that unsatisfactory state between two mistresses (one restive because I was tiring of her and the other a little too eager to become one) I chartered a plane for Jakarta and, from there, made my way to New Guinea. Ten days later, after a tedious trek through jungles and swamps, I arrived at his research center deep in the mysterious forests of that strange, primitive paradise where time literally had stood still.

The camp was little more than a clearing deep inside a huge, dense, steaming jungle. It stood a little apart from a small native village, close enough to observe all that went on, yet far enough removed to ensure privacy.

Hans had not changed much except that he had more lines in his large face, less hair on top and was more vague and forgetful than ever. He was also extremely excited, exhibiting that curious tick in his left eye that had always heralded the discovery of some new, scientific revelation.

"I'll get proof..." he kept saying, "I'll get proof..."

Slowly, bit by bit, I gained the facts and, once I did, I must admit I was astounded and, I don't mind saying, a little apprehensive.

After many months of fruitless searching Hans had struck oil at last; i.e. discovered a tribe which, if not actually practicing cannibalism right now, had at least done so until a few years ago.

"I have found a man who has eaten more human flesh than you have beef dinners." Hans concluded his story with, what I thought, a rather charming ignorance of my most favorite hobby after sex. "And he is instructing me fully in the details..."

Knowing how little Hans knew of the world and it's conmen I asked him how he could be sure that the man was genuine.

"He might be a rogue pretending to be what you want him to be, hoping you'll give him money."

"You just wait until you meet Okori," was all he would say. "He's having his daily session with Brigitte, who is recording all he says on a tape recorder."

"And who is Brigitte?" I asked him.

He looked dumbfounded. "Have you not met my wife?"

I shook my head and reminded him that it had been ten years since we had last seen each other.

"You only married last year, I believe."

To say that Brigitte came as a shock is an understatement of such magnitude it becomes laughable. I had expected a dried-up female scientist who was only included in the list of mammals out of courtesy but, instead, I met one of the most stunning girls it has been my privilege to know.

Not a day over twenty, Brigitte was one of those charming German gals who go a long way to make up for the boorishness of their countrymen.

About five foot four, with a cuddlesome body and angelic face Brigitte stole my heart (and stiffened my groin) at first sight and I hardly listened to Hans' words of introduction so lost was I in contemplating those gorgeous blue eyes, ripe young breasts in their simple cotton blouse, and nicely rounded belly, swelling gently inside a tight, short mini-skirt. Delectable legs, tapering off into neat little bare feet clad in rubber flip- flops, rounded off a picture I'd have come a million miles to see.

Where it took me only seconds to know her charms, it took only a little longer to see that her soul was as beautiful as her body.

Brigitte Neubach was that rare avis in the mercenary world: a completely natural, unspoiled, innocent girl who was (I was willing to bet) still a virgin despite her eight months of marriage.

For the rest of the day it was Brigitte who filled me in on many of the things Hans could never have made clear had he lived a million years.

"It's fascinating," Brigitte said, her cheeks flushed with excitement, "Okori is giving us the most intimate details. It's not at all what we thought it was; they did not only eat enemies but friends as well, as a token of esteem. To be eaten was as much an honor as being permitted to partake of the eating."

I asked her how she could be sure that the native Okori was telling the truth.

"After all, these primitive tribes have only very limited vocabularies and I don't suppose that your knowledge of their language is..."

"Oh, there is no danger of misunderstanding on that point, believe me."

When I finally met Okori, I saw her point. The native stood a full six foot two on his bare feet and his broad torso would have been impressive on a grizzly bear. He was totally naked except for a cow's horn in which he hid (and none too well) his formidable tool of sex. Add a magnificent two-foot high hair-do, resembling a guard's beaver helmet, and you get the kind of man you do not contradict too rashly (or at all).

Not that it was his physique that decided me to make a friend of him quickly; it was the way he behaved and spoke.

Sauntering into Hans' laboratory like a British nobleman entering his favorite club, Okori raised an affable hand at the scientist and, going up to Brigitte, kissed her lightly on the cheek with a "Hullo old girl; you look simply ravishing today." Then, turning to me, he drawled with an impeccable Oxford accent:

"I say, a newcomer, what? Welcome to our little village."

Later, when we were alone, Hans looked at me with eager eyes. "Well mine freund? Do you think there's a danger of still misunderstanding Okori?"

