#286 Dog Meat

#262 A Visitor                         

 

Saturday night and John’s watching the boob tube, by himself, again.  What’s wrong with him, he wonders for the thousandth time. Twenty-seven years old, and he’s practically a virgin. It’s been so long. Why in the hell couldn’t he find a woman to spend some time with? Spend time, hell, have sex with. There are women out there, looking for a guy just like him. So, he’s not considered handsome, but he has been pumping iron since high school and has a muscular and well toned body.

He wondered if he’s too picky about which women he’ll date. They have to fit his criteria, not too tall or short. Good looking with a shapely tight figure with the perfect sized breasts. He thinks that anything more than a mouthful is a waste. She can’t have — Heck, he could go on for hours talking about what he wants. The point is who he can get to keep him company on Saturday nights.

At work Joe told John he met his wife on Craig’s List, but John wasn’t that hard up, he thinks. When John sits in front of his computer, his reptilian brain directs his fingers to type out:  craigslist.com. The Craig’s list page comes up and he figures he may as well take a look and see what’s available.

He clicks on Women seeking men and has to agree that he’s at least 18 years old, and understands the women seeking men page may include adult content. He agrees to release craigslist from any liability that may arise from his use of their site and a few other things. He scans the page and sees a place to go to ask questions about safe sex. He clicks on it, and holy shit. The things he sees make him wonder what kind of freaks he’s going to meet on this site.

Looking at the questions really makes John think he should just click his way off the page, but his curiosity wants answers, so he reads on.

 

The first discussion he reads starts with open sore on anus. He doesn’t know if it’s a man or a woman who has an open sore because only initials are used to identify the writer. He doesn’t want to know, and doesn’t give a damn what he/she looks like. Or wait, maybe he does want to know what a person with an ass sore looks like so if he ever sees that person, he can cross the street.

He clicks on the back arrow, but still under control of his reptilian brain, his fingers click the Women Seeking Men link. He doesn’t want to continue this romance charade any longer and wrests control away from the primitive part of his brain, and his finger is about to click on the mouse when his eyes lock on the words, “Money and looks are irrelevant to this 23 year old medical doctor from Midland, Texas, now living in Prescott, AZ. What are important to me are a healthy lifestyle and a healthy body. I’ll send a photo to qualified men. To qualify you must send me the results of a recent physical exam.”

Wow a doctor at 23. She must be Doogie Howser’s sister,He can’t blame her for wanting to see a physical exam record after reading about open sores on a butt-hole. He fits the bill for what she’s looking for, but wait a minute. She says beauty. Maybe she’s one of those heavy duty beauties. There’s nothing wrong with big women, but he can’t help himself, he wants the woman of his dreams, and he’d rather not have one than compromise.

He figures he may as well see what she looks like, he pulls out a copy of the physical he had last month wondering exactly what she can learn from it. He looks it over. Blood pressure, heart rate, blood type. His doctor wrote a notation across the top, No disease, or infections. He’s not giving away any secrets by sending it to her. He gets a recent picture of himself, scans it and the report onto his computer and sends them off.

Not expecting much he waits a few minutes for her picture. When it doesn’t arrive, he shuts off his computer and returns to the boob tube to watch SNL.

The next morning when he turns on his computer to check his e-mail, there is a message from Debby. John figures it’s probably one of those ads from a dating or porn site. To be sure he clicks on it. A photo appears.  His eyes fill with images of perfect hooters, like in his dreams. After filling his brain with visions of those rose colored nipples, he raises his eyes and sees sparkling blue eyes, blond hair and a figure that looks just perfect. He isn’t into porn, but after seeing Debby, he thinks that if she’s the star, it can’t hurt to watch a little.

He reads the message under the picture and almost falls out of his chair, “John, your picture shows me that you’re a healthy young man. If the report you sent me about your health is accurate, I think we can get together. Are you willing to confirm its accuracy? If you are, let’s meet for coffee and see what we think of each other.”

