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Subject: Cannibal 4H Chapter 19 1/2 (Snuff, Violence)
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Submitted for your approval, as the late Rod Serling would say, a story for
adults only. A grisly tale of lust, infidelity, sex, violence, death, revenge
and the consumption of human beings by other human beings we call Cannibal 4H
Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends.

If you are newly come to the telling of this continuing tale be aware our
little morality play is graphic in its descriptions of events and not for the
squeamish or the puritanical. Nor is it meant for minors.  Heed well this
warning. Continue on and will

 “a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young
blood,
make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hairs to stand an end,
like quills upon a fretful porpentine . . . ”

Cannibal 4H chronicles the saga of two young people, Joey Geryon and his
girlfriend Linda Sue, their friends, neighbours and acquaintances and their
adventures in a world where raising human cattle is the norm.

You, dear reader, are accessing this story of your own free will, cognizant
the consequences of doing so are for you and you alone to bear. Remember,
this is not intended to be perused by the prudish.

This story is posted in instalments. This instalment contains Chapter 19. To
get previous instalments of C4H you can either go to the Dejanews ASSC
archive (www.dejanews.com) and power search the alt.sex.snuff.cannibalism
newsgroup for "ASSC Cannibal 4H" starting at September 1, 1997 through the
current date or go to:

www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/10900.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/10901.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14459.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14694.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15003.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15004.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15617.txt

Sadly, this instalment marks a change in the posting schedule for C4H. Due to
a variety of factors, the free time available to pen this story has shrunk to
the point where it has become impossible to keep to a weekly or even a
bi-weekly schedule. At times I have finished a chapter at 3:00 a.m. on the
morning of the Friday it was scheduled for posting.  Continuing to hold to a
biweekly schedule would, I am afraid, mean a far less satisfying end product
both for the reader and the author.  As a result, and for what I hope will be
only a short interval, C4H will be posted once a month.

Happily, this new schedule should allow for the postings of larger chapters
which, like the one which follows, are more complete and self-contained.

Our story so far:

In Chapter One: A New Project by Neuralmancer --- we meet Joey who lives on a
human cattle ranch owned by his father. His girlfriend, Linda Sue, uses her
feminine charm to convince Joey's dad to allow Joey to raise and enter a human
cattle in the upcoming judging at the Cannibal 4H fair.

In Chapter Two: The Fair by Neuralmancer --- Joey and Linda Sue take their
human cow to the fair. Watching the activities in the butchering tent leads
them to an afternoon of carnal delight, followed by a repast of medium done
portions of human cattle thigh and rump well covered with barbecue sauce,
onions and mushrooms. Joey envisions Linda Sue rotating about a cooking
flame.

In Chapter Three: The Slaughtering by Eurytion --- we find Joey and Linda Sue
on their way to Japan, reminiscing about their first Cannibal 4H fair. We
meet Al Crenshaw, owner of Crenshaw Superior Meats who has bought Joey's blue
ribbon- winning cow. Joey and Linda Sue lend a hand in the slaughtering.

In Chapter Four: A Maverick's Conversion by Eurytion --- Linda Sue catches
Valerie, Joey's thirteen year old neighbour who has a huge crush on Joey
without her identification badge. Under the fair's rules, that makes her a
maverick to be claimed by the first person who finds her. Linda Sue
relinquishes her claim to Joey who reluctantly decides to have the youngster
converted by McCains into livestock for his new human veal venture.

In Chapter Five: A Brother's Visit by Eurytion --- Cow 701's former brother
Billy and Joey patch up a friendship strained by Valerie's conversion. 
Billy, acting on the advice of his grief counsellor, participates in the
feeding of 701 and enjoys his former sister's oral ministrations. We learn,
to achieve "closure" his entire family has "to be there when they butcher her
and then we have to help eat her."

In Chapter Six: Evaluations and Judgments by Eurytion --- Linda Sue is sized
up by a professional and given a passing grade. Cow 701 passes a father’s
muster as does her owner. And we learn of Joey’s final promise to Valerie.

In Chapter Seven:  At the Fair by Eurytion --- Cow 701 arrives at the fair.
Linda Sue models spits for a special barbecue. And Joey tips his hand.

In Chapter Eight: A Fijian Feast by Eurytion  --- Cow 701 pleases the judges
while Linda Sue pleasures the cook.  Billy learns the true meaning of finger
licking good and a trip to the South Seas is contemplated.

