"Al of these men murdered, butchered, and ate their victims."
A shudder ran through the lecture hal
like a group wave, fol owed by a moan of utter revulsion. Joe smiled. This is what he had come here for. He'd been
delighted when he'd seen the course
offerings for criminal psychology. It had taken a fight to get into the class due to its overwhelming popularity but as soon as he had read the title of the
course"Abnormal Psychology: Serial Kil ers and Why They Do It"-and seen who the professor was, he knew that he
had to sign up.
Joe knew many more names he could
have added to the professor's list. Ed
Kemper, Albert Fish, Issei Sagawa, even Ted Bundy had engaged in mild
cannibalism. It was a common final
stage in the evolution of the serial kil er. Some of them just got there sooner than others. Some were caught before it ever advanced to that stage. But Joe's theory was that al serial kil ers, if not
apprehended first, would eventual y
escalate to cannibalism. It was a
progressive disease and he feared that
he himself might have been infected.
Professor Locke was one of the leading
authorities on forensic and criminal
psychiatry. He had worked with the FBI
back in the late eighties, developing
serial kil er profiles in their Behavioral Sciences Unit. He had authored many
books on serial murderers, sex and
cannibal kil ers specifical y, before he came to end his days teaching the next
crop of psychiatrists and criminologists. He was the reason Joe had come to this
school.
"So, why do they do it? Any thoughts?" Joe's hand crept slowly into the air
before he'd even ful y decided to raise it.
"Ali! The footbal player. You have a theory?"
"Actual y, I'm not in the athletics program. I'm a psychology student."
The professor peered over the top of his thick bifocals at the enormous young
man in the front row, looking him over
with new interest. The kid was huge. He was at least six feet five inches tal and nearly 260 pounds, al of it apparently muscle. He would have been a terror on
a footbal field.
"Wel , let's hope you are not wasting your talents. Tel us, what do you think makes them do it?"
"I think it's a disease. Not just a mental deficiency but a contagious,
transmittable virus."
Everyone in the room began to giggle,
including the professor. He held up his hand to silence the other students.
"No, let's hear the boy out. Go ahead." Joe hesitated but couldn't hold himself back.
"I think it's a progressive disease that in its initial stages may manifest as only the need to inflict pain and humiliation but eventual y builds to murder, mutilation, and final y to necrophilia and
cannibalism. It may in fact be the very disease that spawned the werewolf and
vampire legends. Perhaps it's
transmitted through saliva or blood, like with a bite or a scratch just like those legends say. Maybe even through semen
or vaginal secretions like AIDS. Perhaps you're most susceptible to the disease
during childhood and it has a long
incubation period, maybe decades. That
could explain why most serial kil ers are in their late twenties and early thirties. And why almost al of the real y violent ones experienced some type of trauma
or abuse as children. I think that at some point in their youths they exchanged
bodily fluids with another kil er or
perhaps just a carrier and they acquired the contagion themselves."
"That's a very interesting theory, son. Very interesting. I'm not sure it has any merit, but I'l tel you what. Why don't you pursue that. Research it and turn
something in to me at the end of the
semester. Everyone has to do a paper
for his or her final grade anyway and this is what we are here to try and find out this semester: what makes these
monsters do it. You convince me of that one and you are guaranteed a 4.0." Joe was encouraged by the fact that Dr. Locke hadn't shot his theory down
completely. The man seemed to be
honestly intrigued. Perhaps he was on to something after al . But Joe wanted
more than a perfect grade. He wanted
the professor's help in isolating the serial kil er virus and finding a cure.
Joe sleepwalked through the remainder
of his classes that day. His desire had reached a feverish intensity and he was having a hard time concentrating. His
head swiveled like a gun turret as
students passed in shorts, tank tops,
and miniskirts, a buffet of luscious
bodies whose every movement was a
maddening temptation. He could smel
the sweat on their skin, the musk of
recent sex between a woman's thighs,
the coppery twang of menstrual blood,
the acrid bleachlike aroma of semen
drying inside them, the humid sweat
beading beneath the hairy scrotums of
the jocks. The most maddening aroma
was that of their youthful spirits. Joe could smel their souls burning beneath their skins like an unseen inferno as
furious as a forest fire. He wanted to tear into their flesh to get at it. To devour that energy and make it his.
With effort Joseph Miles wrenched his
eyes from the heaving bosom of a
passing coed. Joe could almost see the
light of her soul swirling like a rainbow and exploding like a nuclear blast. It
made him dizzy just looking at it. The
scent of it was even more radiant, like fruit and wine and meat and blood al
combined into one delirious fragrance.
Life. He wanted to taste it so bad it
made his stomach cramp. He was so
thirsty for the taste of her blood that his throat felt parched and dry. His saliva felt thick and tacky in his mouth.
A riot of emotions swirled through Joe's mind. It had only been recently that his passions had taken such a morbid turn.
