time by the fol owing rule: Barbecue 1520 minutes per pound, and oven roast @
375 degrees for 25-30 minutes per
pound. Few girls wil live longer than 1
hour while cooking since she wil die as soon as her heart starts to cook.
Joe knew that most of the stuff on the
site was bul shit. No one could survive the torturous ordeal of being vivisected long enough for you to cook them alive. Stil , like al good pornography, it was al about the fantasy. He closed his eyes
and tried to imagine himself as a chef
serving up fresh girl meat. He felt the orgasm building within him as he
imagined the aroma of freshly cooked
flesh and tried to envision what the look in the woman's eyes would be as he
peeled off bits of her flesh and devoured it before her as her heart boiled in her chest. He drooled and his cock tingled
and swel ed even more as he read
further down the page. His erection was now so hard that it felt as if the skin would burst. Once again he looked over
at his roommate to make sure he had
not awakened. One of the boy's legs
was now sticking out from beneath the
covers. Joe had to restrain himself from going over to take a bite out of it. He turned back to the computer screen but
continued to cast sidelong glances at his sleeping roommate as his engorged
organ began to pulsate and the first
drops of precum dribbled from the
swol en head.
Joe pinched his left nipple hard as he
continued to masturbate, then he
reached down and slid a finger into his rectum to massage his prostate. He
read frantical y through the rest of the page as he neared climax.
His legs kicked straight out in front of him as the monster leaped up and shot a long arc of semen up onto the computer
screen. His entire body jerked
convulsively as he ejaculated again and again in what seemed an unending
stream of liquid white, and visions
spiraled through his mind of succulent
human flesh cut lovingly from the breasts, thighs, and buttocks of a woman bred for her meat.
What the hel am I becoming? Joe
wondered as he continued to pant
breathlessly, stil quivering from the
powerful orgasm.
Joe used a tube sock to wipe his semen
from the computer screen. He then
licked his fingers clean of his stil living fluids, imagining it was the blood of prey. Joe turned off the computer and crawled into bed with his erection stil
undiminished. He masturbated three
more times before he final y drifted off into sleep. He was getting worse. It was time for another reprogramming
session.
Chapter Four
The wal s of the room were barren,
painted a neutral antique white. The
laminated wood floor was scuffed and
scratched. A solemn crucifix hung in the center of one wal with the tortured and bleeding effigy of Christ affixed to it. The entire room seemed to perspire, the
floor to heave as if breathing heavily as the combined lusts of a roomful of sex
addicts boiled the air and raised the
humidity.
Joe sat with his huge shoulders slumped forward, his tremendous arms resting on his thighs, his head nestled in his
oversized hands, and his eyes boring
oversized hands, and his eyes boring
into the sacrificial lamb seated directly across the room baring his soul for
group consumption. There were seven of
them crammed into the little room in the basement of the church, swapping
titil ating tales of sexual excess for the purpose of therapy, eagerly devouring
each detail of one another's sex lives. Joe had no idea how this was supposed
to make them better. It seemed like he'd been coming to these meetings for
years.
His hunger roiled within him like a living thing clawing at the lining of his stomach. He'd eaten a ful breakfast so he knew
that it wasn't physical. He'd masturbated twice before leaving the house too.
Sometimes that took the edge off his
appetite. Not today. Today the only thing that would assuage his carnivorous lust was fresh meat. He needed help. He
was having a harder and harder time
resisting the temptation to feed.
Everywhere he looked there seemed to
be meat ripe for consumption. He was
hoping this therapy session would at
least calm his hunger long enough for
him to make it through his classes.
Among this bizarre assemblage of
right at home, but even here he had to
maintain his secrets. He was more of a
predator than any of them would ever
have realized or been comfortable with, and as much a victim as the little man
with the nervous eyes and bruised face. They were al victims here, victims of
their own addictions, prey to their
desires.
Joe had been coming to these meetings
almost every day since he started
col ege last year. He was now beginning his sophomore year at the local
university where he was enrol ed as a
psychology major. The irony of that
always made him laugh. Physician, heal
thyself. He had started coming to Sex
Addicts Anonymous after he'd gotten
hooked on the sex and swingers club
scene. He spent so much time in the sex clubs last semester, waking up nearly
every night with a strange woman-or in
some cases, strange couples-in his bed
that he'd nearly flunked out of school. So he'd come here to get his life in order. But now his addiction had mutated and
he wasn't sure they could help him
anymore. The problems of the other
confessed addicts almost seemed
pedestrian in comparison to the monster raging within him.
