Worse yet, he wanted to attack.
"I don't know. I-I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. This is wonderful work. An artist should be passionate.
Raw bleeding passion is what makes an artist and if this is what you have inside of you then you should do quite wel. It reminds me of Francis Bacon." The art teacher smiled at him, laughing at his obvious embarrassment. Joe tried not to be insulted by her delight over his discomfort but he felt as if he was being patronized, even mocked.
Joe looked at the canvas again. It did look a little like something Francis
Bacon would have painted. He looked back at the art teacher's forced smile and now recognized it as little more than an attempt to reassure him. She was not ridiculing him. Not baring her fangs.
"Thank you," Joe whispered sheepishly.
"It real y is an intense piece." Despite her praise, Joe could stil hear the nervousness in her voice and smel the fear in her perspiration. His nostrils fil ed with the scent of her arousal.
Luckily she did absolutely nothing for him sexual y.
His classmates continued to gawk at his work, some praising, some condemning, others casting nervous, disgusted glances his way. Final y, the model, who'd run out of the room, came back.
Al eyes turned to her as she tiptoed back into the room with a robe wrapped around her and her shoes in her hands.
The slender woman looked over the teacher's shoulder at the canvas with her big, nervous, watery, doe eyes and then at Joseph. She shuddered. An insecure smile crept tentatively onto her lips, testing the waters before splashing across her face.
"Is this me? Is this how you see me?" Her voice was smal and timid but there was something sultry in it too. Her eyes locked with Joe's as if chal enging him.
"Yes. That's what I saw." Joe averted his eyes. Ashamed.
"I like it. It scares me. Nothing's ever real y scared me before."
"Then you can keep it."
"What? You can't give this away. At least let me pay you for it."
"No. It's yours. You inspired it. You should have it."
The model looked down at the canvas again with the angry slashes of red ripping through the pinks and tans and she shuddered once more.
"I inspired it?" she whispered, awed.
"Yes."
"Then let me take you out to dinner or something to pay for it."
Joe looked up at her with that carnivorous lust stil brimming in his eyes.
"I don't think that would be wise." The girl's mouth opened and then shut again. She wandered out of the room holding the canvas in front of her at arm's length, just staring at it. Everyone else got up and slowly filtered out of the room behind her. Joe quietly gathered up his things and left as wel.
He was so aroused that he almost sprinted across campus to get back to his dorm room to masturbate. It was late and he was hoping that his roommate would be out at one of the bars or something so he'd have a few moments alone.
He was barely through the door before the phone rang. It was his father again. He was drunk and in the mood to confess, to unburden his soul.
"Look, son, you know I love you, don't you? You're the only good thing in my world and I don't want you to turn out like me. That's why I'm so hard on you, boy. I just don't want you to wind up like me. I don't think it's in you anyway real y. You're too soft. Do you know what I am, son?
I've done terrible things, boy. Real y awful things. Not even your momma knows about it. But I think you should know… "
"You're drunk, Dad. Go to sleep." Joe hung up the phone and climbed under the covers. He didn't quite feel like masturbating anymore.
He slept for two hours and when he awoke there were three messages on his answering machine. They were al from his father.
"Joey? You there boy? I shouldn't be saying al of this on a damned machine. Answer the phone! I've got to tel you about that kid Damon, the one who attacked you when you were little. Joe, pick up the phone!"
Joe pressed the button to erase and the next message came on.
"Look… that Damon kid… I knew him. I ..
Joe erased that one too.
"There were a lot of women… and kids. I couldn't control myself. It was like… an addiction."
Joe hit ERASE and pul ed the phone cord out of the wal. He plopped down in front of the computer and opened a book to read. It was a zoological text cal ed Perfect Predators. Joe smiled as if laughing at some private joke.
Chapter Three
There are some cultures that believe you can only know God by examining his works. Not by reading a book or listening to the superstitious ramblings of some hypocritical child-molesting priest, but by watching his movements in nature. It fol owed logical y from there that to know what God wants you must look at those creatures who lack the wil to do other than what nature had intended of them, those creatures programmed by nature to act solely on instinct.
