She didn't have to think about Noffager's invitation to Dee Dee's roast for long. She realized that the idea of being eaten by people she had come to know, however briefly, had taken hold of her erotic imagination, for reasons that she could not account for.

She had heard rumors about groups of woman eaters, but she had no solid information. The notion of her death as a pleasant social occasion could easily be built into a fantasy. The best way to purge herself of false images her own fancy might create would be to gather some solid first-hand data.

Accept the invitation. Go and meet poor, wretched Dee Dee, who would probably be terrified out of her wits, looking for any way she could find to escape the consequences of the poor judgement she had shown. And meet the sadistic, ghoulish types who would be enjoying the poor girl's tortured agony as much as they would savor her flesh. Of course, Guy didn't seem like that at all, but he was probably only the front man for a group of case studies in social pathology, throw-backs to the age of troglodytes.

She arrived at the Denver airport on the Thursday morning before the roast. A chauffeured limousine picked her up. Well, she had had that treatment before. A long drive to Noffager's palatial country estate. She had seen what money can buy before, and Noffager didn't seem to have quite as much taste and style and Robert Kiver. Perhaps the difference was that Kiver used his wealth to showcase his women, whereas Noffager used his wealth to showcase, well, his wealth.

Or maybe that was unfair. At any rate, Callie found herself thinking;

Who wants to be a millionaire? I don't.
Have flashy flunkeys everywhere? I don't.
Who wants the bother of a country estate?
A country estate is something I'd hate!
......
Who wants to have a liveried chauffeur?
A liveried chauffeur, do I want? No sir!

Callie wasn't assigned a personal attendant, but she was given a comfortable guest room with a bath and an intercom that she was urged to use anytime she wanted something.

After having given her an hour to relax and settle in, Noffager sent a maid to ask Callie if she was ready to meet Dee Dee.

"Sure," Callie said. Even though meeting a woman who knew she only had two days to live was hardly her idea of a good time, it was what she had come for. Time to expose herself to the brutal reality.

Guy met Callie and the maid outside a closed door.

"Dee Dee's really looking forward to meeting you," Guy said warmly.

"I'm looking forward to meeting her, too," Callie said, thinking Not really. What if she wants me to help her escape? I wonder if there's any way to get her out of here. Didn't notice any electric fences or guard dogs.

Guy rapped on the door and received a cheerful "Come in" from a female voice.

As Guy opened the door, Callie noticed that it wasn't locked. Well, maybe they had other means of preventing her from leaving, like chaining her to the bed.

When she saw the room, however, Callie's first thought was Who would ever want to escape from here? Unless, of course, it would be to save your life?

Bright sunshine flooded the room through huge windows that gave a magnificent view of a mountain landscape.

Very soft hues of pink offset with white were the dominant colors of the room. The fluffy carpet, the satin sheets that covered the ten-foot-in-diameter round bed, the walls, the curtains - all pink. The dressing table, chairs, tables, entertainment center (which included a huge wide-screen tv), and a massage table - all of these were white. Boxes of chocolates were scattered everywhere.

Seated in the center of the bed, surrounded by remote controls and boxes of chocolate, wearing a pink teddy and no chains was a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman who was right at the upper limit of being pleasingly plump.

"Dee Dee," Noffager began, "this is..."

"Hi! You must be Callie." Dee Dee cut him off. "Come on in and have a seat." She patted a place on the bed beside her.

"Hi, Dee Dee. Glad to meet you," Callie said, looking to Guy to see if he was going to attempt to guide their conversation.

"Well, I'm expecting some more arrivals shortly, so I'll just leave you two to get acquainted." Noffager smiled and began to move toward the door.

"Yeah. Be sure and keep me posted on who shows up," Dee Dee requested or ordered - Callie couldn't decide which.

"Oh, I'll keep you fully informed, my dear. Trust me, though - I'm sure nobody who's expected will fail to show up," Noffager assured her.

"I'm not worried about that. I know nobody's gonna wanna miss out on getting a chunk of me. I just wanna know who's especially anxious to pay their respects." Dee Dee wrinkled her nose mischievously and gave Guy a wink, which he returned and quickly made his exit.

"Will you be requiring anything, Miss Dee Dee?" the maid asked.

"Yeah, you can get me a glass of milk. And maybe Callie would like something, too. How about it, Callie? Want some cow juice? Or some soda?

"Diet Coke or Pepsi would be fine." Seeing that the mention of the word "diet" brought an stunned look to Dee Dee's face, Callie quickly added, "Or some or orange juice or skim milk."

"Get Callie some O.J." Dee Dee commanded, then explained to Callie, "See, I don't do skim or diet anything. Come on and sit down." She patted the bed again. "Don't worry. I won't get fresh or anything."

Callie smiled in a way that she hoped conveyed the message that she wouldn't be offended if Dee Dee did get fresh while not appearing anxious for such attention and crawled onto the bed to take a seat beside her hostess.

The maid served the beverages from a small refrigerator and asked, "Will there be anything else, Miss Dee Dee?"

"Yeah. Ask Ramon to pop in in a few minutes. I wanna give his schedule for the rest of the day."

"Very good." The maid, though smiling, was somewhat stiff as she left the room.

"Ain't this something?" Dee Dee laughed as soon as the door was closed. "Get me this. Fetch me that. Tell So-and-so to report for duty. I've been loving every minute of this."

While Callie could tell that Dee meant what she said, she couldn't help but wonder if the woman was in denial about what was ahead for her.

"Here, help me out with these." Dee Dee handed Callie a five-pound box of chocolates.

"Thanks, but..."

"Oh, come on. Look, I can tell you're very figure conscious and you like to eat healthy, but pretend it's Valentine's Day or something and give yourself a treat. I've been getting three or four boxes of these a day for the past two weeks from my admirers, meaning the people who are gonna chow down on me in two days. No way I can polish all of these off before then."

"Okay," Callie gave in. "I'll help you out by eating one. Or two. Or three."

"That's the spirit. I'll see that you get to take a couple boxes with you when you leave. You can share them with your girlfriends back home."

"Thanks."

"So, Guy says he's hoping you'll sign a contract to get yourself roasted and I guess he wants me to help talk you into it." Dee Dee got directly to the point. "So, how about it? Is Guy just having himself a little daydream or are you thinking about going for it?"

"Actually," Callie said, taking a tiny bite of chocolate, "I came here hoping to get completely turned off by the idea so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore."

"Well, if you were expecting to find me all strung out and wailing and moaning, 'Only two days left to live! Why, oh, why did I agree to this?' I'm sorry, but you're S.O.L. Don't get me wrong: if I was to wake up and find out I had dreamed this whole year in the first night that I was here and I still had three hundred and sixty-four days to go, I'd be happy as a clam. But I made a deal and I don't regret it. You know, I can back out of this anytime I want to."

"You can?" Callie was surprised.

"Sure. All I'd have to do is promise to pay Guy back for my year's keep. Now, that would be doable, but I figure it would mean living on crackers and beans for about twenty-five years, which I ain't up for. But even if I was, I don't think I'd wanna back out anyway, because I'd be letting down a lot of people who've treated me real good."

Callie was about to ask a question when there was a somewhat hesitant knock at the door.

"Come in, Ramon." Dee Dee whispered to Callie, "I'm not psychic - I recognize his knock. Wait til you get a load of this."

The door opened and a well-tanned, dark-haired, brown-eyed body-builder type entered, clad only in a white loin cloth. The sight of him made Callie's jaw drop, even though she had seen more than her share of well-muscled males.

"I was told to report, Miss Dee Dee. What do you desire?" Ramon asked with a trace of apprehension in his voice.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'll want a massage starting about an hour before dinner - an especially reLAXing massage." Dee Dee's intonation seemed to cause Ramon to shiver slightly.

"Very good. Is that all you require for now?" Ramon clearly was hoping for an affirmative answer.

"Yes, unless..." Dee Dee turned to Callie, "would you like a massage? Ramon is real good at it." A wicked wink.

"Un, not right now. Thanks. Maybe later."

"What do you think of Ramon's uniform?" Another wink.

"Oh, very nice. Uh, functional. Minimalist."

"Ramon, this is my new friend Callie. I want you to give her second priority right after me. Treat her just like you've treated me - anything she wants, you deliver. And be sure to wear your uniform when you respond to her call. Callie likes it. Comprehendo?"

"Yes, Miss Dee Dee." He was smiling, but it was clear he was thinking, Oh, no. Not another one.

"You can go now, Ramon. See you in a couple hours."

"As you wish, Miss Dee Dee." Ramon bowed slightly and left.

"Ain't he something?" Dee Dee laughed. "I've just worn his cinnamon ass out this year. I've drained him so dry that I'm sure he doesn't have anything left for his girlfriend. I swear, the two of them will be happier than any of the dinner guests to see my ass go into the oven."

Callie was struck by the good humor with which Dee Dee viewed her situation, but wondered how real it was.

"Now, don't think that I don't get plenty of attention from Guy and the other members of the 'diners' club' - and the other roasters, for that matter. Ramon is just handy for, uh, filling in the gaps, so to speak," Dee Dee explained.

"You mentioned 'other roasters'?"

"Oh, yeah. We're like a little sorority that has a very regular turnover in membership, but that doesn't keep us from getting real close. Almost all of the diners have at least one woman on contract. You'll meet a few of them this weekend. Great bunch of gals."

There was another knock at the door, to which Dee Dee responded, "Come in."

This time, it was the same maid who had escorted Callie to Dee Dee's room. She was holding a large, gift-wrapped package.

"Miss Dee Dee, Mr. Anthony and Miss Anthea have arrived from England and they are hoping to see you."

"Well, Myrna, you tell them that I really wanna see them, too, but right now I wanna spend some quality time with my new friend Callie." Dee Dee patted Callie's thigh.

"They brought this for you." Myrna stepped forward and handed the package to Dee Dee.

"Oh, good!" Dee Dee ripped the wrapping from the box. "Fortnum and Mason chocolates. This is what they always bring me. These are hand-made in London. They're just scrumptious! Oh, Callie, you've GOT to have at least one of these."

"I suppose I could force one more down," Callie said, taking a piece.

"Myrna, please clean this up." Dee Dee waved her hand over the torn wrapping paper. While Myrna was obeying that command, Dee Dee added, "Oh, and please be sure that Callie here gets to take a couple boxes of chocolates with her when she leaves. There should be plenty for all the roasters, but I want Callie to have first pick."

Callie felt honored, but still had to protest. "Dee Dee, I don't deserve such special treatment. I'm not even a roaster." She stopped herself from adding, "yet."

"Well, you're probably the last friend I'm ever gonna make and I wanna treat you right." Dee Dee munched on a piece of chocolate. "And, besides, Guy says you've never had girlmeat before. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that makes you even more special. I didn't think there'd be any 'virgins' here. I'm gonna be your first taste."

"I guess that's right," Callie had been having doubts about whether she would partake at all, but when she saw it was so important to Dee Dee that she resolved that she would have at least one bite.