"I wound up drunk in an al ey giving a blowjob to a stranger."
His name was Frank. He had a busted
nose, a black eye, and a huge gash on
his forehead. It was a common sight.
They were al pretty much used to it now. He always came into the group session
with a new bruise or cut. Joe wouldn't
have been as interested in hearing
about Frank's sexual exploits were it not for the violence that always
accompanied the passion.
Joe had heard al of Frank's stories
before. Each day was just more of the
same. Yet another variation of the "Meet boy, fuck and suck boy, get the shit
kicked out of him by boy" theme. The only thing that ever changed was the
order of the events, the severity of the attacks, and the size of the attacker's cock. Frank was a homosexual who had
a thing for straight men and often risked an ass kicking to get one. He enjoyed
tel ing his lascivious tales of sex and battery even more than the rest of the
group enjoyed hearing them. This was
not so much therapy as group catharsis
and cathexis. He spit it out and they
sucked it up.
In the beginning they would try to outdo each other. Each of them would tel their most extravagant tales of sexual
hedonism. Mary was a housewife who
had affairs with strangers almost daily, claiming to be addicted to the taste of semen. Tom was her male equivalent.
He cheated on his wife with male
escorts and loved to feel cum
on his ass. Jane and Bil y were a couple who were
hooked on meeting people on the
Internet and having sex with them after months of cybercourtship. Sam was
addicted to pornography and
masturbated eight to twelve times a day and often in public. Malcolm heard
voices and exposed himself to women in
parks. He was stil young, only nineteen years old, but wel on his way to
becoming a rapist and probably a serial kil er soon afterward. He was the only
one close to being as fucked up as
Frank or Joe himself. But no one knew
how disturbed Joe was. Joe didn't
share.
Soon they were al rushing through their confessions, eager to get to Frank's
latest adventures, and he never
disappointed. He knew they were
counting on him. Far from curing the
dysfunctional little man, they were
enabling him, feeding his addiction as
much as he fed theirs. Joe often
wondered what would have happened if
he shared some of his own experiences
with the group. He was pretty sure he
could have outdone Frank.
Joe wasn't sure if it even made sense
for him to come to these Sex Addicts
Anonymous sessions anymore. He had
progressed way beyond just your
average sex addict.
"What happened next, Frank?" Mary, the session leader/counselor, asked with the appropriate concern on her face. Joe
knew that half the people in the group
went home and masturbated to the
confessions they heard at these
sessions. Sam, occasional y, didn't
bother to wait until he left the room.
"Wel , he had the most enormous cock. I swear it was almost a ful ten inches and I was gagging on it and loving every
minute of it. He came al down my throat and then pul ed his cock out of my mouth and came al over my face. Then he got
mean." Frank paused and looked down in his lap where his hands lay clenched tightly. No doubt hiding his erection.
"What did he do?" Everyone leaned forward in their chairs. Their own
addictions drew them into the tale,
hungrily searching for that salacious
tidbit to momentarily assuage the hunger burning in each of them.
"He smiled down at me and told me how beautiful I looked with cum on my face, which I thought was kind of nice. But then he started cal ing me a filthy cumsucking faggot. He punched and kicked me until I almost passed out. The funny thing was that while he was kicking my
ass I noticed that his cock was getting hard again. After he'd beaten the shit out of me, busted a couple ribs and broke
my nose, he pul ed my pants down and
raped me, anal y. No lubrication at al . It had to have chafed him as much as it
did me. What was even weirder was that
I kind of enjoyed it."
Nothing surprising there, Frank, Joe
thought. Everyone knew that the effete
little guy, who came in every week with his face looking as if it had gone through a meat grinder, was a hardcore
masochist. He just hadn't admitted it to himself. If he could just admit it then he could start finding safer trade in S&M
clubs before he ran into someone who
might real y hurt him. Someone like Joe. He was already imagining what he would
do to the petite little man if he were ever to get him alone.
"So how does that make you feel now, Frank?" Mary asked, her voice ful of false concern. Mary was almost as
indiscreet in her desire to hear about
Frank's exploits as Sam, who already
had his hand in his pocket, jacking off unselfconsciously.
Mary had been a regular attendee at
these meetings longer than anyone and
seemed to wield no more control over
her addictions than the rest of them. She propositioned Joe after almost every
session. He knew that she'd already
fucked nearly every straight guy who'd
ever set foot in this place in the seven or eight years she'd been coming. Joe also knew that it drove her nuts that she
hadn't had him yet.
