by West, Sam
Meet The Meat
By Sam West
Copyright Sam West 2014
Eve stirs in her sleep and I watch her. She is so beautiful. All I want to do is reach out and brush the long, silky dark hair out of her eyes. I want to kiss those full, cherry red lips, the same lips that have tormented my thoughts and dreams for so long…
Eve’s eyes open. They are large and oval and remind me of cat’s eyes, a gorgeous, glowing, golden brown.
And right now, they are wide with terrified confusion. She struggles to sit up. But of course, she can’t.
“Hush,” I say to her, “don’t exert yourself, just try to relax.”
“Who are you? Where am I?”
The usual questions. Predictable. Disappointing.
I ignore her pleas. I hate it when they start whimpering and asking stupid questions and begging me to let them go. It leaves me cold. It makes me feel like a bad person and I’m not a bad person. Sometimes they make me angry when they beg. But not right now. Not with her. I don’t think I could ever get mad at her. She’s different from the others. Special. I know that we are going to be very happy together.
I silently watch the range of emotions flash across her face, a physical manifestation of the inner battles that rage within her. Right now, confusion is at the forefront.
“What do you want with me?”
I don’t answer.
“Please, just let me go. Nothing has happened yet, I won’t tell. I don’t even know who you are, we can just forget this ever happened. Please, you don’t have to do this.”
Always the same crap they come out with. I sigh deeply, and get up from the little plastic chair by the side of the bed she is cuffed to.
I open the top drawer of the bedside table and take out the pair of kitchen scissors I keep there.
Slowly, methodically, I cut through the supermarket uniform she still wears.
“Why are you doing this?” she sobs. “What have I ever done to you?”
I ignore her. The scissors are struggling with the thick, nasty polyester of her uniform but I persevere. They have been especially sharpened for the occasion and I will not be defeated.
At last, the horrid uniform is sliced clean down the middle. Beneath it she is wearing a plain black bra and matching panties. I can’t take my eyes off the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
Oh God, those breasts. I feel dizzy just looking at them. I ache all over just thinking about slicing through the front of her bra and watching those fleshy mounds of perfection spill free.
Eve has big tits. Which is funny really as normally I prefer a smaller bust. Anything more than a handful is a waste and all that. But Eve breaks all my rules with regards to looks. Hell, she’s one on her own.
She’s really sobbing now, which is a pity. It’s such a shame when they ruin their faces like that. Especially Eve, she is so beautiful.
“Please let me go,” she says between hitching sobs. “Do you want money? I can get you money.”
Somehow I doubted that very much. She works in a supermarket. She has a growing mountain of debt and that dream graduate job of hers still looks like a long way off.
Snot bubbles in her nose and I look away. I don’t want to see her like this.
“Please,” she whines.
I look back down at her, desperate to rip off her underwear but really not fancying it when she’s in this state.
“I’m going to go away now. While I’m gone I want you to calm down. And when you’ve calmed down, we’re going to eat dinner together like two civilised adults, OK?”
She just lays there sobbing and I give up waiting for a reply. I walk over to the door, her pitiful keening ringing in my ears. If she knows what’s good for her she’ll snap out of it.
I really hope she does. Like I say, I’m quite taken with this one.
Downstairs in the kitchen I busy myself preparing dinner. I like my kitchen. It’s nice and big and I’ve gotten to be quite a good cook since Mum died, even if I do say so myself.
The sound of Eve’s wailing drifts down the stairs. It’s starting to irritate me so I turn up the radio to drown her out. Phil Collins is on. I like Phil Collins. I hum along to Another Day In Paradise as I prepare the meat.
Preparing the meat is my favourite part. I take a lot of inspiration from the Japanese school of cookery, in particular that dish they do where they serve up the fish alive. It’s very fresh, apparently, not that I’ve ever tried it, I’m not a big fan of fish. I’ve borrowed from that and added my own unique twist to it. I’m very proud of it, even if I do say so myself.
So anyway, in the middle of the kitchen I have a nice big, steel topped island, just like in a professional kitchen. The meat is lying atop that. I’ve cut out its tongue and I’ve wedged an apple in its mouth, but despite this, it’s still making funny, gargling sounds.
“Be quiet,” I say, as I apply a tourniquet to the upper thigh in preparation.
I like to sever the limbs and freeze them, I don’t serve the whole dish up alive because for a start the dining room table isn’t big enough. I mean, you don’t go to a restaurant and get a whole cow placed in front of you, do you, that would just be silly.
Besides, I like to save some meat for stews and stuff.
I get to work on the meat. The tourniquet is nice and tight and I have my hacksaw at the ready.
I begin to saw. The meat has been thoroughly tenderised beforehand, so I’m genuinely surprised that it is thrashing around so much. It wasn’t doing that before, it must’ve got a second wind. I figure it will stop when it loses a leg, but it has to lose the leg first and at this rate it’s not coming off; I haven’t even reached the femur yet.
“Will you please keep still?” I ask, knowing that there must be something wrong with me to try to reason with a lump of meat.