As though she sensed Callie's resolution, Dee Dee's face brightened with a warm smile.

Myrna left the room.

Dee Dee leaned toward Callie and kissed her on the cheek, saying, "Really, you'll like me. I'm gonna be delicious."

Callie returned the kiss, saying, "I know you will be."

There was an awkward moment of silence, which Callie broke by asking, "So, why didn't you go for the two-year contract? Is being spit-roasted that bad?"

"Oh, no," Dee Dee replied with conviction. "Before I ever saw a spit-roasting, I thought it would be awful, but I've been to seven of them in the past year and the roasters look like they're having a great time. In fact, I almost changed my mind, but I've got something really special planned for my snuff. I really want you to be there."

Callie pulled back. "Dee Dee, I don't want to be part of killing you."

"Oh, Guy's going to be in charge of actually putting my lights out. I just want you there for - let's call it 'moral support.' Don't worry. You'll like it. It's really gonna be something. You'll have a good time."

Though she didn't see how that could possibly be true, Callie said, "I'll be there."

"Good," Dee Dee said brightly. "Now, I don't want to rush you out, but I had better get ready for Anthony and Anthea. You and I'll see each other at dinner and maybe afterwards. But I want you to be sure and come to see me tomorrow morning about 10 or 11, okay? Sorry to be so exact, but tomorrow will be a little busy for me."

"Sure. I understand," Callie said, thinking Tomorrow is the last day of your life.

As she was getting up, Dee Dee put a hand on her shoulder, leaned over, kissed her again, then gave her a friendly pat on the back, saying, "Thanks for coming."

"You're welcome." Callie returned the kiss and rose to leave, but, as she moved toward the door, Dee Dee had one more request.

"Oh, if you see Myrna, tell her to send Anthony and Anthea in in about ten minutes." Dee Dee looked amused. "These people are like millionaires and they come all the way from England to see me and I can tell them to wait their turn. Ain't that something?"

Callie did, indeed, encounter Myrna and passed along Dee Dee's message, reflecting to herself that Dee Dee was on a bit of a power trip and was very much enjoying it. Well, so what? She wasn't using her power to abuse anyone, with the possible exception of Ramon and his girlfriend. And her power trip, along with everything else, would come to an abrupt end within the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours.

Dee Dee had traded her body for power, a common enough thing for women to do, although, in her case, the trade would have an uncommon permanence.

Was there, realistically, any other way that Dee Dee could have enjoyed a year like she had just lived without a lot of effort and/or good luck? Probably not. Dee Dee had something somebody else wanted and terms had been agreed upon whereby she would give it up.

Callie allowed herself to wonder idly what she might be able to obtain in return for giving Guy and the members of his circle what they wanted from her. She knew how much it was worth to a hunter to have a chance at killing her, but this was about more than just a chance - this was a "dead" certainty. These people wanted her to commit to letting them kill her.

No, she decided, that wasn't quite accurate.

Killing her was, maybe, only a step in the process of getting what they wanted, which was to eat her roasted body.

Or was it?

How much of the motivation behind this operation was about the "thrill" of legalized killing and how much of it was about the pleasure of dining on rare cuisine?

She would have to get to know these people well before she could answer any of her questions about them.

She had the feeling that she might also answer some questions about herself in the process.

"So, this Dee Dee woman was not quite what you expected, eh?" The Colonel chuckled. "I have the feeling that the weekend may have held several surprises for you."

"You might say that," Callie laughed, before continuing her tale.

Her data gathering about the woman eaters began in earnest that evening at dinner.

Most of the people, about forty, who would be attending the main event had not arrived yet. However, there were a dozen or so early arrivals, some of whom, like Anthony and Anthea, were staying as Guy's house guests. Most, though, had taken rooms at hotels in Denver.

Guy introduced Callie to everyone as his "guest for the weekend," with the understood subtext, "she's not one of us, yet." He left it to Callie to answer the inevitable inquiry as to whether this was her first time at such an event, which she did with honesty.

Anthony and Anthea were introduced to Callie as brother and sister, though Callie's reading of body language suggested that theirs was more than a sibling relationship.

Two of the other couples were introduced as husband and wife, but the remaining three couples were introduced as So-and-So and "his protege" Such-and-Such. Callie quickly determined that the term "protege" carried culinary significance in this group.

Aside from Guy, there was only one single male in the group, a handsome young fellow named Hank. While everybody in the dinner party seemed very friendly and Callie clearly picked up vibes that any of the couples would be happy to have her join them in a threesome, her preliminary judgement was that, if she was going to allow herself to be seduced by anybody, it would be Hank.

Everybody was seated at the dinner table (Callie between Guy and Hank) when Dee Dee made her entrance, clad in a clingy blue evening dress that gave everyone a very clear idea of what a fine, plump main course they would be enjoying on Saturday.

The conversation around the table was not centered on the upcoming roasting, though it was mentioned. Dee Dee said that she be eating relatively lightly tomorrow, so this was the last full meal she would be eating. She got some appreciative chuckles when she added, "Of course, I WILL be at dinner Saturday. I just won't be eating."

In response to a direct question about what she did for a living, Callie replied that she ran as quarry in hunts. As if she had not already received enough attention, this made her the focus of many questions. Although the questions were all good ones, Callie began to suspect that some of them were being asked partly because the dinner quests wanted a legitimate excuse to stare at her intently while she answered, appraise her, perhaps create mental pictures of her in other circumstances.

And always, in the eyes of everyone (including some of the "proteges") there was more than just interest and lust. Callie could come up with no other name for that extra something than "hunger." And it was making Callie horny. She was aware that she was emitting pheromones like a geyser.

After dessert (devil's food cake with chocolate ice cream), the party adjourned to another room for cocktails and Callie became a more overt object of solicitation, especially by one couple, a Texan named Maxwell and his protege Caroline. Although it was obvious that Caroline, a tall, buxom blonde, was being prompted by Maxwell to become her "buddy," there was a genuineness to Caroline's interest. Callie, however, remained as close to Hank as possible. When, by eleven o'clock, it became clear that Guy and Dee Dee were going to have a foursome with the English contingent and various other groupings and partner-exchanges had been negotiated, Callie invited Hank up to her room.

She knew from their dinner and cocktail conversation that Hank was a graphic artist and so, based on that alone, she expected his appreciation of her body would be different from that of other lovers. Artists tended to admire the smoothness of the curves of her body, the gradual changes in dimensions.

While Hank's appreciation included those elements, there was another quality about it that Callie reacted to in a strongly positive way. For starters, Hank was a great kisser and tonguer. Callie was unsure how much of this was her own imagination, but it seemed that Hank was tasting her, possibly imagining how certain glazes and sauces might affect her flavor.

When he brought his teeth into play, he bit her with a pressure that stopped just sort of leaving marks. She had the feeling that he was gauging what the texture of her cooked flesh would be.

As he kneaded her muscles with his hands, Callie almost knew for certain that he was judging the ratio of fat to lean muscle.

His explorations of her body went to places that seldom received prolonged appreciation. Her belly and thighs always seemed to fascinate her lovers, but Hank found much to admire about her forearms and, even more so, her calf muscles, which received long minutes stroking, kneading, and biting.

The physical beauty that he was finding in her was not skin-deep. He was appreciating her right down to the bone.

All of this gave Callie several mild orgasms before he even began to adore her genital area. When he got to that, he licked and chewed her clit and pussy lips as though they were the dessert that ended a perfect meal. He was eager to ingest some of her actual substance and he drank deeply from the fountain of her juices. This had Callie pounding the mattress with her fists and testing the soundproofing of room with her cries and moans of pleasure.

When actual penetration occurred, it was very slow at first, agonizingly methodical insertions and withdrawals, ever so slightly increasing in depth, suggestive (at least to inexperienced Callie) of carefully acclimating a woman to a spit. Finally, when he reached maximum depth, Hank pulled back and gave a sharp, sudden thrust that was almost painful.

Callie knew that, if Hank's cock had been made of sharpened wood or metal, it was at that moment that she would have been impaled, spitted, past the point of no return. She would be on her way to becoming cooked meat!

Her orgasm was so intense and protracted that she nearly passed out.

When she calmed down, Hank became very still, almost motionless, inviting her to create her own excitement, twisting and moving back and forth on his cock, as though she were a roaster riding a spit.

Callie worked herself practically to the point of exhaustion before stopping.

It was then that Callie asked Hank to treat himself to his release, which he accomplished in very few strokes.

Callie had never been a clock-watcher when it came to sex, so she had no idea what role sheer duration played in the intensity of the experience. She did know, however, that it was different from any encounter she had had before.

Was it better than any other? She refused to give that sort of comparison much thought. She had participated in a sport that depended on measurement of distance and time, not a subjective rating system, and that affected her attitude about designations of "better" and "best" that had no quantifiable basis. Besides, she was a romantic at heart.

What she did know for sure was that her encounter with the woman-eating artist had touched places in her erotic psyche that had never been touched before.

She also knew that she wanted those places touched again. And again. And again. And...

Callie spared Colonel Stoneridge the details of her sexual encounter with Hank. The Colonel did, however, surmise from Callie's description of Hank as "quite different from the rest of the men" and the smile and slight blush that accompanied the statement that something very pleasant had taken place between them.

Callie didn't set an alarm or leave a wake-up call, but awoke in plenty of time to bathe, dress, get downstairs for a not completely filling breakfast (because she knew she would be having chocolates soon), and make it to Dee Dee's room by ten-fifteen.

Hank had left a note on the pillow next to her saying, "Didn't want to wake you. I could say that I hope you enjoyed last night as much as I did, but that would be asking the impossible. I'll see you later."

Sweet, Callie had thought, but if he only knew how wrong he was about that "impossible" stuff.

So, Callie was in a fine mood when she rapped on Dee-Dee's door and received a typically cheerful "Come in."

Dee Dee was munching chocolates and reading some typed pages, which she put down as soon as she saw it was Callie at the door,

"Oh, hi, Callie. Come have a seat." Dee Dee patted the bed. "I just wanted to be sure I read through these at least one more time. You know what Guy did? He paid the writers of the two soap operas I watch to write up a sort of summary of how all the current storylines are going to end up. Wasn't that nice of him?"

"Yes. That must have taken some pull. I'd think that would be almost illegal or at least a violation of some kind of code of ethics, if soap opera writers have one." Callie took a seat beside Dee Dee.

"I don't know if you're into soaps, but if you know anybody who is, you could read these and probably win a ton of money betting on how things are going to work out." Picking up instantly on a vibe from Callie, Dee Dee quickly added, "But I can tell you're not the type who goes for anything that sounds like cheating. And, besides, it might not work anyway because Guy may have asked the writers to fudge things a little so my favorite characters came out okay. He knows I'm a sucker for happy endings. Oh, speaking of fudge, here, help yourself." Dee Dee handed Callie a box of chocolates.

"Thanks." Callie helped herself, thinking, She likes happy endings, yet...