Brigitte fell in beside him. "Okori speaks French, Spanish and Dutch equally well."

I told him that the man's vocabulary was all the more reason for caution. "The fact that he has travelled widely and mixed..."

At this both the Neubachs began to laugh immoderately. Drying her eyes, Brigitte apologized for their mirth and said that they had made the same mistake as I had.

"Believe me, Okori has never been outside this small village."

I was lost. "Then how come the man speaks perfect English?"

"Don't you understand?" answered Brigitte, "Okori is a practicing eater of human flesh. He has eaten numerous people who were his intellectual superiors!"

I admit I remained skeptical for a long time, but the more I met the gigantic native, the less I was able to explain the miracle. There were certainly dozens of witnesses to testify that he had never been outside the village and there were also certain hiatuses in his knowledge which would be hard to explain if he had travelled.

He was able to talk of doing something 'jet-propelled', yet he could not describe a jet plane. He used the word 'fashion' but had to confess that he had never seen a woman dressed in anything else but 'jungle clothes.'

In the end I had to admit that I was beaten. There was indeed only one solution. One thing was certain; I no longer doubted that I was vis a vis with a real, live cannibal.

A few days after my arrival Okori had started to give the Neubachs the complete lowdown on cannibalism with a frankness and wealth of detail that made it superfluous to pose any questions at all. At first, he had been reluctant to talk thinking the white couple were government spies come to catch him red-handed but, once he learned of their burning passion and belief in DNA transfer of knowledge, he was not only willing to talk but quite eager as he was more than proud of both his eating habits and accomplishments.

During the first session at which I was present the Noble Savage took us to the actual cooking site which, according to tradition, was kept secret from the ordinary village. The cooking of human flesh was a holy ritual, executed by priests (or witch doctors) only. All the common villagers ever saw was the fully prepared, cooked flesh on their dinner tables.

"You're lucky devils," the Noble Savage assured us. "I happen to be a priest as well as king of my tribe. What you are going to see few others have ever witnessed."

After a short hike through some of the densest jungle ever we came upon a clearing in which stood a single hut topped by three spears tied together in the shape of the cross of Lorraine. This was the tribes holy site and told all the natives to steer very clear. Anyone, chancing upon this hut by mistake, would run as if the devil were after him.

Inside the hut was a cavity about six by three feet and lined with stones. On either side (lengthwise) stood a sort of trestle holding an iron rod, the one about two feet long and the other a little over three. This last one had also two short cross bars and a handle at the far end by which the whole rod may be turned.

With a shiver of sinister delight I realized that we were looking at the actual spit upon which a human carcass could be roasted. Assuming his lecturing tone the Noble Savage explained how the stones were brought to red-hot heat after which the joint was lowered on it's spit to within inches of the stones and kept rotating for twenty-four hours.

"No human flesh is ever stuck over an open flame; it'd ruin the unique flavor and bouquet which is quite in a class by itself. The method might be slow but the results are simply superb: an overall, equal, golden brown on the outside and a succulent medium-rare condition throughout within."

He also showed us a large four-foot cooking pot but said he was not fond of that method.

"To fit the joint in means breaking it in two which, in many cases, means early death. A pity; like lobsters, humans should be cooked alive."

Hans Neubach had never been a very calm person and time had only aggravated his natural tendency to tremble and stutter. At the sight of the huge roasting pit he practically lost all coordination of his limbs and it was a good thing I was there to take notes as his hands were shaking far too much to make his writing legible.

When the Noble Savage began naming various parts of the body by which they were known in cannibal kitchen language he demonstrated these upon Brigitte, using her lovely white body as a butcher's chart.

With the help of a large piece of charcoal he drew the boundary lines and wrote the names of the various parts.

Brigitte, herself nearly as nervous and elated as her husband, obediently stripped down to her delectable buff and laid down on the floor to have herself transformed into a living cookbook illustration. I had already noticed a complete lack of orthodox reactions in the girl and it did not surprise me that she stripped down without displaying the slightest coyness, shame or exhibitionism.

I don't mind admitting having a rush of blood to the head when the Noble Savage calmly raised one of Brigitte's plump legs high in the air and inserted one huge black finger a full four inches into one of her private openings in order to explain some minor point of cannibal kitchen etiquette concerning the pre-cooking preparation of the belly.