Joe kept his body in excel ent condition. Working out was as much of a
compulsion for him as fucking. His face was hard and lean with a squared-off jaw and dark blue eyes. His friends had
jokingly cal ed him Clark Kent back in
high school because he looked like he
should have been on the cover of a
Superman comic book. Mary wasn't
Joe's type, though. She was a skanky
trailer-park slut. Too skinny, with no ass and smal tits. She looked like a drug
addict, which she had been until she'd
switched addictions. Frank was just
about to reply to her question when Joe interrupted him.
"I fantasize about biting women's
breasts off and eating them."
That shook things up. Everyone stared
at Joe with mouths agape as they tried
to compose the proper healing response
to such a perverse admission. It was the first time Joe had shared with the group and they didn't want to discourage him, if only for the promise of a new fetish to feed on. This beat every one of Frank's rough trade encounters in Polk Street
leather bars, except maybe the one
where he got fistfucked by that biker with his arm lubed with motor oil. It certainly shamed Mary's confessions about
fucking the neighbors' husbands and
masturbating with fruit and household
appliances, even the time she'd put
peanut butter on her clit to get head from her Great Dane.
Joe got up and left before they could
respond with their trite little twelve-step slogans, though it would have been
curious to know which one they could
have whipped out for cannibalism. That
was the one addiction none of the books addressed. Joe knew. He had already
checked.
Joe jogged the distance from the little storefront church where the SAA
meetings were held back to the campus
to hit the gym before classes started.
When he walked into the weight room it
was already packed. The track team
was in there doing their morning strength training. "Muscle equals speed!" he heard Coach Truman yel ing as he built
his athletes into physical specimens that looked more like middleweight boxers
than sprinters. Joe stared at their
elegant bodies in a trance. He'd always had a fetish for large round buttocks and no one had a meatier, more finely
formed gluteus maximus than a sprinter. Particularly the African-American ones
who seemed to be genetical y gifted with the type of round meaty asses he loved. They al wore those tiny running shorts that exposed the bottom half of their
enlarged glutes. Their thighs were finely sculpted and shimmering with a sheen
of sweat. It was almost too much for Joe to bear. He watched the women's
sumptuous asses bounce by as they
walked from one piece of exercise
equipment to the next. He felt like a lion lying down with sheep-and he was
getting hungry. An erection was straining in his sweatpants and he had no real
way to conceal it. It didn't matter how many girls noticed his arousal and
giggled or sneered in disgust. It was
worth the sight.
Joe began his workout with 500-pound
squats, grunting and straining his way
through four sets of ten. Then he loaded nearly a thousand p
ounds onto the leg
press for another four sets that left his legs quivering from overexertion. He
finished off with hamstring curls and
quadricep extensions before hitting the showers.
Even in the locker room the sight of the men's naked flesh was arousing him.
Joe wouldn't have cal ed himself gay.
What he felt when he looked at the male athletes' thick muscular thighs and tight wel sculpted asses, their heaving
pectoral muscles, and even their thick
cocks dangling limply between their
legs, was something far more visceral.
He didn't want to fuck them. He wanted
to eat them alive. To rip their supple flesh from their bones, taste the warm blood
and meat as it washed over his tongue
and down into his bel y.
Joe finished his shower and removed a
fresh change of clothes from his
backpack. He shrugged quickly into his
jeans and T-shirt before running off to class. He could hear the guys whispering at his back as he left the locker room. They al thought he was a pervert. But
they knew better than to say it to his
face. Joe was not exactly a smal man.
Chapter Five
The tweed-wrapped and bow-tied
professor busily scribbled on the huge
blackboard at the front of the lecture hal . Flashes of multicolored young flesh
whisked by as students hurried to take
their seats. Smooth chocolate browns
and tans. Creamy whites and yel ows.
Joe tore himself with effort from the
entrancing glimpses of bare arms,
slender necks, and naked thighs and
calves to give attention to the names the professor had scrawled across the
board.
Andrei Chikatilo. Ed Gem. Gary
Heidnick. Jeffrey Dahmer.
Heidnick. Jeffrey Dahmer.
"Al of these men are murderers.
Signature kil ers with a very unique
signature."
Joe recognized the connection between
those four names before the professor
even spoke and he immediately perked
up, suddenly very interested. They were not just serial kil ers. They were kil ers who had at least partial y cannibalized their victims. Each of them had tasted
human flesh. Many on more than one
occasion. Some, like Dahmer and
Chikatilo, were famous for it.