In Chapter Nine: Patty’s Lesson by Eurytion --- Another young girl learns a
valuable lesson and Joey is given an idea for a new branch of the business

In Chapter Ten: Reaching Closure by Eurytion --- Although it’s hard, Joey
keeps his promise to Valerie. Linda Sue  dispatches one adversary only to
meet a more formidable foe.  Despite the recovery of a missing item, Valerie
loses her head. Taking a cue from the rest of the family, Billy advances
relations with his cousin Terri.

In Chapter Eleven: The Sunday Dinner by Eurytion --- The Howitts say goodbye
to Valerie while Linda Sue suggests a family replacement.

In Chapter Twelve: The Plot Advances by Eurytion --- Joey suggests Terri and
Linda Sue engage in a game of horse.  A sparkling new friendship is formed
while an almost cow plots revenge.

In Chapter Thirteen: The War Begins by Eurytion --- Anneliese strikes her
first blow against human cattle ranching while an old friend of her aunt’s
frets about the future.

In Chapter Fourteen: The Eyes Have It by Eurytion --- A brush with
incontinence leads Anneliese to stumble upon her inamorata.

In Chapter Fifteen: The Pinto Project by Eurytion --- Joey goes dotty over a
new undertaking.

In Chapter Sixteen: At The Stables by Eurytion --- We visit Kyner Stables to
find a home for Terri and Linda Sue

In Chapter Seventeen: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion --- We look
at the hidden occurrences in the souls of our main characters.

In Chapter Eighteen: In Training by Eurytion --- A pair of new ponies are put
through their paces preparatory to the Chiron Cup races.

As always, my thanks to Neuralmancer for allowing me to be a sharecropper on
his farm.

Eurytion

And now Cannibal 4H Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by Eurytion

“THE DEFENDANT WILL RISE and face the court!” Ashen faced, the young man at
the small oak table complied with the bailiff’s order, his body stiff and
trembling. His court appointed lawyer also stood placing a comforting hand on
his client’s shoulder. Guards posted at both ends of the table took a step
closer to the accused.

The case had captured the interest of the community.  The crowd in the
courtroom was heavier than normal, filling about one-third the room’s
capacity. When viewed from the Judge’s perspective, the first two rows of
benches, with only a few gaps in the seating, resembled a hockey player’s
smile.	The local press had given extensive coverage to the proceedings,
including interviews with Anneliese Dracon. Anneliese had not hesitated in
using the forum she was given to continue her denunciation of human cattle
farming.

Although the community overwhelmingly supported human cattle ranching, the
cattle rights activists generally being perceived as “wackos,” even the
strongest advocates of the practice admitted, if true, the conduct of the
defendant was criminal. Anneliese rejoiced at what she saw as the first break
in the acceptance of this repugnant vice and planned to take full advantage
of it.

“Madame foreman, has the jury reached a verdict,” the Judge asked, silence
descending on the courtroom like a thick woolen blanket.

“We have your honour.”

“Please read your verdict to the assembled court.”

“On count one, misrepresentation, we the jury find the accused guilty as
charged. On count two, violation of privacy, we the jury find the accused
guilty as charged. On count three, impersonation of an individual, we the
jury find the accused guilty as charged. ”

With each of the jury’s pronouncements, the defendant slumped closer to the
floor, his courage deserting him like water pouring from a leaky bucket. Only
the strong arms of the guards prevented his total collapse.

“On count four attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury find the accused
guilty as charged. On count five attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury
find the accused guilty as charged.”

Even though he knew the basic futility of the gesture, the defense lawyer
addressed the Judge. “Your honour, we respectfully request  the jury be
polled.”

One by one the members of the jury individually affirmed their combined
verdicts, each repetition of “guilty” taking on the cadence of drums played
during the march to the gallows.

The Judge looked sternly down at the now convicted felon. “Professor Cymbal,”
he said his stentorian voice filling the farthest crannies of the courtroom.
“A jury of your peers has found you guilty on all counts. In accordance with
our laws, it is now my sworn duty to pronounce sentence upon you. In this I
am left with no discretion as the statute prescribes the punishment for your
crime.

