The Knobscot Cannibals

Excerpt 2

Frankly, this is not how I had expected things to go. I had expected an extended period of bandying erotic e-mails back and forth until whoever my correspondent really was would grow tired of the game and disappear. I fully expected that "Crystal" was, in reality, probably some old guy with a sick sense of humor, or an old bag of a woman pretending to be the luscious young woman in the photo. The fact that "Crystal" jumped so readily at an invitation for a personal meeting was suspicious, to say the least. Maybe "she" was a grizzled cop somewhere looking for male predators on the internet, or trolling for serial killer suspects.

Working in "Crystal's" favor, at this point, was the fact that she had not represented herself as some kind of hot, teenage slut looking for thrills. If she had described herself as a sixteen year old Lolita, I would have said "Thanks, but no thanks," and run the other way. Well, maybe not, but I would have been far more circumspect with my e-mails. This person, however, claimed to be of age and perfectly willing to meet for the purposes of discussing her death. Nutcase? Cop trap? For real? It was an interesting enigma that transcended my original plans for erotic amusement. I had to find out. I had to meet this person! If she showed up.

I instructed her to meet me at five o'clock at a Burger King near where Routes 90 and 84 intersect near Sturbridge. If she was coming from northern New Jersey, that would be a pretty direct route through Hartford, Connecticut. If she didn't show up, at least I'd get a hearty (if not gourmet) meal before heading back to the Boston area. I told her I'd be wearing a full-brimmed leather hat and wearing a bright red shirt. She wrote back that she'd also be dressed in red, all in red, including a very brief micro-mini and red heels. She even gave me a cell phone number to call in case she was late. It was beginning to look like she actually would show. But she could still be a cop. This should be fun, I thought.

I could barely sleep Saturday night previewing in my mind all the possible ways this meeting might play out, if it happened at all. Was she serious? Was it possible there might be women in this world who juiced their pants at the prospect of being slaughtered and eaten? Could I have found one with just a few simple ads? Or would this be a fencing match between myself and an undercover female cop trying to ensnare me? Or even a guy in drag. Or a cop in full regalia. The endless night and the long trip to Sturbridge gave me plenty of time to think of ways to meet any eventuality.

As it turned out, a lady in red actually put in an appearance, and she was just as beautiful as her picture. Not a movie star type of beauty. No cookie-cutter perfection straight out of Playboy or People . There was a slight bump in her nose and her bust, though abundant and firm with nipples poking intriguingly at her top, was not outlandish. Nevertheless, her figure was elegant and her intense blue eyes melted me on contact. She was wearing a red halter top, a red micro-mini that barely covered her assets and four-inch high red heels with pointed toes. She spotted me in my booth at once, swept over and sat opposite me.

"You're Byron." It came out as a statement.

"I am. And you, obviously, are Crystal."

"You're much better looking than I ever thought I could hope for," she said, skipping any preliminary small talk. "It will make things so much more exciting. Do I suit your needs, physically?"

"You're exquisite! Even better in person than your photo. May I order for you?"

She gave me her preferences straight out and waited for me at the table as I went to the counter to place the orders. She never took her eyes off me the whole time. There's something not right about this, I thought. It's too easy. She's too beautiful. I'll have to be very careful.

I set her cheeseburger and coke before her and settled down with my Whopper and fries, basking in the heat of her glorious smile. "So," I ventured as I unwrapped the whopper, "how did you happen to come across my ad?" It wasn't the brightest conversation opener, but I was disconcerted by her gaze and the need to tread carefully. There was no way this stunning young woman could be harboring a desire to end her life. She had to be a cop.

She took a dainty bite out of the burger, then licked the juicy edge of the meat, never breaking eye contact with me.

"I read a lot, including internet literary sites. About five years ago I ran across some stories about cannibalism and became fascinated with the subject. I was especially turned on by stories of women being turned into meat." She took another delicate bite out of the cheeseburger. "God! Can you picture what it would be like to be cooked publically and then eaten like so much beef?" See looked up at me through her blond eyelashes and licked some juice off her lips. "I can. It's just the most erotic thing I can imagine. I'm getting tingly and damp right now just thinking about it."