Of course, it’s still thrashing and kicking and arching its back. I sigh. I really want it alive for tonight’s main course so I retrieve a mallet from the kitchen top and bash it over the temple.
I experience a moment of panic. What if I’ve killed it? I brush the long blond hair off the face and feel for a pulse at the neck. It’s still there, albeit very faint.
I get back to work sawing off the leg. The teeth of the saw chink against the femur and I saw that much harder; the thigh bone always takes that extra bit of elbow grease.
I’m now hacking through the last bit of skin and the leg is free. I make sure that minimum blood leaks past the leather tourniquet and I must say I’m pretty impressed with my efforts. There still should be plenty of blood pumping round that torso when I’m done, making the meat nice and juicy and tender. There’s nothing worse than tough meat.
I let the leg drop to the floor with a heavy thunk, and pick up my blowtorch. I have to cauterise the stump quickly otherwise the meat will bleed out and die. I whistle along to the radio as I sear the flesh with the blue flame. The smell is quite strong and I wonder if Eve’s mouth is watering up in her room. The flesh quickly goes black and bubbly and I put down the torch.
I get to work sawing off the other leg straight away, the smell of freshly cooked meat lingering in the air. My stomach growls appreciatively and I remember I haven’t eaten today, what with one thing and another. Never mind, I’ll eat plenty at dinner.
I Will Always Love You is playing on the radio now. I like this song, it makes me think of how much I love Eve.
“And I ee I, will always love you ee oo,” I tunelessly wail along with the radio.
When I’m finished I’m really sweaty. Severing limbs is hard work. I feel that warm glow of satisfaction you get from hard physical labour and a job well done. Preparing the meat always makes me feel good. Now all I have to do is clean up, dress the meat, lay the table and have a shower.
>
One hour later I step out of the shower, feeling refreshed and excited for the night ahead. I wipe the condensation off the little mirror above the sink so I can better see to shave. I don’t have to shave often, which is a blessing, I suppose. I have what you might call boyish looks. I’m twenty eight, but I don’t look a day over twenty, partly due to my baby soft skin. I have blonde hair which I wear flopping over my forehead and clear blue eyes. People don’t really notice me, I look like every other skinny young guy out there. Which is a good thing, all things considered.
I go back to Eve’s room when I’m done.
“Dinner’s ready,” I say with a bright smile, popping my head round the door.
She doesn’t scream, which is good. They usually scream when I tell them dinner’s ready.
I so want her to be different. I want us to work out.
She looks so beautiful lying there with her sliced open uniform and her black underwear.
Dinner first, I tell myself firmly. What kind of a man are you? I have to treat her with respect. It’s not just her body I want.
I go to her and she stares up at me with red ringed eyes.
“I’m glad you’ve calmed down,” I tell her.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
It’s rare they ask me what my name is and I think about it for a second.
“Thomas,” I answer truthfully.
“It’s nice to meet you Thomas. Thank you for inviting me into your home tonight.”
I’m suddenly reminded that she’s got a degree in psychology. She’s playing me, I’m not stupid. But the sad thing is, I want to believe her, I want to believe that she likes me. She knows it, I know it. The thought makes me angry.
“Don’t play me Eve,” I say pleasantly, but I think we are both more than aware of the inherent threat behind my words.
I have to hand it to her, she keeps her cool.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m going to release your hands now.”
This is the biggest test. This is when they can really kick off. I have the key in my jean pocket and I slip the key in each of the handcuffs that attach her to the wrought iron headboard.
Instead she sits up on the bed and rubs the feeling back into her wrists.
“I’ve got you something to wear for tonight.”
She stays where she is, sitting on the bed. I can feel her eyes boring into my back when I open the wardrobe door in the spartan single room.
I pull out her dress, a demure yet sexy little number. It is white and knee length, not too tight or see-through, but just fitted enough to highlight her luscious curves.
“Put this on,” I say, chucking it at her. “I bought it especially for you.”
“It’s lovely,” she says, stroking the material like she really likes it.
I experience a warm glow, not caring in that moment if she is playing me.
She stands up and the tattered remains of her hideous, supermarket uniform falls to the floor. Casually she slips the dress over her head and it falls over her perfect body and instantly I miss the view. Maybe she doesn’t have to wear it and we can get straight down to business.
I push the ungentlemanlike thought aside. I must woo her with my delicious cooking first.
“How do I look?” she asks, giving me a twirl.
“Beautiful,” I reply.
She throws me a smile that warms my heart. “You’re so clever, how did you even know my size?”
“I’ve been watching you for a long time Eve, I know a lot of things about you.”
Her eyes widen. She has beautiful eyes, especially now that the redness is fading by the minute.
“Why didn’t you ever approach me? You didn’t need to go to these lengths.”
I regard her thoughtfully. God, I want to believe her so much. My Eve. My beautiful Eve.
“Shall we go down to dinner?” I ask, extending my hand.
She takes my offered hand and a tingle shoots through my entire body. None of them have ever taken my hand like that. It’s a revelation. I knew Eve was different, I just knew it.