“Therefore, it is the order of the court  your status as a human is to be
terminated immediately. From this point forward you are cast from our society
to live out the remainder of your life as livestock, “ Even as the judge was
speaking the guards began to bind and gag the sobbing felon.

“You are to be taken from this courtroom,” continued the judge ignoring the
weak and useless struggle taking place in front of him,  “and transported to
the medical facilities at the county jail. There your vocal cords shall be
severed. You are to be tagged and marked with a cattle identification number.
 On the morrow you will be transported to the auction yard where you will be
held until you are offered for sale at the first regularly scheduled auction.

“Durum hoc est sed ita lex scripta est. This is harsh, but thus the law was
written.”

The abrupt bang of the judge’s gavel echoed off the walnut paneled walls as
the newly adjudicated animal was led from the courtroom. Too petrified to
walk without assistance, he was being half carried, half dragged by the pair
of guards, his feet scraping limply along the grey granite floor.

“This court shall stand in adjournment for one hour,” said the Judge “at which
time we will reconvene to hear preliminary motions.”

As he watched the proceedings, Hank Gyger found himself feeling both disdain
and pity for the defendant. What a dumb ass, he reflected.  There’s all kinds
of ways he could have had those girls legally converted and he pulls a stupid
move like forging their quadcee forms. I’m glad I’m not the poor son of a
bitch up there but he deserves what he’s going to get. I hope what he did
doesn’t affect my case.

Hank felt a tap on his shoulder.  Turning he saw Mrs. Hardie.  “Mr. Gyger,
the judge has asked me to escort you to his chambers,” she said kindly. 
“He’ll hear your petition there.” Rising from his seat on the bench, Hank
followed the Judge’s factotum down the wide aisle and out through the
swinging double doors at the end of the room.

Hank didn’t have long to wait before the Judge bustled into his chamber. As
Hank started to rise, the Judge waved a languid hand at him. “No, no, sit
down. We’re not in the courtroom.  My chambers aren’t formal.”

“Beth, I’d like some lemonade please, if you would be so kind.	Mr. Gyger,
anything for you?” Hank shook his head no.  “Well, if you change your mind,
just let me know.

“Oh and Beth,” he said as she started to leave the room, “please tell Allie  I
want to see the transcript of yesterday’s Mullins’ case as soon as I can. I
still can’t believe that attorney asked our coroner how many autopsies she’d
performed on dead people. That’s a question that’s going straight into the
nominations list for the Bar’s Cross Examination Hall of Shame Award.”

Still chuckling, the Judge hung his robe on a coat tree by the desk. After
opening a desk drawer and putting on a pair of pince nez reading glasses, he
picked up a folder from his desk and turned to Hank.  “Let’s see what we have
here today. A petition from one Henry Austin Gyger asking the court to accede
to the conversion of one Janice Geralyn Gyger to cattle status.”

The Judge looked up from his reading. “Wife, daughter, sister, mother,” he
asked quizzically. “Wife,” Hank replied. “Hum,” intoned the Judge returning
to his reading. “Oh yes, here’s a standard marriage contract executed on July
29, 1964, includes the discretionary conversion codicil that was the norm at
that time. How old was she when you got married?”

“Seventeen, Judge. I was nineteen.”

“So she’s fifty-one now.”

“Almost fifty-two.”

“I see you have a nonrevocable assignment of power of attorney she signed four
years ago.”

“That’s right Judge. Our lawyer drew that up for us.  It’s got the more modern
conversion language in it.”

“Your lawyer is who?”

“It’s Bill Jonston your honour. He was in a car accident last week and he’s
still in hospital in intensive care. They don’t know if he’s going to pull
through or not. That’s why he’s not in with me now.”

“That’s ok. He doesn’t need to be.  These documents look fine. Any children?”

“No sir.”

“Does your wife know about this petition?”

“No sir. And I’d prefer  she didn’t. I mean the law says I have the right to
have her converted if I want and that she doesn’t have to give her consent. I
already got that when she signed the marriage contract and the attorney thing
didn’t I?”

“That’s right  Mr. Gyger you did. It’s totally your choice whether to have
her converted or not. It’s also up to you to tell her whether or not  you are
having her converted.”

“That’s what Bill told me before the accident but I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, Mr. Jonston was correct in his advice to you.” The Judge paused in his
discussion as  Beth Hardie brought in a tall glass of lemonade, its sides
streaming with condensation. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything, Mr.
Gyger? This is a mighty refreshing drink.”
“Thank you your honour, but I’ll pass. I’ve got a very tight schedule today.”