Speaking like a lecturer, illustrating his discussion by stroking and caressing the part under discussion with all the devotion of a dedicated professional the Noble Savage explained the order of delicacy at a cannibal banquet. When the joint was female, as was the case in question, the first choice was undoubtedly the 'Breast' which, accordingly, went inevitably to the king himself.

Kneading Brigitte's firm young globes as if he already had them before him on a plate the Noble Savage demonstrated how he would slice them off the rib cage and place them on a plate with the browned nipple uppermost. If the king wanted to honor a guest (or favorite concubine) he might offer the other breast or, next best, a first cut of the 'Topside' or 'Silverside', both of which were situated in the buttocks.

As the Noble Savage stood digging his black talons into that beautiful white bum I felt water welling up in my own mouth and needed all of my willpower not to throw pen away and dig in myself.

Next on the list of preferences came the 'Blade', 'Chuck', 'Clod' or 'Sticking', all four found in the region of the neck and (in Brigitte's case) as appetizing and succulent as could be.

The Noble Savage dealt curtly with her 'Sirloin' and 'Top Rib' but spent ages on her 'Belly' and 'Fillets', the latter part being found in the thickest part of her nicely bulging thighs.

By the time he had finished his 'dissecting lecture' there wasn't an inch of her savoury body which had not been handled over and over again.

Back in the laboratory, at the request of the Neubachs, the Noble Savage began to demonstrate the whole proceedings of a cannibal meal, from capturing the victim to preparing it for the table.

Again Brigitte was completely stripped after which the Noble Savage pretended to stalk and capture her from behind, using expert grips that were as sexually exciting as they were grossly indecent (to normal men, which did not include the Neubachs).

Tying her wrists and ankles with vegetable fibers (which would dissolve under heat) he simulated the long trek home by slinging her over his shoulder and running fifty times around the laboratory. Then, calling upon two helpers (both priests he assured us), he started the actual cooking preparations.

The 'washing' alone took ages and was of such an erotic nature I was glad I was wearing strong trousers. The Noble Savage himself, not wearing any, proved himself entirely human when his cow horn veered up like a flag pole in spring.

"Now for the stuffing," he murmured, "This is one of the most important of all the preparations and may take well over a week."

As both Neubachs were determined everything should take place the way it should, the Noble Savage carried Brigitte to the secret hut in the clearing and said he'd inform us when the 'stuffing' had been completed.

At this, Hans showed disappointment. "But I must watch... that is essential," he bleated.

The Noble Savage shook his head sadly. "Imposs, old boy; holy rites, etc, etc. I just can't allow it. Only priests are permitted to watch the stuffing."

I stepped forward and told him I had the solution.

"As professor Neubach knows, I am a priest myself back in my own country; I shall assist you."

The Noble Savage looked at me and I looked at the Noble Savage. He then looked at the trussed-up Brigitte at his feet and, from her, back again at me. He nodded curtly.

"So be it, old boy."

The minute Hans had gone (to start writing his monumental tome on Cannibalism and it's Significance For Modern Man) the Noble Savage doused all lights in the hut and removed Brigitte's bonds.

"I want you to be brave, old girl; this stuffing is going to take a hell of a long time."

The courageous girl smiled. "I'm ready," she whispered, "Science must be served."

"That's my girl. Now, part of the stuffing ceremony will, no doubt, remind you of other, familiar actions. But don't let that mislead you; the object this time is purely culinary."

Though it was pretty dark in the hut I had little difficulty guessing what the Noble Savage was doing, even if the juicy sounds had been less self-explanatory.

Ten minutes later he said: "Our guest cook, and fellow priest, Lord ffawning will now assist me."

"I'm ready..." the girl said from her couch.

I can't begin to tell you the enormous relief I experienced when I was finally doing to Brigitte what I had been wanting to do to her ever since setting eyes on her. Her body was sheer perfection and the sound of her sweet breath, coming in staccato bursts so close to my ear, was heavenly music.

"You realize, of course, we'll have to keep doing this for a long time," I told her, kissing her warm, soft lips. "It is vital that the stuffing be done slowly and methodically."

"Tradition must be served," was all the brave kid murmured. "Feel free to do what must be done."

How often the Noble Savage and I serviced darling Brigitte in the next seven days I wouldn't venture to guess but I do know that we surpassed ourselves, probably in an effort to score one another.