"I noticed you paired up with Hank last night," Dee Dee said with a grin. "I don't have to ask how it went, because you've still got some afterglow going on. Ain't he something? He's one of the real good ones. I'm glad he could make it for the whole weekend."

"Me, too," Callie agreed.

"So, what do you think so far? Do you like the people you've met? Besides Hank, I mean?"

"Oh, they're very nice. But the nicest person I've met so far is you, Dee Dee, and you..." Callie paused, deciding how to express herself without breaking the good mood, "...well, you won't be here for the whole weekend."

"You gonna miss me?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"But you're always gonna have me with you." Dee Dee patted Callie's thigh. "Someplace in this bod of yours, there's gonna be a few atoms or molecules floating around that came from me. When you wake up in the middle of the night, craving some chocolate, you'll think, 'Hey, there's that fat bitch Dee Dee wanting to be fed.' "

This made Callie laugh.

"Don't you be feeling sorry for me," Dee Dee said, smiling. "This is my decision all the way. The idea of being eaten has been a mega turn-on for me for a long, long time. If I was to back out now, I don't think anybody would ever take me serious again. I mean, you got your fantasies. Come on, I know a girl like you has her fantasies." She gave Callie a playful nudge.

"Well, sure," said Callie, "and I'll admit that the idea of being eaten has been creeping into them lately. But my fantasies have always been such that, if they ever come true, I'll be there to enjoy them. Dee Dee, you won't be here tomorrow - I mean, in the usual sense."

"Oh, I think I'll be floating around somewhere watching, but that's mystical stuff. I guess I'll find out about that soon enough. You know what I wish? I wish there really was such a thing as a time machine - not so's people could travel back and forth in time, ‘cause that could really fuck things up - but a machine that would make it so you could do something like throw a video camera into the future and then bring it back. Then Guy could have taped the banquet tomorrow and I could have been watching people chow down on me for the past couple weeks. Just me and my vibrator, watching that video. Wouldn't that be something?"

Callie nodded.

"But since you can't do that," Dee Dee continued, "I've got the next best thing, thanks to Hank. Here, take a gander at these." She handed Callie a folder.

The folder contained drawings of Dee Dee in various presentations on a huge dinner platter, some showing her on her knees and elbows, others showing her on her back with her full breasts proudly displayed. Other drawings showed Dee Dee's head in the foreground as various dinner guests munched on different portions of her body. Hank had depicted himself enjoying a breast and Guy partaking of her pussy, which Callie had learned was referred to as the "filet" among woman eaters. Hank had done an excellent job of capturing the sensuality of this mode of appreciating a woman's body.

"Me and my vibrator have really had a good time looking at these pictures," Dee Dee said with a leer. "This almost as good as being there - maybe even better, because Hank has made me look so pretty. Now, another thing that helps is belonging to a group like this. You can watch other gals you've gotten to know get roasted and pretend you're them. And, when you see how much other people enjoy eating them, well, you know what it'll be like when you get eaten."

The thought occurred to Callie that one could do the same thing by reading a story, but she kept it to herself.

"Anyway," Dee Dee went on, "you're pretty new to all this. You talk to some of the other roasters and see what they have to say. Don't take me as typical. I know you won't get sucked into anything that isn't right for you."

"Thanks." Callie appreciated Dee Dee's confidence in her and wished she could share it completely.

"Now, I did have a special reason for asking you to come see me this morning." Dee Dee became a bit more serious. "I've got a big, big favor to ask. You're the only one I can go to with this and I'm really glad you showed up because I couldn't ask someone who's known me very long - it would kinda shatter their image of me. Will you help me out?"

Callie seldom committed to anything before knowing all the details but she felt safe with Dee Dee, especially since she had made it clear that she didn't want to avoid keeping her commitment to be the main entree at tomorrow's dinner.

"Sure. What's the favor?" she asked without hesitation.

"I want you to have Ramon give you a massage."

"Uh, NO problem." Callie laughed.

"Well, there's more." Dee Dee's mood became almost somber. "I also want you to tell him that I'm sorry I've been such a tyrannical bitch this past year. And I hope he can forgive me and I hope everything goes really well for him."

For some reason, this didn't surprise Callie. "Sure. Consider it done."

"Good. That's a huge load off my mind. I know I could write him a note, but I think sending a messenger, especially a pretty one, is a little classier. Now, you don't have to promise this second part, but I'd like you to tell him before tonight. It's no big deal if it has to wait until tomorrow or Sunday, but the way I've treated him is the only thing I feel bad about. I'd kinda like to know that it's been taken care of."

"I'll get the massage and give the message this afternoon," Callie assured her. "But, really, I wouldn't worry if I were you. I'm sure he doesn't feel all that badly used. In fact, I'm sure he enjoyed his 'work,' if you can call it that."

"Nice of you to say that, but you have no idea how demanding I can be - you may get a chance to find out tonight, though." Again, the mischievous grin. "I really do hope you'll come to my snuffing. It's really gonna be something."

"I'll be there. I don't plan to participate in any way, but..."

"Oh, I think you'll get into the spirit of things." Dee Dee gave her a playful tickle. "If you can't, though, I'll understand. Do you know what the plan is?"

"No. Nobody's cued me in."

"Oh! Well, let me give you the lowdown..."

When Dee Dee had finished her description, Callie had to agree that, yes, it would "really be something."

"Very nice of you to agree to convey Dee Dee's message for her," Colonel Stoneridge complimented Callie.

"Well, Dee Dee was pretty hard to turn down. And, besides," Callie said with a sly smile, "there was something in it for me. Ramon gave me exactly what I wanted and more. He was very good at his work."

As Callie waited for Ramon to come to her room to give her a massage, she did wonder why Dee Dee didn't just simply apologize in person, but decided that it was a matter of not wanting to step out of character. That led to further speculation on Callie's part as to how much of Dee Dee's behavior was an act, putting on a "game face." She wondered what would have happened if she had simply asked, "Dee Dee, is this all a put on? Do you have some feelings about what's going to happen that you haven't shared with anybody?"

Callie refused to beat herself up, though, for not asking because that would have been almost tantamount to calling Dee Dee a liar. Besides, Dee Dee had felt that she could drop her facade enough to ask Callie to convey her apology to Ramon. If she had more facade to drop, she should be able to do it without invitation.

And maybe, if there was a facade, it was a protection Dee Dee needed and it would be cruel to ask her to shed it.

I am not rationalizing. I am not rationalizing, Callie was telling herself when she heard a knock at her door.

Knowing that Callie's room did not have its own massage table, dutiful Ramon wheeled one in as he entered.

Callie was modestly wearing a full-length terrycloth robe, which she did not remove to reveal the Hanes for Women underwear beneath it until she was already laying face down on the table. She sensed that Ramon would be thoroughly professional once she told him what she wanted.

"Ramon, I hope you aren't disappointed but I really do want a nice, deep massage and only a massage." Callie tried not to sound stern.

"Such was my suspicion, Miss Callie," he said, laying his oiled hands upon her shoulders. "If I may say so, it will be a pleasure and something of a novelty to practice my art and science upon the body of such an accomplished athlete as yourself."

"Thank you, but if you call me 'Miss Callie,' I'm going to start calling you 'Mr. Ramon,' which will make you sound like a hairdresser. Please, just call me 'Callie.' "

"As you wish, Callie," Ramon said with a friendly laugh. "No, I am not the dresser of hair."

Callie relaxed and enjoyed the massage. This was one thing she missed about running in competition: the skilled attention of professionals who knew how to help her keep her body in shape. Ramon was very good; she was beginning to feel the tensions and knots leave her muscles. She had the clear impression that he was examining her muscles as much as treating them. She knew her body was a rarity and she could imagine Ramon going to his room to make notes as soon as the session was over. He was a pro, in the best sense of the word.

Ramon gave her a deep orthopedic massage, using such techniques as manipulating her arms while pressing on her shoulder blade, thus using the scapula itself to reach the muscles beneath it. Ramon was a serious massage therapist, not just a pretty boy-toy for Dee Dee.

"You are good, Ramon. I've had lots of massages and I can tell you really have a gift."

"Thank you, Callie."

"I have a confession to make. As much as I am enjoying the massage, I did have a hidden purpose in asking you to come to my room."

"Oh, Callie, you shock me." Spoken with a laugh. "I do not see you as the deceptive one."

"It's not a very dark purpose. I have a message for you."

"Any message you bear can only be good news. What is it?"

"Dee Dee - Miss Dee Dee, that is - asked me to tell you that she's sorry if she's mistreated you. I think she used the phrase 'been a tyrannical bitch.' "

More laughter. "You may tell her that I do not feel the abused person. Her apology is as unnecessary as the thought behind it is appreciated. I have the sympathy for her and I have much to be grateful for."

"She'll be glad to hear that. She did feel that you might have found her a bit demanding."

"Well, I am the whore for money." Ramon said frankly. "My residence here is the means to accomplish a goal, as is the case with Miss Dee Dee. I shall enjoy the fruits of my accomplishment for many, many years. Miss Dee Dee's enjoyment of her accomplishment will culminate tonight and tomorrow."

"What goal have you accomplished, Ramon?" Callie asked with genuine interest.

"When my employment ends here," Ramon said, with obvious pride, "I shall have enough money to open my own massage center, where, in the afternoons, I shall cater to the sensual indulgences of persons of wealth, for which I shall charge premium prices, and, in the evenings, I shall provide relief to the sore muscles of hardworking women and men, for which I shall charge no more than a decent hourly wage. I shall even provide instruction to working class couples so that they may mutually relieve each other without being dependent on me."

"Ramon, that sounds..." Callie paused to find the right word, "...noble."

"It is the contribution I can make. Giving people the strength to bear their burdens until they can discover the means to get out from under those burdens."

"Taking from the rich and giving to the poor - sounds a bit like Robin Hood, except you won't be stealing."

A chuckle from Ramon. "Nor will I be living in a forest with merry men. I intend to live well and with a woman, whom I hope I can keep merry, while I make my contribution to the cause."

"The cause?"

"Awakening people to the fact that the libertarian order is a return to the state of nature, a war of each against all, in which the wealthy seduce the less fortunate by offering temptations difficult to resist. Unrestricted individual freedom of choice combined with no restrictions on the accumulation of wealth and untempered by the collective wisdom concerning right and wrong implemented through a democratic process leads to the destruction of the unfortunate, in which they themselves conspire, and the further aggrandizement and wretched self-indulgence of the fortunate."

"You don't approve of what goes on here, do you?" Callie asked.

Ramon shrugged. "What goes on here is only an example of the excesses people fall into under a system such as I have described. Oh, as for the eating of people, an individual should, perhaps, have the right to provide a feast of his or her body for friends. But libertarianism in a so-called 'free' economic system merely leads to a state in which might makes right. The difference in a society with a complex economic system as compared to a so-called 'primitive' one is that coercion is based not on the physical force of the strong man, but on the capability of the rich man to set irresistible temptation before the weak. Having your way with people by appealing to their weakness is more sophisticated than doing the same through brute force, but the morality and the end result are the same."