“Ah, that was a very subtle and gracious way of telling me to get on with it.”

Hank’s face began to grow red with embarrassment. “No, no,  no your honour,”
he said shaking his head frantically back and forth, “that’s not what I meant
at all. It’s just that I do want to . . . ”

“Mr. Gyger,” said the Judge smiling. “That’s quite all right. Sometimes I am
a mite loquacious as Mrs. Hardie never tires of telling me.  If you would
indulge me with just a few more answers . . . ”

“Ask anything you want your honour,” answered Hank wondering where this
conversation was going and whether or not the Judge was going to sign the
conversion order.

The Judge examined Hank through steepled fingers. “Thank you Mr. Gyger. My
next question is why? Why do you want your wife converted? Has she been sick?
Is there an inheritance? Do you have a girlfriend on the side? Did you have a
fight and you’re looking for revenge?  Please understand  you are exercising
a legal right  you have and that I am going to sign the conversion order no
matter what answer you give me. But as a student of human behaviour I’m
always curious about the reasons for having someone converted. At fifty-one .
. . ”

“Almost fifty-two,” said Hank.

“I’m sorry almost 52,” continued the Judge amusement showing on his face. “At
almost 52, even if your wife is in the greatest physical shape she won’t
bring much at market, even among the aficionados of well-aged meat. So why do
you want her converted?”

Hank paused to gather his thoughts.

“Does it really matter,” he asked the Judge?

“No, as I said, I am going to sign the conversion order for you, in fact I’ll
do it right now,” he replied reaching for a pen.

The pen made the sound of dead dry grass rustling in the wind as the Judge
affixed his signature to the decree. In the short time, less than two
seconds, it took for the Judge to inscribe his name Janice Geralyn Gyger had
unknowingly passed from being a human, a woman and a wife to being chattel
marked for slaughter.

Sliding the document across the desk to Hank, the Judge spoke.  “There you are
Mr. Gyger.  You needn’t fear any longer  your answer will affect my decision.
That’s the second conversion I’ve ordered in the last fifteen minutes. I know
why I ordered the first.  I’m still curious about the reasons for the second.”

“I got tired of being insincere.”

“An intriguing answer, if somewhat incomplete.”

Hank paused for several seconds before answering, unwilling to reveal the
whole truth his response was given in a halting manner. “I don’t know how
much more complete I can be, your honour.  It was just, ah just that, well in
truth, I got tired of saying things I didn’t mean. It’s tough pretending 
things are all right, making believe I didn’t care.  And it’s not like I
didn’t make an effort to change things, to make things better, to solve the
problems we were having.

Once he got started the words tumbled out of his mouth like puppies released
from a pen to play in the yard.

“But I was the only one trying.  We went to a marriage counsellor. And not
just one, we went to several of them. It didn’t do any good.  She didn’t
admit there were problems but if there were I was the cause. She didn’t want
to change, only wanted me to change. After awhile there wasn’t any sense in
trying anymore.

“Fighting isn’t the worse thing that can happen in a marriage. Indifference
is. There’s no more passion in our relationship and I don’t just mean sexual
passion. We’re like the remains of last week’s campfire. No matter how much
you stir those ashes, there’s just no sparks left to reignite the fire.  I
never thought it would reach this stage but it has. What finally decided me
is  she’s turned mean.”

“Mean,” the Judge queried, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Downright mean, your honour.  She does things, big things and little things,
just in hopes of pissing me off.  But I refuse to let her get to me.”

The Judge nodded judiciously. “Yet you had me sign this order. Ah, well,” he
continued shaking his head sadly  “as the disticha moralia advises, ‘Uxorem
fuge ne ducas sub nomine dotis, nec retinere velis, si coeperit esse
molesta.’ Avoid taking a wife for the sake of her dowry, nor should you keep
one when she grows troublesome.”

“Troublesome isn’t the word for it your honour. A man can only take so much
before he has to do something. I was at that point and so I decided to have
her converted.”

“Yes, I understand. Well  Mr. Gyger, I won’t keep you any longer, I know you
have much to do as, I’m afraid,  do I. Preliminary motions await.  Thank you
for indulging an old man’s curiosity. Please let Mrs. Hardie make a copy of
the order for our files on the way out,” the jurist while standing up to
stretch his arms and back before returning to court.