Joe liked to study animals, particularly the predators. It helped him to the predators. It helped him to understand the natural instincts that drove human behavior. Joe had many questions about so-cal ed aberrant behavior in humans. Could it be that what we cal ed aberrant behavior was in fact the natural state of man? Was there an instinct to kil? An instinct to rob, rape, maim, and destroy? In animals Joe saw every act that man had proclaimed criminal and sinful performed with startling regularity. In nature there was homosexuality, incest, patricide, matricide, infanticide, war, robbery, rape, necrophilia, and cannibalism. In countless nature documentaries Joe watched with interest as baboons murdered chimpanzees, ate their own young, and stole food from one another. He watched dogs raping their own mothers, and lions attacking and kil ing other male lions and murdering and cannibalizing their offspring. Joe didn't feel like such a monster when he looked at the behaviors God appeared to favor. God was apparently a lunatic.
Joe flipped through the pictures of the big jungle cats in his zoology book and felt a stirring kinship. They al enjoyed their positions at the top of their respective food chains. Yet man alone sat uncontested atop the global food chain, the superpredator. There was nothing on earth on which man did not prey in one way or another, either for food, clothing, medicines, hair products, jewelry, good luck charms, or merely for sport. Yet man had no natural predatorexcept man himself.
Joe stared in admiration at a picture of a sleek jaguar pouncing on a gazel e and smiled, imagining what it must feel like to take that first bite and taste the flood of warm blood from a lacerated artery fil your mouth. He turned the next page to a photograph of a baboon crushing the skul of a smal chimpanzee. The pain and terror in the monkey's eyes excited him. He imagined himself as the baboon, his jaws clamping down on the skul of a young coed, his sharp canines piercing her brain. Joe squirmed uncomfortably in his seat as his erection swel ed.
The hunger in his bel y merged with the hunger in his loins to form something dark and murderous, awakening the predator coiled in his gut waiting for the scent of prey. He looked at his sleeping roommate across the room, tucked beneath the blankets, snoring softly, and his stomach growled at the prospect of fresh meat. The monster was ravenous tonight.
Joe turned with effort away from the stil form of his roommate and closed the zoology book. He flicked on the PC and pul ed the monster out of his shorts, taking it firmly in hand. He was sick of studying. It was time for a break. He went online and quickly found his favorite website. He clicked on the icon at the bottom of the cannibal sex site and brought up a page labeled "The
Preparation of Human Flesh For Human
Consumption." He began to read as he masturbated in long languid strokes to the descriptions of dismemberment and cannibalism.
For the best taste, choose very firm breasts with large nipples (half an inch or more in length) that stand up high on a girl's chest. Large breasts (36C to
40DD) with fat marbled into the meat make the softest and moistest cuts, so easy to chew you can almost eat them raw. The breast should be sliced off close t
o the rib bones, thus leaving some muscle under the breast meat. Serve sliced thinly cut diagonal y, with or without the nipples intact, in sauce. If she is lactating you can use the milk to create a delicate cream sauce.
Joe began to salivate. He scrol ed down further on the Web page as he stroked himself energetical y, casting an occasional glance over at his sleeping roommate, hoping the guy wouldn't suddenly wake up and interrupt him. It would be a shame to have to kil him, although now he was certainly in the mood for it.
If the girl is to be cooked alive, she should be given several enemas and starved for at least 1-2 days prior to serving. She should be flushed out thoroughly (through both her anus and her urethra), al body hair removed
(except her head hair, if the head is to be used for decoration), and the body washed down completely. Before starting, a painkil er should be administered. A strong alcoholic beverage is suggested, as it tends to improve the taste of the meat. If you are thinking of marinating the meat in wine then you might consider using that wine as the anesthesia to begin the marinating process.
Once the girl is properly anesthetized, with a very sharp knife careful y open her bel y from just above her vagina to her sternum, not slicing too deep. Unlike venison or beef this meat is best served rather gamy, rich with the taste of fear. You want the girl to be alive right up until you cut off the first tender slice of this most choice and delicious meat.
"Yes!" Joe exclaimed breathlessly, shuddering with ecstasy as he reached up to pinch his nipples and slather his palm in saliva. Joe desperately wanted to know what the flesh of a living, breathing woman tasted like. He wanted her to be conscious and aware, watching as he tore the meat from her bones. He reached back down and took his erection in hand again, delighting in the slick feel of his own saliva as he jerked on his blood-gorged penis.
You may decide to leave the uterus intact as this can be stuffed. Rinse out the body cavity with clean water, rub the inside with butter and herbs. Core out the anus and stitch shut. Stuff her bel y if desired with rice or stuffing mix, and sew the incision shut. Weigh her after gutting and stuffing and calculate her cooking 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 predator and prey he should have felt 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 grou
p 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.
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