Before it had been enough to fuck
anything and everything he could get his hands on. But lately the normal suckand-fuck rituals had begun to bore him. His typical fantasies of multiple sex
partners had turned to blood-soaked
orgies of torn and ravaged flesh. He
could no longer even masturbate without imagining biting into a woman's tender
buttocks or engorged breasts. He knew
there were places on the Web where he
could talk freely about his desires, where they were appreciated. He had sought
them out when he first discovered his
predilection for the taste of human flesh. He'd been surprised when he'd
discovered how many professed
cannibals were out there stalking
cyberspace for human prey and even
more surprised when he discovered that
there were women and men who sought
these cannibals out, offering their bodies for consumption. Al he could think about now was going online to seek solace in
his fel ow perverts.
Chapter Six
There was a cybercafe just off campus
where a lot of the students hung out. Joe often went there to surf the cannibal sex sites with the hope of finding others with his unique fetish and perhaps someone
with whom he could assuage his hunger.
The Long Pig Message Board was his
most frequent stop. "Long pig" was the name given to human flesh because it
was said to taste like pork. Joe had
never t
asted it before except for a few harmless nibbles here and there, but he knew that it wouldn't be long before he indulged himself. The hunger was
increasing exponential y with each
passing day.
Many of the people on the site claimed
to be wil ing cattle. The site was fil ed with flowery romantic fantasies written by these long pigs about feeding the
appetite of their dream lovers. Al of
them were eager to serve as meat for
the hunger of human predators, or so
they claimed. Joe wasn't so sure that any of them did anything more than
fantasize.
They would post long descriptive
appeals for a chef to prepare their flesh to be eaten alive or roasted on a spit
and then the supposed cannibals would
write them back with lascivious details of just how they would cook and
consume them. Sometimes they would
swap e-mail addresses, presumably to
hook up offline. But since the same "long pigs" would be back the very next day tempting someone new, Joe presumed
that it was al bul shit. Occasional y, however, a few of them would disappear
and never return. Joe liked to think that those had been the real deal and had
final y fulfil ed their fantasies; that they were now digesting in someone's
stomach, happy and content, if
somewhat diminished.
The only problem with the long pigs
available online was that they were
almost exclusively male. In fact, he had only seen one female on the message
board in the entire time he'd been
frequenting it and she had been an
obvious fake; getting off on the fantasy of being consumed but too terrified to try it for real. Joe was so worked up today that he didn't care. He began posting
long descriptions of how he'd rip apart a long pig with his own blunt little teeth and consume them piece by piece. He could
feel someone reading over his shoulder
as he typed and hear their gasp of
astonishment.
"Oh, my God, that's sick!"
It was the voice of one of the girls from his mythology class. She was the type of bubbly airhead that had probably been a cheerleader in high school and had
blown half the male faculty for better
grades.
Joe ignored it. Even when the girl
brought a couple of friends over to read what he had written and they began to
speculate on his sanity, Joe continued to tap away at the keyboard. That was the
only problem with the cybercafe. No one minded their goddamned business! Stil , Joe didn't want to go on his roommate's computer during the day. The guy would
have a heart attack if he knew the kind of person he was real y living with.
On the message board Joe went under
the screen name of SuperPredator and
was fairly wel -known. He was a regular. So much so that he had begun to think
of himself more and more in terms of his online persona, a voracious
ultrapredator at the top of the food chain above even other human beings. He
finished his long post and hit SEND. The replies came almost immediately.
A man cal ing himself "Meatforthetable" was the first to respond.
HEY SUPERPREDATOR! YOUR
APPETITE SEEMS PRETTY LARGE
BUT I THINK I CAN FILL IT. I'M SMALL
AND PRETTY LEAN BUT I'M LARGE IN
ALL THE RIGHT PLACES. I'VE GOT AN
8" COCK AND A NICE PLUMP REAR
LIKE A YOUNG TEENAGED GIRL.
COME AND GET ME! He left his e-mail
address at the bottom along with a link to his website where he promised there
would be pictures.
Next was the tease. The woman who
cal ed herself "SweetFlesh" sent a long sweaty reply that sounded as if she'd
written it with one hand.
HEY SUPERPREDATOR! I HAVEN'T
HEARD FROM YOU IN A WHILE. I WAS
STARTING TO THINK YOU DIDN'T LIKE
US ANYMORE. I TELL YOU WHAT
BABY, IF YOU'RE REALLY AS HUNGRY
FOR LONG PIG AS YOU SAY THEN
YOU'D LOVE SOME OF MY SWEET
TENDER MEAT. THAT MAN MEAT IS
TOO TOUGH FOR A REAL
CONNOISSEUR LIKE YOU. YOU NEED
SOME OF THIS NICE TENDER GIRL
FLESH. I'VE GOT DD BREASTS WITH
BIG FAT NIPPLES, WIDE HIPS, AND
THICK THIGHS, AND A NICE BIG FAT
ASS. IT WOULD TAKE YOU A MONTH
TO EAT ALL OF THIS.