She continued to stare at me as she chewed, squirming a little in her seat. I was beginning to get aroused myself! I thought of her long naked legs under the table and wondered what she was wearing under that tiny red skirt. It was all I could do to keep from touching her.

"So you really do want to die?"

"No, of course not. But that's what gives it such an amazing thrill, like no other. To offer myself as meat, to be slaughtered like so much livestock and cooked." She narrowed her eyes at me. "What? Why do you look at me like that? Don't tell me this was all just a prank, that you don't really plan to do it? I'd really hate it if I came all the way up here just to find our you're a fraud."

"No, no! It's just hard to believe that anyone as young and lovely as you is willing to be killed."

"I don't want to be murdered, if that's what you mean. There are lots of places I could go if I wanted to be raped and murdered. That's not my fantasy. My dream is what you talked about in your ad and your e-mails. I want my death to be part of a grand ceremonial occasion, elaborate and beautiful, and I want to have a key role in planning it. I've never been married, so this, I've decided, will be my wedding. It's a perfect rush! The bride as food, offering herself as meat for the wedding banquet. The husband and all his guests will celebrate by feasting on the bride!"

"And who's the lucky husband?"

"Why . . . you , of course."

If this was a trap, it was an incredibly erotic trap. I decided to play along with it, albeit choosing my words carefully. "Well, I have been married, and my recollection is that the best part of the deal, from the husband's perspective, is what follows all that stuff — the ceremony, the reception, the banquet. The best part is the wedding night." I raised my eyebrows, challenging her to respond.

"Sex, you mean. Well of course! There will have to be sex! That's why I said it was a pleasant surprise that you turned out to be so attractive. If we do it right, there'll be lots of sexual energy building up. We need to make use of it, incorporate it into the festivities. Maybe consummate our 'union' publically as part of the ceremony. Besides, you and our guests will have the extended erotic pleasure of watching me being cooked and dining on my meat, so it's only fair that I enjoy some extra pleasure, too, before lights-out."

She took another bite of her cheeseburger.

I leaned closer. "So you really do want to go through with this. You really are ready to die?"

She stopped chewing. "What's the matter? Are you backing out? Was your ad a phoney?"

"Absolutely not. It was genuine. I meant every word."

"But you've changed your mind? You don't want to go through with it?"

"No I have not changed my mind and yes I do want to go through with it. But . . . and please forgive me, Crystal . . . I find it very difficult to believe you're not . . . putting me on."

"Putting you on?"

"Again, forgive me, but it seems rather suspicious. I mean, you're beautiful, young, exceedingly desirable . . . it just doesn't make sense that you want to throw away your life. Why would you do that? How do I know you're what you claim to be? That you're not something else?"

She gaped at me for a minute, then comprehension flooded her eyes. "You think I'm a cop?" When I merely shrugged, she nodded. "You think I'm a cop!" She smiled mischievously at me and polished off her burger, licking her fingers. "Finish your dinner," she ordered, "and don't go away. I need to go to the restroom."

She returned as I was polishing off the last of the whopper. She sat down demurely, holding something in her lap under the table that I couldn't see and staring at me with a cat-like grin, her bright eyes boring into my soul. After a few minutes of teasing silence, she said, as if scripted, "So you think I'm a big bad cop trying to set you up. Is that because you've done this before, Byron? Have you been luring innocent, unsuspecting young women into your confidence and then plopping them into a cauldron of boiling water?"

"No," I protested, thinking that's exactly the kind of question a wired undercover cop would ask. Then realizing how ridiculous the question was.

"Do you have a garden full of bones from murdered girls you enticed into your web with honeyed promises of being slaughtered and cooked after they cut all relations with the outside world? But now your guilty conscience has made you suspect every new hapless victim of being the relentless arm of the law catching up to you?" She delivered the question with an almost straight face.

"Crystal, how could a promise of being slaughtered entice an innocent . . ."

"Are you finished yet? With your meal?"

"Yes, I . . ."

"Then would you throw these away with the trash, please, and meet me outside."