"But people still have a choice," Callie suggested.

"Within limits," Ramon amended. "Even the purest existentialist has to admit that reality imposes practical limitations. There is no conceivable economic system in which an individual can simply choose to be rich. As long as that basic choice is impossible, what's left is not truly free choice, but a selection among alternatives. Unless collective wisdom elects to set limits on the accumulation of wealth, through, for example, inheritance taxes and progressive income taxes, wealth tends to cling to itself in larger and larger masses, like globs of oil or sludge in water, and the result is that the selection of alternatives available to those not blessed with wealth becomes narrower."

Callie flashed on the Cole Porter tune "You're the Top." Each verse ends with sentiments like this being expressed:

I'm a total wreck,
A worthless check,
A flop.
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

One of the verses, not often sung, ends like this:

I'm the nominee
Of the G.O.P.
Or 'Gop.'
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

"And at the moment, collective wisdom seems to be taking a snooze," Callie commented.

"You are being generous. It is in a drunken stupor, having become intoxicated on the heady pleasure of self-destructive caprice."

"So, girls like Dee Dee and Caroline sell themselves to men like Guy and Maxwell for a chance to experience the good life," Callie concluded.

"They exercise their prerogative within the available selection."

"But they do get to fulfill a fantasy," Callie pointed out.

"Yes. And I surmise that it is a fantasy that appeals to you."

"Well, there is SOMETHING here that appeals to me," Callie admitted in a tone that betrayed her concern about her own weakness.

Sensing this concern, Ramon said, "Callie, though someday you may choose that friends will nourish themselves on your physical substance, it is my belief that you are not for the rich man's dinner table. My prediction for you is that, if you are not the revolutionary yourself, you will be the mother or grandmother of revolutionaries."

He gave her a pat on the back and said, "All finished. May I ask how my technique compared with those of other massage therapists whose touch you have experienced?"

Callie stood, stretched, and flexed, not bothering to put her robe back on before she did so. "You've managed to get through to the very deepest muscles, the ones way, way below the surface."

"Ramon sounds like a very perceptive young man. It's odd how, in certain political environments, the most common sense statements can sound like rampant Bolshevism," Colonel Stoneridge commented on Callie's report of the massage session.

"Excuse me, Sir, but I think that most people would expect a man of your social status and background to view Ramon's remarks exactly in those terms." The puzzled expression on her face suggested that Callie was among most people.

"Then most people would be failing to realize that Ramon is only advocating a return to the values, including the 'we're all in this together' spirit, that saw your country through its times of greatest stress in the last century, namely the Great Depression and especially World War Two. In those times, it was understood that success and even survival could best, and perhaps only, be achieved if everyone, not just soldiers in battle, made whatever sacrifices and contributions they could. Those ranged from scientific and managerial expertise, to the domestic crafts of gardening and knitting, to entertaining troops and boosting morale, to buying war bonds and paying taxes. Not only did this give everyone a sense of participation and equality, but it worked! And it was fair and just. It was quite different from a system of values that cuts the taxes of the wealthiest citizens while sending the daughters and sons of the middle and lower classes to war."

Callie beamed. "I think you'd enjoy talking politics with my Uncle Jake."

"A nephew of your great aunt Calpurnia?" Receiving a nod from Callie, Stone said, "I'm sure I would. But, getting back to your conversation with Ramon, I gather that at this point you were somewhat uncertain as to what attracted you to this gathering. Did subsequent events clarify that issue for you?"

"Well, it took a while." Callie sipped her tea and continued her story.

Dee Dee didn't attend dinner Friday night, creating the "opportunity" for Callie, as what Guy referred to as the "new kid on the block" ("butcher's block" or "slave auction block" Callie wondered), to be even more the center of attention. The crowd had about tripled in size from the night before, as almost everyone expected for the main event had arrived, and Callie had a whole new set of interlocutors asking many of the same questions about her career as quarry that she had already answered once.

And, again, her audience's attentiveness to her responses seemed to be merely an excuse to evaluate and appraise her. Callie didn't mind the attention; in fact, she found herself enjoying it maybe too much. The hungry eyes upon her, the occasional licking of lips, the slight flare of nostrils as someone strained to catch her special aroma - these came from women as well as men. She knew what they were thinking: they were visualizing her on a spit; they were imagining sinking their teeth into her flesh. They wanted to consume her completely. Never before had the desires of others been so clear to her and never had it caused her to react as intensely. She felt herself becoming wet, horny. Though she couldn't see a mirror, she was almost certain that she was becoming visibly flushed.

It's too early in the night for this, Callie told herself. She had expected that this might happen and she had come up with a strategy for diverting attention elsewhere.

"But surely," Callie said, "some of you are hunters - not necessarily woman hunters, but somebody else must know a bit about hunting?" She looked from one face to another, causing the interrogation to pause until somebody said something.

"Well," one grey-haired fellow offered, "I've a shooting box in Scotland, but I hardly ever use it. I inherited it from my grandfather"

"Oh," Callie said, thinking, Another rich bastard. A song came to mind:

I've a shooting box in Scotland,
I've a chateau in Touraine,
I've a silly little chalet
In the Interlaken Valley,
I've a hacienda in Spain,
I've a private fjord in Norway,
I've a villa close to Rome,
And in traveling
It's really quite a comfort to know
That you're never far from home!
Now it's really very funny
What an awful lot of money
On exorbitant hotels a chap can squander;
But I never have to do so,
Like resourceful Mister Crusoe,
I can find a home however far I wander.

At eight o'clock, Guy announced that everyone would have an hour in which to change into comfortable, casual clothing before reconvening in the recreation room to "pay our respects to Dee Dee."

If she had not been cued in as to what to expect, Callie would have thought casual clothing for a solemn occasion would have been inappropriate. She knew, though, that "solemn" was hardly a description of what was to come.

So, at eight-fifty-five, she was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt as she entered the rec room, joining a group that consisted of about twenty men, four wives, a dozen "proteges," and Anthea. A few members of the household staff, including Myrna but not Ramon, circulated with trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

Callie had spent most of the time since dinner trying to deal with the feeling of arousal that she had experienced earlier. She knew herself well enough to know that she was in danger of having her judgement affected by her libido. She tried to keep things in perspective. Yes, she was in a houseful of people who wanted to eat her and, yes, the thought turned her on. But, really, she told herself, these people DO have other things on their minds - if nothing else, eating some other women. They aren't obsessed with me. If I feel like every eye is on me, if I feel like everyone who looks my way has only one thought on his or her mind - it's probably my imagination. Maybe I don't even appeal to some of them. Probably, if I knew what they were really thinking about, I'd find that they were hardly noticing me. I'm just projecting. Probably I'm being turned on by something that isn't even there. Therefore, I should get a grip, don't let it get to me, because "it" probably isn't there in the first place. Granny Bess always said "Don't go bragging on yourself," and that includes bragging on myself to myself, which is just what I'm doing when I imagine that everybody's hungry for me. I'm just fresh scenery, something different to look at, and I shouldn't get so turned on.

In spite of all her good advice to herself, the first time Callie's eyes met those of someone in the rec room, she was right back to feeling just as she had at the dinner table. She was aroused again, and she was sure that she was showing it. She decided to distract herself by looking at how the room was set up for the event that was to come.

Any recreational equipment had been shoved to the walls or removed to another room. A twin-sized bed, covered with pick satin sheets and placed on a platform about a foot high, occupied the center of the room. Beside the bed was an oxygen tank and a three-foot cube consisting of transparent plastic stretched over eight thin rods that formed the edges of the top and sides. The cube was open at the bottom and it might be thought of as an oxygen tent, but Callie knew that wasn't its intended purpose and wondered why the oxygen tank was there.

Callie looked around for Hank and saw him standing with Maxwell and Caroline and another couple. As she approached the group and faces turned to greet her, again she felt a surge of arousal. It was true: all of these people wanted to eat her.

"Hi, Callie," Hank said, with a twinkle in his eye that suggested that the sight of her had caused him to have a flashback to the previous night. "Maxwell was just telling us about a house he's bought in New Delhi."

"Actually, it's in Simla, to the north of New Delhi," Maxwell corrected. "A place to stay while I'm over there keeping an eye on some production facilities I just acquired."

"Oh," said Callie, thinking,

I've a bungalow at Simla,
I've an island east of Maine,
If you care for hotter places,
I've an African oasis On an uninhabited plain;
I've a houseboat on the Yangtse,
I've an igloo up at Nome,
Yes, in traveling
It's really quite a comfort to know
That you're never far from home!
Having lots of idle leisure
I pursue a life of pleasure,
Like a rolling stone in constant agitation
For tho' stay-at-homes may cavil,
I admit I'd rather travel,
Than collect a crop of mossy vegetation!

Callie only half-listened to Maxwell drone on about his property and she smiled when she saw Hank suppress a yawn. One thing that drew Callie to Hank was the fact that he was a member of this circle by virtue of his talent rather than wealth.

Caroline nudged Callie and asked, "Are you going to take part in the, well, action tonight?"

"I'm thinking about it. I take it you're going to join in."

"Oh, Caroline has one of the major roles tonight," Hank put in.

"Yeah. I'm a little nervous," Caroline said, although Callie thought she detected a glimmer of pride in her expression..

Callie was about to ask what the major role was when all conversation was drowned out by a round of applause as Dee Dee entered the room wearing a hot pink silk robe.

"Wow!" Dee Dee exclaimed as soon as the applause died down. "I'm glad so many of you could come. This is really gonna be something. I hope this party helps you all work up a big appetite and that it lasts until tomorrow because you're gonna need it if we aren't gonna have a huge bunch of leftovers."

There was laughter at Dee Dee's self depreciating humor and somebody shouted, "Hey, I want at least enough cold cuts for a couple sandwiches," which brought more laughter.

"Well, you know I want to take a little bit of all of you into the oven with me tomorrow," Dee Dee said, "but if somebody's a little shy, I can understand and you're forgiven. I know this is all gonna be all about me tonight and nobody's gonna enjoy tonight as much as I will, but, well, the tables will be kinda turned tomorrow when you all dig into me. So, I hope you all enjoy me tomorrow as much as I'm gonna enjoy tonight. Now, Guy's promised not to call 'lights out' until everybody has had a chance to make a contribution and some of you may want to just keep on giving, so we'd better get started."

As Dee Dee removed her robe, Callie noticed that most of the roasters were beginning to strip down, including Caroline.

"Now," Dee Dee announced as she mounted the bed, "this is gonna be 'ladies first' because - well, you know. So, you guys just wait your turn and enjoy the show for now."

The lights dimmed a bit and some soft music came on as Dee Dee lay down on her back. Six naked roasters, including Caroline, gathered around the bed. Two of them began kissing, fondling, and sucking Dee Dee's breasts. Another was kissing her on the mouth. A fourth was stroking and licking her belly and a fifth was doing the same for her thighs. Caroline took a position between her legs and was beginning cunnilingus and clitoral stimulation..