John types as fast as he can, “This afternoon, at Cuppers, say 1:00.” He clicks send.

He reads her return e-mail and replies, “See you then.”

Only two hours to get ready. He frantically searches for something to wear that may impress her. He doesn’t have anything nice. He never goes anywhere. He chooses his best gym outfit. She wants someone healthy, maybe that will impress her. He can’t believe his good fortune. Not only does he meet a woman the first time on Craigslist, but she seems like the perfect one. He can hardly wait to meet her and arrives at Cuppers at exactly one o’clock. He walks around looking for her. She isn’t there. He should have known it was too good to be true, a beautiful woman like her making a date with him. She probably made dates with a hundred guys for fun, or to satisfy some weird whim.

John orders a latte, sits down, buries his face in a newspaper.

“Hello, Hello.” He hears a woman say in a husky voice. He doesn’t look up. She can’t be speaking to him John thinks, until she says, “John don’t you recognize me?”

He looks up, drops his coffee onto the table. It splashes over his shirt, burns his hand. His chest constricts, and his heart races. Debby stands right in front of him. She’s wearing a maroon halter top with a matching skirt that’s not much bigger than the napkin he has on his lap. Her photo was breathtaking but seeing her in person does things to John’s body that had never been done before. His legs shake, and he’s nervous as she sits down across from him. He can’t take his eyes off her thighs as she adjusts her short skirt.

“John, you’re much better looking in person than in the photo you sent. That’s refreshing for a change. Most guys send me their high school picture from twenty years ago. Some even send someone else’s physical report. You didn’t do that, did you John?”

“No, no, I swear, the one I sent is mine,” John said.

“I like you John. We can probably spend the night together this coming Saturday, if you want. Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I do, just a sma. . .”

“Good.” She interrupts him. “I just want to be sure that no one disturbs us.”

Spend the night! He can hardly believe it. He writes his address on a piece of paper and hands it to her. “What time Saturday?”

“Hold on John. I told you I had to confirm the accuracy of your lab report. I know it’s an unusual request, but with all the STDs out there I have to be sure you’re not a carrier.”

“I understand completely.” God, he’d give her anything she wants.

“Then you won’t mind giving me a urine sample and a mouth swab for DNA? Just so I can run it through to be sure. I’m terrified of contracting AIDS or something.”

With the world the way it is, he can’t blame her for being cautious. He glances at her smooth white thighs outlined against the maroon lining of her skirt and his eyes following them as far as they can see. His imagination sees what his eyes can’t. His legs feel as though they might collapse from thoughts of touching what his imagination sees. He can’t refuse her request. She hands him a clear plastic cup with a screw on cap. He goes to the men’s room to fill it. When he returns she’s ready with a cotton swab.

“Stick this in your mouth and rub it against your cheek,” she says.

He doesn’t hesitate for a second, swabs his cheek, and hands her the cotton on a stick with samples of him on it.

“Okay, you’ve got everything you asked for. Will I see you Saturday?” John asks.

“Depends if everything checks out,” she says, “I’ll call you one way or the other.”

“Let me give you my number?”

“Got it off the medical report you sent.”

She leaves.

John beats himself up all that day, and the next, telling himself what he should and should not have done. He sits there with his head in his hands. Did he screw up somehow? Will she actually come to his apartment and spend the night with him?

The phone rings Saturday afternoon. When he hears her husky voice, he sits down, expecting her to tell him she isn’t coming.

“Well, John, I’ve got good news. Everything checked out fine.”

He knows he won’t ever have to worry about catching anything from her. If she checks everyone she has sex with like this, she’ll never contract any disease. Heck, he decides that he won’t even use a rubber. If she gets pregnant, maybe she’ll marry him.

“So you’re coming tonight?” he asks.

“I’ll be there at eight.”

Saturday night comes and Debby rings the bell at 8:03.  Incense and candles burn, champagne sits in a bucket of ice beside a bouquet of roses. John wears a brand new outfit he got from J.C. Penney’s on Friday. He has dumped half a bottle of Fragonard Cologne Grand Luxe all over himself, and smells like mandarin orange, bergamot peel, lemon, and lavender. She’ll find him irresistible.