She drew her hands out from under the table and plunked a clump of lacey red material between our empty burger wrappers, then rose and strode smartly toward the main entrance, her head high, that enigmatic smile still in place. I picked up the material and found I was holding a see-through bra and a matching pair of thong panties. I clamped both hands quickly over the material, feeling my face turn as scarlet as the flimsy garments. I shoved them into my pockets, glancing around to see if anyone was gawking at the show. With as much fake aplomb as I could manage, I ditched the meal trash into the nearest bin and walked out of the restaurant, trying unsuccessfully not to think about the silky material nestled in with my car keys and what it meant about Crystal's current attire. She was waiting for me just outside the door and took my hand as I approached.

"Come on." She towed me across the diagonal length of the vast parking area, her heels clicking on the tarmac, her blond hair bouncing around her neck. It had been cut since that beach photo, I noticed for the first time. Her chest was thrown out proudly and the shape of her nipples were clearly embossed in the thin halter top. I watched the tops of her golden thighs tossing the hem of the micro as she walked, thinking about what would be exposed with the slightest gust of wind. I felt a stirring that I knew would soon be embarrassingly obvious.

We stopped at a red Beretta where she opened the passenger side door for me, then went around to open the driver's side door. When we were both inside, she turned on the engine and the air conditioning, then sat back, her head against the backrest, and watched me silently for a few moments, that cryptical smile still playing about her mouth and eyes.

"Look, Crystal," I started to say, "I just have to be very careful that . . ."

She leaned over and put her mouth over mine, sliding her tongue between my teeth, shutting off my words. She took my right hand and pushed it up under her halter, placing it on her right breast. Her skin was warm and soft, her nipple hard. As I began to knead it she took my left hand and tucked it under the hem of her skirt and over her mound of Venus. She held it there and gyrated her hips until my middle finger slipped into the warm tunnel between her legs. Then she moved her own hand to the firm instrument rising in the crotch of my own pants. Despite the interference of the gearshift between our bucket seats, she managed to unzip me and treat that swollen part of me to such divine ministrations that soon I had fountained all over my pants.

"Now," she breathed in my ear, "do you still think I'm a cop? Do you need to strip search me to make sure? Go ahead, if you want. I don't mind. Would you like me to stand outside the car and take off the rest of my clothes so you can look for wires? I'll do it, if you want, and if you don't mind drawing a little attention. Modesty is not a hangup for me. My dream is to be cooked and eaten, so what do I care if a bunch of strangers see me naked?"

She held on to my manhood and testicles with a gentle grip as she waited for my answer.

"No," I said, looking down at the mess I'd made of my pants. "I think you've passed the test."

She laughed and gave me a push. "Out! Out! I'm going home now to give you time to think about it. If you still have the guts to go through with it, read this." She opened the glove compartment and plucked out an envelope. "Don't open it here. Go home, think things over. Then, if you really intend to do what you advertised and still think I satisfy your requirements, come get me. But you'll have to go about it my way, and I've spelled it all out in here." She handed me the envelope, leaned across me, opened my door and shoved me toward the opening.

I was still preoccupied with rezipping my fly and hiding the front of my semen-coated pants from the view of burger oriented families as she backed up and peeled out of the lot. By the time I reached the privacy of my own Camry I was ready for the letter. Here's what she wrote in her own hand:

Dear Byron,

If I've given this to you, it means I've decided to trust you. A single meeting is hardly a basis for trust in most circumstances, but this one is rather untypical. What I am entrusting to you is not my life but my death. I have already ceded to you my life, if you want it. We have read each other's words on the internet and this meeting was mostly to allow me to see you in person to verify that you are real and can satisfy my own fantasies on the physical level. I have a pretty reliable intuition about people when I am able to meet with them and make personal contact. If I came on to you rather aggressively or allowed you to do so with me, it was to make that vital contact. Consequently, if I have misjudged you, I have mostly myself to blame because once this "project" is underway it will be easy for you to take advantage of me.

Please understand that although I am agreeing with this letter to let you kill me, it does not mean that I'm not afraid of dying. Actually, it's that fear, mixed with the knowledge of what will follow, that gives me such a rush. My nipples harden and my hands tremble with the anticipation of it even as I write this letter. When I say I've decided to trust you, I mean that I have decided that you seem to have the integrity and honesty to do as you have promised: that you will allow me to have a major role in planning how I will die, how I will be cooked, how I will be eaten and by whom. I ask only that after I turn my body and what remains of my life over to you, you do not betray my trust.