“No thank you, your honour,” said Hank as he left the room, the conversion
order clutched tightly in his left hand.

Just after Hank had exited the room Mrs. Hardie hurried into the room with
another document in her hand.  “Judge, I think you need to look at this
petition.  It was just delivered by courier,” she said with a disturbed tone
in her voice.

“My goodness Beth, you seem very flustered. What are you carrying there?  Is
it a declaration of war? You’re holding it like it was a venomous snake,” the
Judge joked.

“I’m sorry Judge but I’ve never had anything like this happen before. The
courier was coming in with this petition just as Mr. Gyger was leaving.”

The Judge reached out and took the petition.  He gave it a slow and careful
examination, making notes as he turned the pages. When he was finished he sat
in his chair for several minutes, his right arm resting by its elbow on the
desk while his right hand rubbed his chin.  Standing up he walked over to a
shelf of law books and took two of them back to his desk with him.  Another
ten minutes passed as he reviewed the case law. Finally, with a sigh, he shut
both the books and reached for a pen.

“Your honour, I know it’s none of my business but are you going to sign the
petition?”

The Judge looked up at his long time factotum, pen poised in midair.  “Beth,
the law on this is clear. It is unusual both in the content and the timing
but this petition is legally sufficient. I have no grounds not to sign this
petition, in fact I’m mandated to do so.”  The pen descended and the Judge
placed his signature on the order.  “Please see  a copy of this is
messengered over to the law office, a copy is filed with the scrivner and a
copy is put in our files.”

Turning to carry out the Judge’s instructions, Mrs. Hardie was stopped by the
sound of his voice. “Beth there is a large degree of irony in today’s events.
It is as Livy wrote ‘Ad id quod ne timeatur fortuna facit minime tuti sunt
homines.’ Men are least safe from what success induces them not to fear.”

As he stepped out of the dim entryway underneath the courthouse stairs into
the sunny outdoors,  Hank marvelled at his good fortune.  He felt like he had
just bought a winning ticket in the lottery. Once the blade fell, all his
troubles would be over and he could start out fresh. Maybe even start a new
relationship, if he could find the right woman, not someone like Jan but
someone like Lari.

Hank smiled remembering Lari but it was a smile tinged with some grief. He’d
met Lari on the same day  he met Jan, not unusual when you considered  they
were sisters. While he had fallen in love with Jan, he always had a little
something for Lari and her for him. From the start they’d been a just bit
closer than in laws usually are. But nothing had ever happened between them
until Jan had started to change.

The worse Jan got, the more their marriage disintegrated, the more he turned
to Lari for comfort.  And, as Lari bounced from bad relationship to bad
relationship, he acted as her confidant and counsellor. They shared their
problems and emotions, laughed together, cried together, got angry with each
other and made up.

More and more Lari became Hank’s sole source of warmth in an increasingly
chilly world, the person he turned to to talk things out, to get a positive
affirmation of his feelings. As Jan’s bitterness increased the time he spent
with Lari got sweeter and more important to him.  She was his lodestar in an
increasingly uncertain universe and it was only natural  they gravitated
together.

It was the evening of her father’s funeral  the relationship changed from
friendship to something deeper.  Jan had had too much to drink at the wake.
It was all  Hank could do to get her into the car before she passed out.  He
had barely managed for revive her enough to stagger through the motel door
before she collapsed again on the bed.

Seeking help in getting his wife undressed, Hank had opened the connecting
door between their room and Lari’s with the intention of just sticking his
head in long enough to ask for assistance but what he saw captured his gaze
as though it had been caught in a trap.

A full length mirror mounted in a stand had been turned during the cleaning
of the room, its new angle directly reflecting the interior of the bathroom
on the other side of the room. In the bathroom was Lari, freshly showered and
towelling her nude form which was still coated in places by a glistening
combination of oil and water. The mirror revealed her every action as though
Hank was standing in front of her.

Hank found himself entranced by the reflected vision. Lari’s body was so
different from that of her sister.  Like her sister, she was no spring
chicken. This suited Hank fine since, unlike most men his age who sought to
deny their age by sleeping with ever younger women (after all you’re only as
old as the women you feel) Hank had come to terms with who he was and
preferred to look at and be with women of his generation. But, in contrast to
her sister she took good care of herself, watching her diet and exercising
regularly.  It showed.