Within moments, Dee Dee was already starting to moan and writhe with pleasure.

Looking around the room Callie saw that not only had all the roasters stripped, but so had two of the wives, leaving only the other two wives, Anthea, and herself clothed - and Anthea was being nudged by her brother.

Callie wasn't sure what to do. Certainly, she could take part in the adoration of Dee Dee if she wanted to - after all, Dee Dee had invited her and she did have a message to convey. What stopped Callie was the concern that her joining in would be taken as a declaration that she was "one of us." And, besides, this was a room full of strangers. Well, not really. Hank could hardly be considered a stranger. She turned to him, considering asking for advice, but his eyes were firmly on the performance on and around the bed.

Glancing back to the bed, Callie saw that another roaster had taken Caroline's place between Dee Dee's legs and Caroline was now on her knees with her pussy over Dee Dee's mouth. Caroline was playing with her own breasts and clitoris and was either convincingly faking or actually experiencing the beginnings of an orgasm. One of the wives had joined the group of Dee Dee worshipers and was sucking on the fingers of the prostrate woman's right hand. Dee Dee was wriggling, writhing, trembling and moaning, gasping, exclaiming.

Callie scanned the room again. Anthea and the two wives were still holding out, so she wasn't the only clothed woman in the room.

Almost all of the men were fixated on the tableau of naked women, but a few were chatting. Callie decided to listen in on a conversation between two men whose proteges were attending to Dee Dee and see if it was anything she could take an interest in.

"I was looking at the landscape just before dinner tonight. This really is beautiful country," one fellow remarked.

"Oh, quite right," the other agreed. "In fact, I just bought a small mountain cabin a few hundred miles to the west of here. Don't know how much time I'll be able to spend there, but it has a lovely view."

Oh, brother, Callie thought.

I've a shanty in the Rockies,
I've a castle on the Rhine,
I've a Siamese pagoda,
I've a cottage in Fashoda,
Near the equatorial line!
On my sable farm in Russia
O'er the barren steppes we'll roam,
And in traveling
It's really quite a comfort to know
That you're never far from home.

As Callie slipped off her clothing, she again felt eyes upon her, but she couldn't believe that she was upstaging a group of eight naked women. She ran through the reasons why she was going to take part in Dee Dee's send off. Dee Dee invited me, I've got a message to deliver, and, while I may not be a "protege," I certainly don't want to be identified with any of the onlookers here - except, maybe, Hank. Besides, Dee Dee deserves all the pleasure she can get.

There didn't seem to be an order of rotation to the circle around Dee Dee, so after a short turn at breast fondling, sucking, and kissing, Callie took the position between Dee Dee's legs. If she was crowding in line, she was doing so on the rationale that she wanted to give Dee Dee her message before she was so blissed out that she wouldn't understand. Dee Dee's juices were flowing like a fire hydrant and were very tasty, causing Callie to wonder if she had stuffed her vagina with chocolate. Callie was enjoying herself so much that she had to be tapped on the shoulder before she noticed that her predecessor was dismounting from Dee Dee's face and it was her turn.

This time, there was no question about it: almost everyone in the room was, indeed, looking at her; she was taking center stage. She tried to block that thought out and concentrate only on Dee Dee.

Callie looked down at Dee Dee, whose eyes were rolling and whose tongue was licking the juices of the previous roaster from around her lips. Dee Dee wasn't quite delirious with pleasure, but she was getting there fast.

"Hi, Dee Dee."

"Oh, uh, hi, Callie. Ah! Isn't this something? Ohmigod!"

"Yeah, it sure is," Callie agreed.

"I'm really, really - OH! - glad that you - Enh! - decided to - Oh! - get into the - Yes! Yes! - spirit of - Eee! - things."

"I'm glad I did, too. But I do have a message to deliver."

"You do? Oooo! What's that?"

"Ramon wanted me to tell you that he doesn't feel at all abused and that he wishes you the very best."

"He did? Enh! Enh! That's SO sweet of him! Yes, yes. My fingers! Suck them right off! He's really something!"

"Yes, he is."

"AH! Yes, eat my tits right NOW!! Chew them off! Yes! Yes!" Dee Dee gasped for breath, then said, "Callie, quick, sit on my face and shut me up! I'm talking way too - AH!! - much."

"It's a deal." Callie lowered herself down within reach of Dee Dee's mouth.

Dee Dee was so enthusiastic that Callie wondered if Dee Dee had mistaken her for a chocolate Easter bunny.

The effect of Dee Dee's ministrations were almost instantaneous. Coming atop the arousal she had been feeling ever since dinner began, Callie felt herself being propelled toward orgasm at the speed of light.

Desperate to slow down her body's rush toward fulfillment, Callie looked around the room for something else to concentrate on.

What she saw everywhere she looked were eyes staring back at her, lips being licked, jaws moving sideways. It seemed that no one was focused on anything but her and everyone had the same thought: how tasty she looked.

Surely, she could look somewhere and not be greeted by hunger lust for her body.

She sought out Anthea, assuming that the woman would be the most dispassionate person in the room. The stereotype of the Britisher as a non-demonstrative "cold fish" was not holding up: the demure Englishwoman seemed, to Callie, to be ready to spring forward and begin eating her alive.

Beneath her, Dee Dee was not being silent: her moans, groans, and exclamations continued and her vocalizations sent vibrations through the cavities of Callie's body, particularly the one closest to Dee Dee's mouth. Callie recalled a story Jody had told about having sex atop a huge stereo speaker while the "1812 Overture" was being played and Callie was now beginning to believe those stories. She was also beginning to believe that the London Philharmonic and Tchaikovsky had nothing on Dee Dee.

Now that Callie was naked, she could look down and she that she was, indeed, becoming flushed: red splotches were appearing on her breasts. It occurred to her that she might be taking on the appearance of a roaster beginning to redden over a pit of hot coals. That's what the audience had to be thinking, too. She saw men nudging each other, pointing, and smiling. She could imagine them saying, "That one's starting to cook up real nice."

Callie tried covering her breasts, but the merest touch of the soft skin of her forearms to the tips of her rigid, erect nipples sent even more shivers through her. No good. Too late for modesty. Besides, she needed her arms for balance. She didn't extend them fully, but bent them at the elbows and found herself having to raise and lower them to stay upright. She knew she must look like a chicken. A fine, meaty chicken, ready to be barbequed.

From beneath her came Dee Dee's resonating vocalizations, vibrating her whole body. And Dee Dee's lips and tongue were doing wonderful things to her

All around her, hungry eyes, smacking lips, murmurs of appreciation. Words: "beautiful," "sink my teeth into a piece of that," "imagine what she'd look like riding a spit instead of Dee Dee's tongue."

It was too much.

Callie began to lose her balance.

A roaster touched her shoulder to steady her.

That single extra stimulation sent Callie way, way over the edge.

She howled.

Her whole body shook as the orgasm began where Dee Dee's tongue caressed her and spread to the tips of her wings - fingers, that is.

She took flight, soaring above the bed, the room, the mansion, Colorado, the North American continent, until she burst into a fireball.

The roasted remains floated back to Earth, all ready to be served.

A brief pause for station identification. Blank screen.

Callie found herself being assisted to her feet by two of the roasters.

For some reason, she uttered, "G-g-g-good luuuuck, Dee Dee dee dee dee dee dee."

Curious expressions on the faces of the people around. What are they looking at? Oh, yeah, me. Big deal.

One of the roasters remembered having seen her with Hank and guided her back to him.

Hank must have just heard a good joke or received a present, because he was smiling. He put his hands on her shoulders.

"Welcome back. Did you enjoy that?" he said.

"Uh huh."

"Do you want to do it again?"

"Un uh."

"Would you like to go somewhere and sit down for a while?"

"Uh huh."

"Would you like to get dressed first?"

"Uh huh." Callie looked at the pile of clothes lying in a heap on planet Earth. Maneuvering in a gravity-free environment was difficult. When she bent over to pick them up, her legs went up into the air. She found herself being grabbed by Hank, restored to an upright position. Retrieving the clothes from this distance would not be possible. They would have to abandoned. It was a shame: they had been good clothes and they had served their purpose well. A report would have to be made. She looked at Hank. "Second thought: un uh."

Suddenly, Hank disappeared from her screen.

She looked around, scanning the curiously amused faces that surrounded her for an explanation of what had happened to him.

Then Hank reappeared in front of her, holding her clothes.

How did he do that? Must be a trick of some kind. she thought.

As Hank guided her from the room, she thought she glimpsed an "Anthea" and two "wives" beginning to remove their garments.

Right outside the rec room there was a small couch exactly wide enough for two people to sit on. Darn clever idea, Callie thought. There's a genius at work here.

Almost as soon as she and Hank sat down, a "Myrna" popped up in front of her, apparently wanting to give her a whole tray of beverages. Why would a "Myrna" think I need all that to drink? Do I look that thirsty? I'll have to drink them one at a time, but where to start? Decisions, decisions. I'll have to think this over.

"Do you think you'd like the Scotch?" Hank asked.

"Uh huh." Callie had no prejudices. The Scottish, the Irish, the Belgians - whatever. Callie viewed all ethnic groups as equal.

Hank took two drinks off the tray and gave one to Callie. The "Myrna" disappeared.

"Oh, I was only supposed to take one." Now it made sense to Callie.

"You can have more later."

"That's nice." Generosity abounded. Life was going to be good here.

Callie sipped her drink.

Bang!

The harsh taste of the whiskey grabbed Callie by the tongue and yanked her back to her familiar reality.

She blinked.

She looked at Hank.

"Hi," she said.

"Welcome back for real," Hank responded.

"Wow. As Dee Dee would say, 'that was really something.' " Another sip. More grounding, though Callie was still feeling surges of erotic tingles passing through her. "So," she asked, trying to sound casual, "do you have any plans for later?" Hope. Hope. Hope.

"Actually, Maxwell and Caroline have asked me to join them."

"Oh." Shot down.

"I haven't said 'yes.' "

"Oh?" Hope springing back.

"I'm pretty sure that they asked me only because they assumed I would bring you along," Hank confessed. "I didn't want to make any commitments until I talked to you."

"So, uh, do want to? Accept their invitation, I mean."

"Frankly, yes."

Callie appreciated his honesty, but she did want to hear more and she nodded in a way that encouraged him to elucidate.

"Caroline is next on the menu," Hank continued. "Her Big Day is next month. I like Caroline and refusing a woman who's coming up on her Big Day..."

"Would hurt her," Callie completed the sentence for him. She felt most of the men in the rec room would have said something pseudo-sophisticated like would be bad form or just isn't done. Callie didn't think that Hank's humanity had been contaminated by contact with this subculture, but she wasn't sure and was unwilling to risk having her image of him shattered.

"Yes. Caroline is sweet. I don't want to hurt her, but I'd rather be alone with you than be with her and Maxwell without you. Now," Hank hastened to clarify, "don't take that as meaning I'm infatuated with you. The fact is that they would be disappointed as hell with only me."