“Let’s go,” she says with the sweetest smile.
I lead her downstairs to the dining room. I hope she likes the dinner I have prepared for her.
The meat looks amazing, even if I do say so myself. I have set it on a silver platter in the middle of the table.
Maybe it’s time I explained a little more about ‘the meat.’
The meat used to go by the name of Jessica Wells. Nineteen years old, student, one time love of my life. She turned out to be a huge disappointment. It’s amazing how quickly you can fall out of love with somebody.
I get disappointed a lot in my quest to find true love. Still, at least I have Eve now.
When Eve’s gaze settles on her dinner, her reaction is predictable. What a shame. She starts screaming and she yanks her hand out of mine and lunges for the door.
She doesn’t get very far. I’m behind her in a flash, pinning her body against the door.
“Eve, Eve, Eve, I admonish. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I have to admit I’m enjoying the way she feels pressed against me, I like the way she shudders and her shoulders sort of jerk against my chest with her panting.
“What have you done?” she whispers.
An unusual question, I think. Usually they’re incoherent by now. Maybe there is a chance for us.
“I’ve made you dinner, that’s what I’ve done. I must say, I find your attitude a little ungrateful.”
I notice that she has stopped panting and her chest has stopped hitching.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It looks lovely. And I’m starving, are we going to eat soon?”
What she says surprises me. I honestly wasn’t expecting that. She’s either genuine or a bloody good actress.
Either way, I escort her to her chair. Eve is so special I have laid her a place at the head of the long table. I’ve never done that before, usually I sit there.
She sits down gracefully, her eyes betraying not the smallest flicker of emotion.
I take my place next to her, my right hand casually touching the handheld power drill that is next to the chef’s blowtorch. I pick up a nine inch nail and twirl it between my fingers.
“Usually I end up nailing them to the seat,” I say, “you’re the first one I haven’t. Of course I prefer not to, but they usually leave me no choice.”
“They? What do you mean, they?”
She almost sounds cross with me. Yet again, the conversation we’re having is throwing me through a loop. I think to myself that I have to be careful here. But even so, I’m just loving her company.
“It’s hard in today’s modern world, finding the one. I’ve had more than my fair share of disastrous dates and relationships,” I tell her.
“Ughh, tell me about it. I’ve been out with so many losers I’ve all but given up finding that special someone. It’s just… Oh, it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry.”
She has me intrigued and I sit forward in my seat slightly.
“No, please, go on. Finish what you were going to say.”
She looks adorably sheepish for a moment.
“The way you looked at me up in the bedroom when I put on this dress, it made me feel special. And it felt good. No man has ever looked at me before the way you looked at me. I guess I just felt a little stab of jealousy when you said ‘they.’ Is she one of them you were talking about?” she asks, nodding her head in the direction of the meat.
“Yeah, you could say we didn’t work out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?”
“I really liked her, but she turned out to be a real bitch.”
“I’m thirsty Thomas. Is there any chance of a glass of water?”
“Yes, of course, where are my manners?”
I figure the poor girl deserves a glass of water. She really is quite delightful, such a refreshing change. Apart from the initial bullshit questi
ons, she hasn’t asked anything to irritate me. No more of that ‘where am I, who are you,’ crap. I hate that. At least Eve had the decency to ask me my name in an entirely civil manner. Like she actually cared.
I get to my feet. There is wine on the table but I have forgotten the jug of water.
“I just have to pop to the kitchen and get the water.”
This is a test, more than anything. She doesn’t know that I’m well equipped to deal with any attack or escape she might come with.
When I return less than a minute later carrying a jug of water and two glasses on a tray, Eve is on her feet.
My rush of disappointed anger is instantly quashed when I see what she is doing.
“I’m just pouring us a glass of wine,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind.”
I had half expected her to be brandishing the power drill at me and I’m so happy she isn’t.
“That’s great, thanks,” I say, pouring her a glass of water.
She downs it in one and offers up her glass again for a refill. I oblige.
“So tell me Thomas, where, exactly, are we? I don’t remember getting here.”
The question doesn’t irritate me. It must be the way she asks things.
“I took you when you finished your shift at the supermarket, don’t you remember? You were crossing the car park and I jumped you and got you with an ether soaked handkerchief over your face.”
“Wow, I honestly don’t remember. Is that what you did to her too?”
Now I’m getting a little pissed. I wished she wouldn’t refer to the meat as a ‘her.’ The meat is meat, nothing more, nothing less.
“She is not a she anymore. She is a lump of meat, that’s all. I told you, we didn’t work out. I’ve moved on, and so has she. I’ve moved on and she has become meat.”
“I’m sorry Thomas, I didn’t mean to offend you, the dish looks lovely. I’m just curious about you, we are on a date, after all.”
I feel a little guilty. And there was me, all set to nail her to her seat.
“That’s OK, I understand you’re curious.” I raise my glass in a toast. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she says.
We drink the wine.
The meat ruins the moment by groaning. Eve spits her wine out across the table, staining the white table cloth.