Willowy and well textured, without a hint of fat, Lari’s physique was taunt
yet soft. White bikini lines outlined by thin red, stripes of sunburn
contrasted with the light fawn colour of her skin which was dotted here and
there with darker freckles and small moles. Her breasts were large in
circumference but small in mass resembling a pair of inverted saucers. Just
like those fancy fashion models in Jan’s magazine, thought Hank.

An inch of flesh at the top and bottom of each tit was brown, the remainder
milky white. Her nipples were hard cherry red buttons made more prominent by
the flatness of her tits. A small diagonal scar wove a dark two-inch path
from the middle of her sternum to just above her left breast. Her stomach was
flat and well defined.

Full black hair set around her skull like an ebony dandelion puff waiting for
just the right breeze to set it free; its southern cousin, a large spreading
thatch so thick in texture  the lips of her pussy were barely visible at its
outmost fringes, attested to the fact  her dark hair colour was indeed natural
and not the result of a bottled mix.

Despite all its angularity her face, with its deep-set eyes set off by long
arching eyebrows and a smooth aquiline nose, was quite attractive although
less so when she put on her glasses, their large oversized ovals and black
plastic frames too at odds with the planes of her face to do anything but
distract from her charm. As he admired the full package, Hank thought to
himself, if Lari was a dog she’d be a greyhound, a smooth, sleek, swift
racing greyhound, one that could run with the very wind itself.

Done drying off, Lari put on her bathrobe its half arms reaching to just
below her elbows, its hem stopping only inches below her crotch.  Hank knew
he should move, that he couldn’t let Lari see him but his muscles refused to
answer his commands.

As she stepped through the doorway  Lari saw Hank’s reflection in the mirror,
his face seeming to shimmer with pent up longing. She paused in her dressing
and then walked boldly into the room to face Hank head on.  Leaving her pink
satin robe open to display her body directly to her brother-in-law without
the intervention of a looking glass, she moved both hands down to her pussy
and, with hands lightly wrinkled from her shower, pulled her hidden lips as
far apart as they would go revealing a soft coral-tinted tunnel. “Do you like
what you see Hank?”

Allowing the robe to close slightly, she moved back to sit on the edge of the
bed, the mattress depressing slightly allowing the white chenille bedspread
to gather around her legs.  With the palm of her right hand she patted the
bed next to her in invitation. “Come in, Hank and close the door behind you,”
she said her voice catching in her throat.  “It’s time we stopped playing
games with each other.”

Hank felt like he was wading through waist deep mud as he entered the room,
the connecting door swinging shut behind him.  His feet shuffled slowly on
the threadbare carpet, their passage marked by discarded items of clothing.
Half undressed by the time he reached the bed, Lari wasted no time in helping
him complete his disrobing. Their coupling was just as slow and sensual, the
room’s silence broken only by the creaking of the bed, the whisper of flesh
sliding across flesh, breaths taken and expelled, moans and groans only
semisuccessfully stifled.

They gloried in the feel of each other’s bodies, their fingers acting as a
second set of tactile eyes exploring the hidden crannies of their anatomies.
Their lips and tongues drank ravenously of each other’s moisture with the
fervour of two prospectors discovering a water hole in the deep dessert. Their
noses inhaled the bouquet of their mating as though all the oxygen was being
sucked from the room.

It was the beginning of their eight-month affair.

The day after they had returned home from the funeral they had met for lunch
and, over drinks, apologized to each other for their actions, explaining it
was a mistake, a reaction to the stress of the funeral, their mutual sense of
grief and need overcoming their better judgment and vowing  it wouldn’t
happen again. A bottle of wine later,  room eight at the Apex Motel rang with
the full throated cries of their passion, all need to be quiet banished by
the lack of Jan’s presence in the next room.

Cautious at first, the fact they hadn’t been caught yet transformed itself
into the notion  they wouldn’t be caught ever. Indiscretions mounted up. When
Jan found out “you’ve been boffing that slut sister of mine” she went into a
fit the likes of which Hank had never seen, even at her worst. “You’re both
going to pay for this in ways you can’t even start to imagine. When I’m
through with you and that bitch . . . ”

Jan began her campaign of retribution by taking a lover of her own. And she
made sure  Hank knew all about her newfound lover even as she kept his
identity a secret.