It was on the second day that a curious thing happened. I had just mounted our darling Brigitte maybe the twenty-third time when a change took place in her.

Thus far, all the hard work had been done by us, the darling Brigitte being satisfied with merely lying back and permitting the stuffing to happen. Now, all of a sudden she drew in her breath sharply and then, her voice coming with difficulty, she whispered,

"I don't know what is happening to me... but I feel funny... I want to... do things."

"What things?" I asked into her shell-like ear, not interrupting my regular, swing-like actions.

"I don't know... I want to... to bite you... hold you."

"Then do," I urged her. "It's the beneficial effects of the stuffing; you're meant to react."

With a sigh that was more a sob the brave girl threw arms and legs around me and began to heave and twist like a combine harvester gone mad. She suddenly cried:

"I'm dying..."

"Oh, no, you aren't," I assured her. "Just move like hell."

The Noble Savage had good ears. "It looks as if we have taught Mrs. Neubach how to have sexual climax," he whispered to me. "From now on the stuffing will start in earnest."

He was right. From there it became a straight contest between us to see who could service darling Brigitte better and more often but, in the end, we had to call it a draw. Both of us surpassed ourselves and I swear there were times when the brave girl was still experiencing the final spasms of climax when the next stallion was already causing the ripples of a fresh one to set in. Believe me, my friends, I doubt any woman has ever kept in such a high state of constant sexual excitement as was brave Mrs. Neubach, nor do I believe she could have endured it had she not been fired with the special enthusiasm only dedicated artists and scientists bring up in times of great inspiration. Suffice it to say that by the time Hans was permitted to join us again, darling Brigitte was a fully experienced courtesan versed in every form of copulation, including the most popular perversions.

I'm sorry to say that Hans had not worn so well. The pressures of the last few days had brought him to such a state of feverish excitement that he was almost incapable of doing such ordinary things as thinking and breathing.

He kept murmuring 'Wunderbar' and losing notes as fast as he made them.

The Noble Savage explained that the human roast was now ready for the oven and that this concluded his part of the bargain.

"You have seen everything, chaps; except for the actual cooking."

Hans, his eyes pits of fever, looked at the huge spit and asked why it was in two parts.

"Should it not go all the way through from one end to the other?"

The Noble Savage agreed but said that total piercing would kill the meat.

"We like to keep it alive as long as possible and, by using the two-ended spit we can do so. One end enters the body via the mouth and goes down into the stomach, very much like a sword swallower swallowing a sword, while the other end is stuck up the back channel, to use a coarse expression. The two ends never meet inside the roast but the whole is sufficiently rigid to perform it's task adequately."

When the Neubachs still looked puzzled the Noble Savage said he'd demonstrate on Mrs. Neubach.

Already, a few days ago, his two servants had built the fire in the pit and the stones on the bottom were red hot. He now ordered them to grease the iron spit rods after which he tied darling Brigitte's hands to her back and pushed her to her knees in front of one part of the spit, which was lowered to the correct height. Opening her mouth he pushed the thick, well greased rod inside.

Next thing we all gasped: except darling Brigitte, whose mouth was too full to gasp. The Noble Savage had placed himself behind her and, without a word of warning, suddenly shoved her bottom violently forward, sending the rod past her gullet straight into her stomach. With four feet of iron rod down her body and her hands tied to her back all the brave girl could do was wriggle her ample bum in protest. If you have ever watched a wasp move it's enormous abdomen you have an idea of the situation. Add her flailing legs to that and the picture is complete.

Motioning to his helpers to hold her legs rigid the Noble Savage now placed the second part of the spit into position and, after a few fruitless attempts (frustrated by Brigitte's frantic movements) managed to shove the rod up the right channel. Pulling her legs along the rod he crossed her ankles and fastened her feet to the crossbar with vegetable fibre. It now looked for all the world as if the brave girl had mounted a horizontal pogo stick.

The Noble Savage pointed at the crossbar. "How's that chaps? Without that crossbar the rod would turn inside the body; now darling Brigitte has no alternative but to turn with the spit."

Saying that he demonstrated it.

Slowly and majestically, darling Brigitte turned round and round, now showing us her lovely front, now her delightful backside.

"As the rolling eyes are apt to put one off one's food (the Noble Savage said) we usually tie the hair around the face."