"Don't sell yourself short." Callie laid her hand on his thigh.

"Well, it's true. And, besides, I don't want you to be alone or with someone else - not that I'd be jealous. I'm not that type."

Callie wanted badly to pull Hank off the dilemma horns that were digging into him, but...

"I'll think about it. Let me see how I feel..." after Dee Dee is killed "...later on. This is..." the first time I've ever seen a woman murdered for food "my first time here. I'm not sure how..." watching Dee Dee die "...all this will affect me. I might..." want to go to my room and cry... run away from here as fast as I've ever run in my life... curse myself for ever coming here or for not grabbing Dee Dee off that bed and fighting everyone in the room - including you - like I was Xena Warrior Princess until I got her back to civilization as I know it and talked her out of all this bullshit! And put her on a diet and exercise program, for godssake! "...want to be alone to process all this."

"I understand," Hank said.

Somehow, Callie believed that he did understand, including the unspoken thoughts.

They sat quietly, talking of many things, but not sailing ships and sealing wax or cabbages and kings.

They watched pretty women come and go, not talking of Michelangelo.

However, the subject most conspicuously not mentioned between Callie and Hank was what was happening, and what was about to happen, in the rec room.

More than an hour passed before they decided to rejoin the party.

Although Dee Dee was still encircled by roasters and wives stimulating various of her erogenous zones when Callie and Hank re-entered the rec room, the males in the group were now taking their turns at paying their respects to Dee Dee. The owner of the shooting box in Scotland was positioned between her legs while giving her some very vigorous thrusts, and another man was standing behind him, waiting a bit impatiently.

Sexual energy pervaded the room. Those women who were not attending Dee Dee were themselves centers of small circles of admirers, ranging from a short, dark-skinned woman being fondled lasciviously by three men to Anthea engaged in a discussion with her brother and another man. No one in the room, however, was too preoccupied to glance from time to time at the display in the center of the room and watch Dee Dee being pushed to the highest state of erotic ecstasy.

Both Callie and Hank knew that he didn't need her permission or encouragement, but she wanted to be sure that he knew she was fully "on board" with the idea of honoring a woman on her "Big Day." So, when Mr. Shooting Box had finished and the next man advanced to take his place, Callie gave Hank a pat on the back and said, "Go get her, Champ."

"I think I'll do just that. I'll see you in a while." Hank gave her a kiss on the cheek and then stepped up to say a special farewell to Dee Dee.

Though she had had more than one whiskey, Callie had taken care not to become inebriated. She wanted to be able to observe and remember clearly what was about to happen. After all, she had come here to find out all she could about these people and their appetites. She didn't want to approach the bed while Hank was taking his turn with Dee Dee out of concern that her proximity might inhibit him. She carried her clothes over her arm, never having put them back on; she knew that she certainly belonged with the naked women rather than with their clothed masters and mistresses. However, she had no desire to become the center of her own group so she looked around for an established threesome or foursome to join. Anthea and her brace of males looked the tamest, but Callie opted to join Caroline, Maxwell, and two other men, in view of the invitation she was considering accepting.

Callie was given a friendly reception, but the conversation didn't stop when she joined the group. The topic, not surprisingly, was Caroline's upcoming roast and, at the moment, the focus was on the merits of creamy cole slaw versus a light garden salad as the ideal complement for the rather spicy barbeque sauce that Caroline had chosen for herself.

Rather than pay close attention to the side dish debate, Callie took advantage of the opportunity to evaluate Caroline. All of the proteges were attractive. Some had a tendency toward plumpness, but none of them, not even Dee Dee, would be considered obese. A couple were extraordinarily top-heavy, breast meat apparently being highly valued. Caroline was one of several proteges who would simply be classified as shapely women whom one would not be surprised to see featured in a men's magazine. Callie estimated Caroline as five foot, seven inches tall with measurements of maybe 36-25-35. Like Callie, she had blonde hair and blue eyes and a healthy complexion; in fact, Caroline's skin tone seemed vibrant. She certainly didn't need to offer herself as food in order to get male attention. From her conversation, Caroline seemed bright enough and steady enough to be able to hold a job or even have a career. Callie tried to visualize Caroline as a partner in a two-income marriage, raising a couple children, and doing some volunteer work on the side. Junior League. Maybe Eastern Star. Callie decided Caroline would fit right into that picture.

And, curiously, she seemed to fit into this picture just as well.

"So, what do you think, Callie?" Caroline asked.

"Oh, I like creamy cole slaw with barbeque. It makes for a nice contrast and can even cleanse the palate so that one can appreciate a hot sauce." Callie's eyes drifted over to the Dee Dee show and she noticed that, unlike some of the men, Hank had completely removed his pants and shorts while servicing Dee Dee. Good, Callie thought. I don't value shyness much in a man.

Guy interrupted the conversation to whisper something to Maxwell, who shook his head in reply. The other two men also gave negative responses to Guy's question, the significance of which was clarified when Guy said to Caroline:

"I've yet to check with Franklin and Anthony, but I think you might as well start getting ready."

"Oh, okay. Max, you'll help me, won't you?" Caroline asked.

"Of course. Wouldn't miss out on this. Lead the way, my dear." Maxwell, said pseudo-graciously.

Callie surmised from all this that Guy was checking to see if any of the men wanted another turn with Dee Dee before what had euphemistically been referred to as "lights out time." Callie had thought that Caroline's special role had been to be the first to exchange oral favors with Dee Dee, but apparently there was more to it.

Rather than remain with the two other men, Callie decided to follow Maxwell and Caroline as they headed toward the oxygen tank. This brought them very close to the action in the center of the room and Callie could see that Dee Dee was in an eye-rolling, erratic-breathing state of euphoria, her body quivering, apparently with continuous orgasm. When Hank exploded inside Dee Dee, she shook with extra violent spasms.

Callie smiled at Hank, then directed her attention to her other possible future companions for the night.

Maxwell was helping Caroline put on a small mask that covered only her nose. Two clear plastic tubes entered the mask through separate holes and one tube went up each nostril. Maxwell carefully pushed the tubes further in until Caroline gave him a signal to stop. He then threaded the tubes over her ears and then secured them to her back with duct tape while Caroline was busy tightening a strap that held the mask in place and checking to make sure that there was an air-tight seal around her nose. One of the tubes led to the oxygen tank while the other dangled freely.

Apparently, Hank was going to have the honor of being the last man to service Dee Dee, as no one advanced to take his place. Callie wondered if Dee Dee had been aware of just who was mounting her, and if she was, Callie was sure she would have been glad to know that Hank had seen her off.

Seeing that there were no more men in line, one of the roasters immediately began working Dee Dee with a vibrating dildo.

Rather than make a vocal announcement, Guy approached the bed, raised his arms high over his head, and made a beckoning gesture, which eventually everyone noticed.

All of the proteges and the two naked wives found positions around Dee Dee and began stimulating her with hands and mouths.

Callie looked over and saw that Maxwell was adjusting the flow of the oxygen as Caroline gave him a series of "raise-lower" hand signals that culminated in an "okay" sign. Caroline then advanced to the bed, the tubes railing behind her, bent over, and began kissing Dee Dee on the mouth.

Four men, including Hank, joined in the stimulation of Dee Dee.

Guy picked up the plastic tent and prepared to place it over Dee Dee and Caroline's head and shoulders. Maxwell held a roll of duct tape.

Callie had no doubt about whether to be a participant or a spectator. It wasn't important if anyone read anything into her joining in; the fact was that she was Dee Dee's friend ("You're probably the last friend I'm ever gonna make") and, besides, Dee Dee deserved all the appreciation that could be given her.

Callie knelt by Dee Dee's left foot and began licking her ankle. She thought Dee Dee's leg twitched an extra twitch and moved slightly toward Callie's mouth.

Guy was holding the tent steady as Maxwell taped the edges to the bed, Dee Dee's chest, and Caroline's back.

Callie saw the roasters exchange smiles and encouraging glances. There was something very warm and genuine about the conviction of the members of the "sorority" to see to it that their sister got the best they could give.

Caroline's mouth and the plastic tent significantly stifled Dee Dee's moans of pleasure but they were still audible.

So many hands were on Dee Dee that she couldn't have moved much if she wanted to, but her body continued to tremble and vibrate.

With her lower lip, Callie detected a pulse in a vein by Dee Dee's ankle bone and she could tell that the heart behind the pulse was pumping strongly and with great excitement.

The women on either side of Callie were rubbing their hips against her. Callie saw the woman directly across from her was twitching with excitement as though she was fingering herself. Looking around, Callie saw that many women were doing the same. It wasn't a purely selfish indulgence: they were communicating their own sexual arousal to Dee Dee.

Through her lip, Callie felt the pulse skip once.

Women moaned. Men sighed.

The woman operating the vibrator began to thrust and withdraw it more rapidly.

The pulse skipped several times.

Maxwell had his hand firmly on Caroline's back.

Some woman - not Dee Dee - moaned in orgasm.

Callie flicked her tongue as rapidly as she could.

The pulse was not only skipping, but seemed fainter.

Dee Dee's leg jerked.

More moans. More sighs.

Callie was bumped roughly as the woman on her right came.

Dee Dee's tummy was quivering.

A wild look the eyes of the woman rubbing Dee Dee's right knee.

Pulse so irregular that Callie thought for a moment that she lost it.

Female voices made excited exclamations.

"Go, girl! Go!"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Dee Dee, we love you!"

"Yes, love you!"

"You're going to be delicious."

"Yes! Dee Dee-licious!"

Dee Dee's body in total orgasmic spasm.

Callie looked up. Saw hungry eyes half-lidded.

Bodies swayed in sympathy with the rhythm of Dee Dee's undulating hips, the basic beat behind the erratic jerks and twists.

The rhythm slowing, the sense of passion building.

Pulse fluttering faintly.

Dee Dee arched up as though poked from beneath and remained in that position as if practicing a yoga exercise. Then she dropped.

Callie could feel no pulse but went on licking.

None of the women ceased their ministrations.

Dee Dee's foot twitched. Then was still.

Callie knew they/she were/was making love to a dead woman.

How many others knew?

Did they all?

Group necrophilia persisted for long moments.

Maxwell removed tape from Caroline's back and tapped her on the shoulder.

Guy removed tape from Dee Dee's chest and tilted the tent back.

Caroline rose, took off the mask, pulled out the tubes, and leaned on Maxwell.

Other women took notice and stopped their activities.

Looks were exchanged between sorority sisters. Smiles. Hand clasped. A tear of sadness? Or of joy?

Each woman, as she rose, looked down at Dee Dee, whose open eyes stared at nothing or took in the whole cosmos.

On Dee Dee's lips, a contented smile easily interpreted as the smile of a woman who had got what she wanted, with the help of friends.

Proteges/roasters/sisters turned to mentors/masters.

Callie looked for Hank. He was beside her.

Most of the women and nearly all of the men were maintaining their sexual high, though nobody was actually engaging in sex and nobody rushed out of the room.