She'd obviously forgotten that she'd
once sent him a picture of herself and
she'd been a petite Filipino woman who, to her credit, did have huge breasts but was far from having voluptuous hips or a
"big fat ass" as she claimed. Joe knew it was al bul shit, but it was getting him violently aroused. He
decided to check out Meatfor-thetable's website.
When he clicked the link at the bottom of the message he was surprised to see a
familiar face pop up on the screen.
Frank. The same guy he'd earlier been
speculating about devouring whole as he spun out yet another tale of sex and
abuse at the SAA meeting. It was a nude photo and Frank hadn't been lying. He
did have a pretty big cock and an ass
that was fatter and rounder than most
men, sort of like that of a woman. Joe
sent him an instant message and he
responded with undisguised
enthusiasm.
HI SUPERPREDATOR!
HI FRANK.
Pause.
DO I KNOW YOU?
YES. YOU KNOW ME. WOULD YOU
LIKE TO KNOW ME BETTER?
YES, BUT I'M SORT OF NEW TO THIS.
YOU WON'T KILL ME, WILL YOU? I
JUST WANT YOU TO BITE ME, TO
HURT ME. YOU CAN EVEN BITE OFF
A FEW PIECES IF YOU WANT. I JUST
DON'T WANT TO DIE.
I WOULDN'T KILL YOU, FRANK.
WE'RE OLD FRIENDS. I JUST WANT
TO BITE INTO THAT SWEET LITTLE
ASS OF YOURS.
WHO ARE YOU?
I'M SUPERMAN.
Chapter Seven
Joe had set up an apartment down in
one of the seedier areas of town, far
away from campus. A commercial
district fil ed mostly with warehouses and retail stores. It was nearly desolate at night. He had intended it to be his art studio. The tiny room was cluttered with paint and canvas. One or two finished
paintings hung on the wal s amid the
countless unfinished ones. He'd found it more and more difficult to paint lately. It was supposed to be therapeutic, but
letting his imagination roam like that only seemed to make the monster hungrier.
Luckily, he'd soon found other uses for the old apartment. It was perfect for little clandestine affairs.
Frank arrived just after midnight,
wearing baggy jeans and a tank top.
Clothes that he could easily slip out of. He smiled wide when Joe answered the
door.
"Oh my God! I was hoping it would be you!" His eyes lit up like an orphan on those rare Christmas mornings when
Santa Claus did not forget him.
The smal man with the bruised and
battered face and the nervous,
desperate eyes of a cornered animal,
tiptoed gingerly into the dingy hal way. Joe slammed the door behind him. They
both stood in the ancient vestibule
eyeing each other greedily.
"Superman," Frank whispered softly in appreciation, as he looked the big
muscular col ege kid over fro
m head to
toe. He fel into Joe's arms and tried to kiss him. Joe shoved him back against
the wal and pinned him there with one
arm.
"Uh-uh. I'm not that way."
Frank looked frightened but he was
excited.
"I didn't think you were gay, but then why am I here?"
"To be eaten."
Joe produced a smal slim scalpel and
Frank's breath quickened.
"You ... you said you wouldn't hurt me."
"No, I said I wouldn't kil you and I won't. But there wil be pain. I'm sure you'l like it, though. Jack off if you want. Get the endorphins going. You'l enjoy the pain once your adrenaline starts racing." Joe unbuckled Frank's jeans and
dropped his pants. Frank's cock was
hard as granite and glistening with a
sheen of precum. Joe wanted to slice it off and eat it but he held himself back. The frightened little man took his eyes off of the scalpel in Joe's hand for a
moment and looked at his surroundings.
The wal s were al cracked, with paint
peeling from them in long sheets.
Everything was covered in cobwebs and
dust and the hal ways were al dark.
There was a reception desk with a
shattered mirror in back of it and an
overturned chair covered in rust and
dust.
"What is this place? Does anyone
actual y live here?"
"This is nowhere. Now turn around!" Joe commanded.
The smal man turned to face the wal .
He leaned his face against the drywal
but left his hands free so that he could stroke himself as the man he'd known as SuperPredator online and simply as Joe
at the SAA meetings began to cut
Frank's trembling buttocks. Frank shot a hot stream of semen al over the filthy wal and down onto the cracked tiles at his feet as the huge muscular man sliced off a chunk of his ass.
Joe was overwhelmed by sensations as
he brought the glistening blood-wet meat to his lips and slurped it into his mouth. Just as he'd expected, he could taste the little man's soul as he devoured the smal sliver of life, absorbing a smal piece of him and assimilating it in his stomach, becoming one with the diminutive
masochist. He could taste the little man's fear and pain and ecstasy vibrating on
his tongue like he'd just licked a coke spoon. He could feel Frank's life
marrying with his own, surging through
his blood like rocket fuel, and was
surprised when he found himself
suddenly gripped by his own orgasm as
Succulent Prey by Wrath James White Page 4