I have put these words on paper because whether or not you decide to go through with this venture, there must be only one further e-mail between us. If you decide you'd rather bow out, or that I'm not suited, or that you can't promise me a true partnership in the planning and execution of the event, please let me know and that will be the end of it. If, on the other hand, you decide to proceed and are willing to accept my conditions, please send an innocuous message that includes the code words: "It was fun chatting with you Tuesday." For your own safety, do NOT say anything incriminating in case someone alerts the authorities that I've gone missing and they manage to discover my e-mail address. I will take a number of steps to keep that from happening, but you can't be too careful.

So, my dear Byron, the ball — as they say — is in your court. If I see those words in my e-mail, I will take it as your commitment to proceed and I WILL disappear from the world, putting myself into your hands for my care, keeping and ultimate conversion into an extraordinary dining experience. I will close my bank account, notify my landlord, quit my job and let it be known that I'm off to the West Coast to check out some possible opportunities. I'll get rid of all my possessions, every damn thing except what I can put in a suitcase. I will also remove and destroy the hard drive from this computer and send the eviscerated husk to the dump. I will meet you at the same place we met earlier, not inside the restaurant itself but near where I parked. I'll be in my car, which we can dispose of any way you see fit. Please specify the day and time of our meeting by including in your e-mail the phrase, "Sorry I can't attend that outing you mentioned on [DATE and TIME] because I've arranged to meet a guy in Boston that day." Give me at least a week from the date and time you state to take care of all the arrangements I mentioned.

As you can imagine, this is scary stuff for me. I'm making it possible for you to kill me and get away with it. All I'm asking in return is that you don't take advantage of my trust to hurt me and spoil my share of the thrill. All I ask is that you let me live out my portion of the fantasy. If you are willing to grant me that, I will surrender my body and my life to you on the day of your choosing.

Crystal

I was overwhelmed. And facing a dilemma. What had begun as an off-the-wall lark had turned serious. Maybe. There was still the chance that Crystal was now yanking my chain. She had certainly seemed genuine enough when she'd all but raped me in her car. But what did that prove? Other than that she's not shy. And not a cop. Maybe she's a prostitute who was paid by some other prankster, or even a group of practical jokers, to set me up. Or worse: maybe she's part of some vigilante group out to snare male perverts and carve them into tiny pervertlettes. Of course, she could be also simply be crazy, some kind of schizophrenic nymphomaniac. But what if she was real? Was I really ready to follow through? I could readily envision nights of fabulous sex with her; but could I actually slaughter and eat her? And if I chickened out, what would she do? Assuming she really did unload all her worldly possessions and burn her bridges. Should I simply pick up the thrown gauntlet and see what develops, be it trick or treat? Or cut and run?

By the time I arrived at my house in Knobscot, I had decided there was no way I could resist the pull of curiosity. If she was a no-show for this second meeting, I would pop in my favorite CD and tool on home. If a gang of vigilante hoods showed up to meet me, I'd greet them with a loaded shotgun. If a gaggle of irate feminists confronted me in the parking lot, I'd laugh, hand them a bouquet of roses to give to Crystal and explain how it was all part of a research paper for Psychology Today tied in with the Armin Meiwes cannibalism case in Germany. But what if she really did show up with a suitcase and a disposable car? What if she really meant it, really did want to be eaten? Well, I'd just take things as they came, see how far she'd go with it, how much sex she'd be willing to put out for my continuing interest.

I sent off an e-mail the instant Windows was able to connect me to Yahoo.

Dear Crystal,

It was fun chatting with you last Tuesday. Sorry I can't attend that outing you mentioned on Friday, July 30 ^th at 12 noon because I've arranged to meet a guy in Boston that day.

As to all that other stuff, I am definitely willing to meet all your conditions. Your dreams and aspirations are no less important than my own. Negotiating the details with you will be more than half the fun. I look forward to a close and mutually rewarding partnership.

Byron.

It was done. Whatever wheel that coded message had set in motion was off and rolling. There was no way of telling whether it would generate disaster, disappointment or delight, but, God! it was excruciatingly exciting!