Callie was feeling a tingle in her nether region, but that had been there since dinner and she repressed a tinge of guilt about its persistence because she knew Dee Dee wouldn't want her to feel guilty.

Callie's ears caught one protege saying, "...just the way she wanted it."

Yes. It had been just what Dee Dee said she wanted. They had followed her expressed wishes perfectly.

"How's Caroline doing?" Callie asked Hank.

"Let's find out," Hank suggested.

Caroline was still leaning on Maxwell, her face pressed into his chest.

Seeing Hank approaching with Callie, Maxwell tapped Caroline on the shoulder, suggesting that he turn around and greet them.

Callie didn't like that and wanted to say, Don't make her snap to attention for us, you fucking puppet master, but didn't because she didn't want to make trouble.

Well, not completely true. She would have been glad to have some trouble with Maxwell, but she knew, modifying some advice her Uncle Jake had given her, that if she took a shit in Caroline's nest, Caroline would have to clean it. There would be plenty of time to crap all over Maxwell after Caroline's nest-tending days were over.

Caroline turned around with a smile on lips and no tears in her eyes - but there was not much else in her eyes, either.

Callie wanted to say something, make some gesture, but didn't know what to do.

"Let's all go someplace where we can gab a little and get to know each other." This from Maxwell, of course.

Still, it wasn't a bad idea.

As they moved toward the door, sharp quarry ears, trained to pick up the sound of a footfall in the midst of a windy day heard, "...doesn't have to go into the oven until nine tomorrow morning. Should have a few left in her. Let's get her to the kitchen."

Callie did not recognize the voice and didn't want to turn to see who had spoken, but apparently not everyone was finished paying respects to Dee Dee.

Later, well after midnight...

The two women sat beside a bay window in a second floor hallway. Caroline smoked a joint; Callie had declined her offer to share, saying it was bad for a runner's wind.

The four-way had taken place in Jim's room.

Callie had tried to resist enjoying sex with Maxwell, but her lust betrayed her. She told herself that her repeated orgasms were the product of being with a woman eater and the fact that Maxwell was sexually competent didn't make him any less of a schmuck. Callie was confident that she would have been just as responsive with any man who saw her body as roasted meat. She wasn't sure that was a good thing.

After they had satisfied their men, Callie and Caroline had treated them to a little girl-on-girl show, though catering to voyeurism was not their intent. Both women found each other attractive and they still had sexual energies to dispel.

Unexpectedly, Callie felt some of the same energy from Caroline that she had felt from Hank and Maxwell: Caroline was appreciating her body as a potential meal. Somehow, coming from a woman who was soon to be eaten herself, this seemed, at first, strange and, on reflection, wonderful. It made sense. Of course, the roasters ate their "sisters"; it was part of the bond between them. Even if they didn't hunger for a woman's flesh in the same way as the members of the "Diners' Club," they knew what it took to make a woman feel appreciated as food. They craved that appreciation and knew how to share it with each other.

Can I do it? Callie wondered. Can I make Caroline feel what I'm feeling?

She cupped Caroline's breast in her hand and tried to imagine it as something tasty to eat. A juicy apple? A cupcake? But it wasn't fruit or cake - it was meat. Still, she couldn't see it as a steak or porkchop. Well, she had never eaten girl meat and Caroline's breast didn't look like any cut of meat she had ever seen. Maybe chicken? No. The breast looked more like a pastry than meat. Imagine it as a chocolate (there's Dee Dee, already!) cupcake covered with maple frosting, maybe a maraschino cherry - no - a pecan in the middle.

Callie held that visualization and placed Caroline's breast in her mouth, imagining that she was just about to taste maple and chocolate and pecan, all in one bite.

She bit down hard enough to break frosting on a cupcake, but not hard enough to break skin.

Caroline squealed and pressed Callie's face into her breast.

Callie knew that she hadn't given Caroline the same feeling she had felt herself but there was an extra excitement.

Maybe after she had eaten some of Dee Dee and discovered what girl meat tasted like, she'd be better at this. Again, she wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

Rather than cause Maxwell and Caroline to drive back to Denver at such a late hour, Hank had given them his room for the night and gone off to sleep in Callie's bed. Neither man had protested when Callie and Caroline said they wanted to go somewhere and have some girl-talk.

Callie stared at the moon-lit mountain landscape, which was beautiful and serene and majestic, and listened to Caroline, who was beautiful and even majestic, but not serene.

Roasts occurred about once a month and Caroline had been to twenty of them in the past two years. She had known all of the women who had been roasted and had been intimate with nine of them. She had witnessed fifteen live spit-roastings, three hangings, a beheading, and another asphyxiation besides Dee Dee's.

"...but I've never actually been touching someone when she died," Caroline was saying.

"Me neither. I'm sure it was a first for a lot of people," Callie said.

"I tried to give her some oxygen while I was kissing her, by breathing in from the tank and exhaling real quick through my mouth. I wasn't trying to save her life, you know; I just wanted to keep her party going a little longer." Caroline paused. "I think she knew what I was trying to do and she started shaking her head like she didn't want it. Of course, she was twisting and turning so much, I can't be sure if it meant anything, but that's how I took it and I went back to breathing in through one nostril and out through the other. You think I did right?"

"Sure." What else could she say?

"I think so, too. I think she thought she was as high as she was gonna get and she didn't want to lose any of it."

"Sure."

As this conversation took place, Dee Dee's body had been in the kitchen for a few hours. Based on childhood memories of Granny Bess trying to teach her to cook the old-fashioned way (meaning the way Granny Bess's granny had done it), Callie supposed that Dee Dee had been gutted already, but not yet stuffed. Probably she was being refrigerated, but a very cool room would do. It seemed that the group would tolerate only so much interference with a woman's natural flavor, so it was unlikely that she was being soaked in a marinade.

"I'm sure I did the right thing," Caroline repeated.

Callie could only think of so many ways to give reassurance, so she decided to shift the subject.

"So, how did you get involved in all this?" she asked.

"Oh, I found this web site that the group operates. It had a bunch of stories and drawings about women being eaten. There were some disclaimers about how it was for fun and not to be taken seriously. Anyway, they had a contest for women to enter. You had to write, in three to five hundred words, what turned you on about the idea of being eaten and I decided to enter just for fun. Well, it turned out that they have a bunch of shrinks who read over the entries and, somehow, they can tell which women might be serious, even if they don't know it themselves. Pretty soon after I entered, I started getting emails from Max and one thing led to another and, well, here I am."

"And next month, you're going to be roasted."

"Yeah." Caroline took a really deep hit off her joint.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm not... scared... if that's... what you mean." The pauses were due to Caroline not wanting to exhale too much at once.

"I didn't ask how you DON'T feel. I asked how you DO feel."

"I'm... excited." That pause may or may not have been due to wanting to hold her hit. Either way, Callie wasn't convinced and it showed in her eyes. After exhaling and inhaling plain air, Caroline went on: "I mean, you know the feeling you get when you know somebody's looking at you as food?"

Callie nodded. She certainly did know that.

"Well, that feeling just grows and grows the closer it gets to your Big Day. I mean, every time Max or another member of the group touches me or even looks at me, I know they're figuring in their heads just how long they have to wait until they get to eat me. And I've seen men look at women on spits - when it's actually happening, you know - and I'm sure the woman has to feel their excitement. I can tell from the way they move around on the spit. You'll see when you come to my roast next month. You ARE coming, aren't you?"

"I don't know. I haven't been invited," Callie said.

"Shit! I'm inviting you! You don't need no other invitation. That's one thing about being a roaster: I got absolute say over who gets to eat me. I can invite anybody and I can veto anybody. If I didn't like Guy or Anthony, it wouldn't matter how important they were. If I didn't want them having a piece of me, they'd be out the door. So, you can come if you want to. I can even get Max to spring for your plane ticket - but I don't think that's gonna be necessary. You'll get invited. These people like you, Callie."

"Yes. I know."

"These people want to eat you, Callie."

"Yes, I know."

"So, how do YOU feel about THAT?"

Fair enough. Caroline had answered Callie's similar question. Now it was time to reciprocate.

"The idea excites me. It turns me on."

"You bet your sweet ass, it does." Caroline stroked Callie's thigh. "Or, maybe I should say 'your sweet rump roast.' "

Callie again omitted sexual details in telling her story to the Colonel, but she did report her conversation with Caroline in detail, concluding by saying, "I confessed that I was just as turned on as Caroline."

"Yes. However," Stoneridge pointed out, "her affirmative response was to the question of how she felt about being eaten. You were answering the question of how you felt about the fact that people wanted to eat you." He raised his eyebrows and waiting for Callie to grasp the significance, then urged her, "Please go on with your story. I'm finding this most fascinating."

Because spit roasting was by far the most common method of preparing a woman for consumption, most of the group's meals were held as afternoon barbeques. As Dee Dee had chosen to be oven roasted, her dinner was a much more formal affair, complete with table settings and assigned seating. The afternoon scheduling, however, had been maintained.

Callie found the formality very comforting and suited to her purposes. She told herself with determination, observe and experience now; process later. Participate but detach. Reserve judgements for later, including judgements on yourself.

Even the seating arrangement worked in Callie's favor. Because two of the men had brought both wives and proteges, there was not a perfect balance of genders and the guests were seated as pairs of males alternating with pairs of females. She was relieved to find herself sitting between Hank and Caroline, so she would not have to worry about making conversation with strangers.

Curved dining tables were placed end to end in a nearly complete circle, so that everyone could see everyone else. Everyone could also see Dee Dee when she was wheeled in on a cart by the chef and his assistants.

The main course looked beautiful and brought forth a chorus of "emm"s and "ah"s from the spectators.

Dee Dee was lying on her back, her breasts looking perky and, frankly, very tasty. Her skin was golden brown and had a nice sheen to it, suggesting that she was covered with a glaze. A lei of leafy vegetables covered her neck, causing Callie to suppose that her head had been severed and had not been roasted with her body, but perhaps make-up had been applied so that her face matched the rest of her in color and sheen.

The chef pushed the cart around the inside of the circle, giving the group a good view of the woman they were about to eat. Strategically placed spinach leaves and carrot slices provided some modesty and added color and texture to the presentation while concealing the evidence of gutting and stuffing. Aesthetically speaking, it was a very pleasing sight and the visual impact was enhanced by a marvelous aroma.

Callie tried her best to see Dee Dee's body as simply a beautiful object, not what remained of a fun-loving, good-humored woman whom she had met only two days before. When she was not very successful at this effort, she decided to concentrate on observing the reactions of the other dinner guests.

She had attended plenty of extended family holiday celebrations that included a feast, so it was nothing new for her to see a crowd of people react to a main entree being set before them and the anticipation of a satisfying shared gastronomical experience. But this was different.

Seeing hunger as well as lust in the eyes of men when they looked at her had been a bit jarring to Callie, albeit in a very pleasant way, because it was novel, unusual - even inappropriate: it wasn't "right" to look at a woman as food. Now the hunger in the eyes of the woman-eaters was perfectly appropriate; this was the proper context for it; they were about to eat.