He had already done so, winding Brigitte's glorious blonde hair tightly across her distorted features.

"It also keeps the hair from burning," he went on. We like to preserve the heads and you must admit that gals look better with their hair, what?"

Meanwhile his two helpers had wheeled the spit into proper
position over the red hot stones and darling Brigitte was
beginning to sweat profusely. She had also increased the wriggling of her toes and fingers, the only parts of her left free to do so and I had the impression that the girl was trying to communicate something to us, no doubt of great scientific interest.

The Noble Savage informed us that the 'sweating stage' usually lasted about five hours.

"After that, the cooking proper commences."

When Hans said he thought that Brigitte was looking uncomfortable and that maybe it was time to get her back on her feet outside of the oven again, the Noble Savage's attitude changed ever so subtly.

Dropping his lecture tone he became persuasive.

Telling his helpers to keep up the turning of the spit he put one arm around the professor and drew him aside.

"It's time we stopped kidding ourselves," he said gently. "You don't want me to stop, do you old boy? What is the good of only half studying a subject? Come on, admit it; you're eager to finish the job..." He pointed at the nicely rotating white roast on it's giant spit. "Look at her, old man; don't you agree the dear girl looks in her element? Don't you think she looks delicious? Don't you think this is her natural position? Think, old boy... you may have thought she looked beautiful in the past;
but tell me honestly: has she ever looked more beautiful than she does now, rotating her lovely parts in a first class oven? And, remember, old boy, if you think she looks appetizing now, wait till she's served up at table tomorrow evening all succulent and brown, medium rare."

Hans' eyes were popping and his lips moved like a fish's on dry land. The Noble Savage continued:

"You just write another chapter of your book, old man; we'll do the rest."

Before pushing the scientist into his laboratory the Noble Savage produced a huge ledger book full of names.

"Just to complete the records, old boy," the Noble Savage murmured, "could you let me have darling Brigitte's particulars?"

As in a daze Hans looked upon page after page of close entries. There were English, French, Spanish and Dutch names, both male and female. Brigitte's was entered right below the one of a Dutch lady by the name of Vermeulen.

"Missionary," the Noble Savage explained. "Beautifully obese and cooked au bain marie. The darling taught me Dutch and Flemish, bless her soul."

I watched my friend closely during the following 24 hours and can honestly say the man was the perfect picture of 'Exultation in Trance.' He was there, but only in substance; his mind was in that wonderful heaven where artists and scientists retreat to when inspiration touches their souls.

I can still see his face when, 24 hours later, his trembling fingers brought a piece of lovely white meat to his quivering lips. Tasting the food like a gourmet treated Cordon Bleu cooking, he closed his eyes in ecstasy. "Like pork... but infinitely tastier."

Turning to me he asked:

"Brigitte was a wonderful typist. Do you think I'll be able to type now?"

"Before you climb into her typewriter, come and look at her head." I advised him.

When he entered his study and saw darling Brigitte's lovely head on the book shelf, five foot off the ground, her lovely blonde hair cascading half way to the floor, he wept.

"Doesn't she look wunderbar? So schon... so alive."

"Aber naturalich, Liebchen," darling Brigitte said, smiling and stepping from behind the curtain in front of the shelf. "Ich bin ja doch lebendig," (I am alive).

Hans' face was a picture of surprise, wonder and delight. The Noble Savage patted him on the shoulder.

"Sorry, old boy. I'm afraid our friend, Lord ffawning, would not let me go through with it, blast him. The minute you had left he freed our darling Brigitte and replaced her with a genuine pig. I'm quite sure Mrs. Neubach would have tasted infinitely better."

Lord ffawning smiled at his listeners and handed his goblet to be filled.

"Yes, much as I was tempted, I'm afraid I was unable to go through with it and taste the ultimate in cooking, gentlemen; much as I love my food I found I loved the ladies better."

Judge Mostelreid wanted to know what happened to the Neubachs and Lord ffawning said the couple had returned to Heidelberg where Hans was now lecturing in anthropology and writing his monumental work on DNA Transfer.

"They took Okori with them as man servant and cook and I'm told the Noble Savage is still devoted to Mrs. Neubach, refusing to leave her side - ever. Though his cooking is excellent it seems darling Brigitte refuses to buy him a barbecue."