“Lari’s the town bicycle, every boy in town’s had a ride with her,” she said
contemptuously. “ If you want to keep playing hide the salami in that fuzzy
taco of hers that’s fine with me. It won’t be too long before that little
worm of yours falls off anyhow if you keep fucking that diseased little twat.
 But you’re never coming near me again.” Since they had only slept together
twice in the year before her father’s funeral, Jan’s threat to withhold sex
was less than compelling to Hank.

“Besides Hankus-pankus, I have a real lover now and I let him do anything he
wants, even the  butter scene from Last Tango in Paris you always talked about
trying.” Again, Hank didn’t care. He was happy with Lari and the two of them
didn’t need to do anything extraordinary to jazz up their sex life.

Several weeks went by and, as the time passed, Jan seemed to mellow, her
stridency and scorn being replaced with a sense of acceptance of the
situation. Hank thought  she was almost happy.	Hank thought  maybe things
were working themselves out.  Hank thought  perhaps in a little while he and
Jan could sit down and talk about an amicable ending to their marriage, one
that would be fair to both parties and free them to live openly with their
consorts. Hank thought wrong.

Just home from a four-day business trip, Hank opened the front door to his
house only to be greeted by the sight of Lari’s couch sitting in the living
room, end tables and lamps from Lari’s apartment keeping it company.  Uneasy
as to why Lari’s furniture was there, he made a circuit of the house and
found a number of other items that belonged to Lari.  As he was puzzling out
the meaning of this discovery he heard the back door slam shut.

Jan had returned home from the market, her arms laden with shopping bags full
of white packages. Placing the bags on the table, she turned to Hank, smiled
sweetly and asked, “Hank, would you be a dear and get the rest of the bags
out the car for me while I put these packages in the freezer.”

Still uncertain about what was happening, Hank complied.  It took three trips
to the car to bring all of the bags into the kitchen.  Meanwhile Jan was
humming happily to herself as she placed package after package into the chest
freezer in the utility room.

“Did they have a sale on meat at the market,” asked Hank surprised at how
happy Jan was.

“Sort of. This is a special order I placed.”

“Oh, hey look, I’m not trying to pick a fight,” he said continuing to hand her
parcels of meat, “but I noticed a lot of Lari’s furniture scattered around the
house.”

“I know, one of the few things I’ve always admired about Lari is her taste in
furniture. And, since she doesn’t need it anymore, I thought I’d put it to
good use.”

Cold fear whistled through Hank like an Alberta Clipper blowing through an
abandoned barn.  “She’s got new furniture,” he asked inanely,  a fighter
hoping to slip a knockout blow.

“No. Lari doesn’t need any furniture now.  While you were gone on your trip, I
went to court and had her converted to cattle. You’re holding part of what’s
left of her in your hand right now.”

Hank began to tremble like an old car with a shimmy at 70 miles per hour. The
package dropped from his hand and he stared at his wife, hoping  what she said
wasn’t true, that it was just a cruel attempt to cause him pain, yet knowing
that hope was forlorn.

Jan turned to him, her smile like a knife slash across her face, hatred and
contempt dripping from every word. “I told you you were going to pay for what
the two of you did to me. How do you like the first instalment?”

Rage bubbled through Hank’s body like hot lava. For the first time in his
life, he struck a woman, his open hand cracking hard across her face, hoping
with one blow to cause her as much pain as possible. Jan crumpled to the
floor and began to laugh, cackling like a maddened witch in a grade-B horror
film.

“Go ahead tough man, hit me again,” she said sadistically, blood dripping from
her nose and mouth. “Hit me all you want.  It won’t change a thing. Your
precious Lari is gone. The only thing left of her is steaks and chops.”

Hank stood above his wife, struggling to regain his control before her killed
her with his bare hands.  He wanted to crush her like an empty beer can; and
then leave her to die alone like a dog in an empty ditch. Let her encounter
darkness like a bride come to a wedding, he thought with Shakespearean wrath.
The need to take revenge, rough bloody revenge had fallen upon him like a
biblical plague. But even as he contemplated the woman lying on the floor
beneath him, his anger began to drain away leaving emptiness in its place.
Without words, he turned and left the home.

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