He opens the door and sees her in a scoop necked giraffe print lycra bra top with matching shorts. When she bends over to pick up her bag, an open circle in the back of her top exposes cream colored skin that set him on fire.  She carries a small suitcase. Her night stuff and a change of clothes he figures.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to change after the gym,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. Come on in,”

She sits and John pours her a glass of champagne, then he takes her bag, when he carries it to the bedroom, he’s surprised at the heft of it. He hurries back to the living room.

“Do you want to watch TV?” he asks. What a dufus. A beautiful woman comes to his apartment, and he asks if she wants to watch TV. He should kick himself.

“I’d rather drink and talk,” she says.

Wow, is she cool, but maybe she’s moving a little too fast for him. Drink, talk, and then sex. He swallows his drink. She pours him another.

“I want you to know my clients are very, very important to me,” she says.

“Your clients?”

“Yes, my  clients are all needy and on their last legs. I’m willing to do almost anything to help them. Drink up,” she says.

He wonders why she’s telling him this. Then his head begins to spin.

He wakes up face down on his bed, naked. Did he pass out before sex? He wishes he could remember. He tries to roll over, but can’t. Then he sees the heavy chains around the metal bedpost attached to manacles on his wrists. He tries to pull them free, but they’re wrapped in solid stainless steel. He tries kicking, but his legs are chained too.

“Help,” he yells as loud as he can.

“Don’t yell, John, or I’ll be forced to put a gag in your mouth.”

Is she one of those kinky women who like to chain up their men during sex?

“Did I pass out or something?” he asks

“No, I put Roofies in the champagne.”

The date rape drug? Men use it on women. He’d never heard of a woman using it to rape a man. “We can’t have sex with me lying on my stomach. If you’re going to rape me, you’ll have to roll me over.”

“Don’t worry, John, I’m not going to rape you.”

“I was hoping you would. If you’re not going to, why drug me and chain me up?”

“To get you ready.”

He turns his head as far as he can and finds she has changed into scrubs. What the f . . .

“Get me ready for what?”

He turns his head to the other side. That’s when he sees what had been in her suitcase besides chains and manacles. Gleaming surgical tools have been laid out on the dresser, along with a power saw, screwdrivers, a hammer, and an electric drill.

“This is a joke right, you’re not really going to use those tools on me. Are you?”

“I wish it was a joke, John, but— there is a knock on the door. “Be right back. Don’t go away,” she says.

Thank God, somebody came to save him, maybe. He hears male voices, and shouts. “Help” as loud as he can. Debby appears pushing a cart through the door with tubes attached to it, and a half dozen or so Styrofoam coolers.

“What the hell is going on?

“This machine will keep your organs oxygenated while I work. I already told you that I’d do almost anything to help my patients, John. I have so many in desperate needs. Tonight I have to harvest a liver, heart, kidney, pancreas and some odds and ends. Doesn’t it make you feel good to know you’re helping so many people?”

“Why, why are you doing this?” he yells.

“I’m just doing my job John, nothing personal.”

“Why, why are you doing this?” he yells.

“I’m just doing my job John, nothing personal.”

“Wait, you’re a doctor, you can’t do this. And you’ll never get away with it. I heard men’s voices. They know you’re here, and when my body is found, you’ll go to jail.”

“My interns flew in from India to help me. They’ve gone down to the truck to bring up some ice, and a body bag. When I’m finished they’ll bring your remains to the factory so there won’t be a body to find after that.”

“Factory! What factory?”

“Our dog food factory.”

John twists and turns with all his might and tries to scream before she stuffs his underpants in his mouth, picks up a hypodermic needle and sticks his arm.

“This will kill the pain, John.” she says and then turns on the electric saw. As soon as the blade touches his skin, he screams into his underpants. His vision is fading, but before he blacks out he realizes she’s serious, and knows he’s—dog meat.

 

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