What now struck Callie as out of place was the lust she believed she detected in the eyes of the woman eaters. It should have seemed shocking that they were looking at Dee Dee as a woman. If it wasn't "right" to look at a woman as food, it was even less "right" to look at food as a woman.

Of course, it wasn't as though any of the men would think of mounting Dee Dee on the serving platter. No more than they would think of taking a bite out of a woman as she walked by. Or as they made love to her.

Wait!

No more than they would...

Would they?

Callie shook the thought from her head. Observe and participate now; process later.

She turned her attention to the proteges/roasters. In their eyes she didn't see any revulsion. No fear, either. Not jealousy or envy. Admiration? What was it? Callie had seen that look before.

Where?

In the stands.

When she had won an All-State Championship.

When the head of the athletic association placed the trophy in her hands, Callie's eyes had made contact with those of a young girl in the stands who was applauding wildly. The girl was truly happy for Callie, but also, in her eyes, it was easy to read her thoughts: I'll be there someday myself.

Admiration blended with ambition.

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone standing in front of her. One of the chef's assistants was asking what cut of meat she would prefer.

"Some calf muscle, please." She knew Dee Dee's calves would be strong from carrying her weight. As she gave her order, from behind Myrna set soup and salad before her.

Callie tried not to be too deliberate in avoiding watching the chef carve Dee Dee. She really didn't want to watch, but she also didn't want to appear to be squeamish. Over-compensating by staring at the process might get her tagged as morbidly fascinated. So, she glanced from time to time at the carving while she munched her salad, tasted her soup, and made small talk with Hank and Caroline.

She told Hank how much Dee Dee had enjoyed sharing with her his artist's conception of what her roasted body would look like.

"Thanks. It's the least I can do," Hank said. "It's a shame that a woman never really knows how she turns out and how much people enjoy her. I do the best I can to give them some idea."

"Well, that's one of the good things about live spit roasting," Caroline put in. "Not only do you get to hear people talk about how great you look on the spit and how good you smell, but you can actually smell yourself cooking and Max has promised he's going to have a tv monitor put right where I can see it so I can watch myself on the spit. Of course, that'll only last so long, but I think I'll get off on it so much that, well, I may not even notice when I, well, can't watch anymore."

You mean that you won't know when you die, Callie thought.

"But, on the other hand," Caroline went on, "oven roasting allows for so much variety in presentation. Doesn't Dee Dee look great like that, with all that green to show off her color? And, Hank, you remember how Monica had herself posed? Oh, Callie, it was terrific! She was sitting in this sort of half-lotus thing and she had a whole bunch of vegetables in her lap and she was cupping her breasts in her hands like this." Caroline demonstrated.

The pose reminded Callie of a statue on the capitol grounds of her home state representing agricultural bounty.

As she casually glanced around the room, it seemed that none of the guests wanted to be caught watching the knife cut into Dee Dee's body.

The chef and his assistants were very efficient in their work and Callie quickly found herself looking down at a piece of meat sharing a plate with a baked potato, green peas, and stuffing.

Callie heard murmurs of praise all around her and she saw satisfied smiles everywhere she looked.

Well, this is it, Callie told herself. Time for my first taste of woman meat.

She knew most people were absorbed in their own dining pleasure, but, if anyone was watching her, her reaction would be noted.

I promised Dee Dee.

She took up her knife and fork.

This isn't Dee Dee. This is meat. Not Dee Dee; her meat.

Callie cut off a bite and placed it in her mouth.

And found that...

It tasted good.

REALLY good.

Superb. Delicious. Succulent.

If it tasted like any other meat she had ever eaten, it tasted like pork. Very good pork. The best, in fact.

Not the pork you get at a restaurant, or even what you might buy at a store and fix for yourself.

It reminded her of times when Uncle Jake would butcher one of his own hogs, a hog that had been raised on a farm in the sunshine and open air, fed on corn and table scraps.

City people had no idea what good pork tasted like. All they ever got was pork from animals raised in hog confinement facilities, mass-produced life. Miserable creatures that lived their entire lives indoors, packed so closely together that they were covered with sores from rubbing against each other. The stench of a large hog confinement facility could cause property values to decrease in towns miles away and these animals never took a breath without smelling their own shit. These hogs never saw sunlight, never ate a bite of food they didn't have to compete for. They lived in stress from the moment of birth to the time they were zapped in a processing plant.

A person didn't have to be a radical animal rights activist to view this treatment as cruel.

The pathetic thing is that pigs are very intelligent, perhaps the most intelligent animals on the planet after great apes and cetaceans. They are far more intelligent than dogs or cats and people were charged with animal abuse and jailed for keeping felines and canines in conditions far better than those of a commercial hog operation.

Anybody who said that meat from a distressed animal tasted just the same as that of a contented animal was speaking from theory and not experience.

But the comparison of Dee Dee's meat with even the best pork was only a rough approximation. If Callie were describing the flavor as a sound rather than a taste, she would have said it had more resonance and was richer in tone than any other meat she had ever eaten.

"You like it?" Hank asked.

"Um hm." Callie did not strive to be articulate with a full mouth.

"I hope I taste this good," Caroline said.

"Me, too," Callie chewed, swallowed quickly, and clarified. "I mean, I hope you do, too."

Like everyone else, Callie had a second helping and looked forward to the cold cuts that would be served at the party that night.

After dinner, Callie retired to her room to digest her meal, bathe, prep for the evening party, and reflect a bit.

Dee Dee had got what she said she wanted: her meat was delicious and the meal would be fondly remembered.

Callie had caught snatches of conversations around the dinner table. People shared anecdotes about Dee Dee, many focusing on her insatiable appetites for chocolate and sex and her fondness for soap operas. Her good nature and her self-effacing humor were spoken of. Dee Dee had enjoyed board games and was very good at some of them; in fact, it said was that if Monopoly were played with real money, Guy might have found himself being Dee Dee's houseguest instead of vice versa. While she never presented herself as a role model, other proteges had gone to her often for supportive advice. She was a great listener.

Dee Dee had been very much appreciated, both as a person and as food.

But it was also true that Dee Dee was now dead.

Callie had the thought that it would be interesting to compare various systems of morality on the point of where they would place two acts, relative to each other, on a spectrum of good and evil, the acts being: a) treating a woman like a queen for a year, killing her in a manner she herself had specified, and then eating her; and b) subjecting an intelligent and sensitive animal to a life of tortured confinement, killing it with no humane consideration, and eating it.

Callie realized that she was intellectualizing what she had just experienced when she could - or perhaps should - be reacting on other levels, but she decided to continue to ponder the matter of ethics while soaking in a tub of warm water.

Unfortunately, she discovered, after she had striped herself naked, that all of the towels and wash cloths had been removed from her bathroom and had not been replaced. It appeared that the household staff was only doing half its job. As she had only brought a single hand towel with her, Callie decided to use the intercom to summon a maid.

All of her needs had been well anticipated so far and this was her first occasion to use the intercom. Apparently the device was malfunctioning, because when she hit the "call" switch, she heard a male voice coming through the speaker. She immediately recognized Anthony's cultured English accent.

"...tasty, I'm sure, but she must realize that she's asking quite a lot."

Callie couldn't name the next speaker, but she was sure he was from the American Midwest.

"I'm sure she'd cook up real nice, but five years is a long time to keep a gal on the feedbag."

Callie's eyes widened. It seemed that she herself was the subject of discussion. The next voice confirmed that.

"And, if I heard right, Callie didn't even say for sure that she'd cut a deal at five years." This was Maxwell.

"That's right," Guy replied. "She only said she'd think about it. But I think you'll all agree that she's been an enthusiastic participant in all the activities thus far this weekend."

There was a general chorus of assent and Callie caught the phrases "quite a show on top of Dee Dee" and "healthy appetite." She sat down on her bed. Whatever quirky gremlin had found its way into the intercom system, she was glad it was on the job. She wanted to hear more of this.

A sonorous New England male voice said, "As much as I would enjoy seeing that superb muscular body writhing on a spit, I'm concerned about the unfortunate precedent this would establish."

The Midwesterner said: "Yeah. What if all the gals started asking for five-year contracts? That could mean a long time between meals."

"Well," Guy explained, "that's precisely why I'm suggesting that we form a syndicate for Callie's support. In addition to the usual solo sponsorships, each member would have a fifth or a sixth of the responsibility for Callie. The girls should see it as a shared burden undertaken for purposes of adding variety to the menu, rather than an especially generous offer made by one member to a protege."

The next speaker had a Southern accent.

"I can just close my eyes and imagine catching a whiff of her roasting flesh hanging on the evening air. What I'm wondering about is, where would this little darling stand on the subject of frequent, ah, tenderizing by her sponsors?"

"Tenderizing?" This was a female voice - Anthea's.

"A euphemism for sexual intercourse," Anthony explained.

"Maxwell, can you give us some insight on that matter?" Guy asked.

"I think I can assure you that she has an open, uh, mind." Snickers.

Kiss-and-tell bastard! Callie thought. For some reason, she was grateful that Hank apparently was not a part of this round table.

"What concerns me," said Anthony, "is that, while she's in marvelous condition at present, would she remain so over the course of five years? Don't misunderstand me: Dee Dee was as good-natured as the day is long, excellent in bed, and she made for a very tasty dinner, but she did manage to become quite a little butterball after just a year of soft living."

"Yes," Anthea agreed. "Please do remind me to have my cholesterol checked immediately upon our return home. I can almost feel the limpids multiplying in my bloodstream as we sit here."

"That's 'lipids,' my dear," Anthony corrected, then explained to the group at large, "Gentlemen, my dear sister has ambitions of becoming lean cuisine herself someday."

General murmurs of approval.

Her fellow Midwesterner came to Callie's defense. "This gal don't hardly strike me as the type to let herself go to seed."

The New Englander added: "I agree. If I'm any judge of character, this young woman isn't given to idleness. In fact, it occurs to me that therein might lie justification for her extended tenure. Perhaps we could give her some useful work to do. What was her major in college?"

"Liberal arts," Guy replied.

"In other words, she ain't got no job skills at all." From the Southerner.

"Not necessarily," Maxwell disagreed. "Remember, she is an athlete. Perhaps she could act as a sort of trainer for some of the other women. She and Caroline really seemed to hit it off together."

"Yeah," said the Midwesterner. "Get ‘em in shape to ride the spit."

"Now, that's an excellent idea," Anthony said with good cheer. "Guy, do you think she would be approachable on the subject?"

"I don't see why not."

"I would certainly be willing to go for a sixth share of Miss Landers' support," the New Englander declared, "in the anticipation of a protracted and entertaining performance as that splendid form twists over hot coals."

"Not to mention how nice it will be to become familiar with her body in other, more private contexts. I'm in," said Maxwell.

"Oh, she's gonna be sweeter than a Virginia ham," the Southerner drawled. "I'll take a piece of the action."

"And it will be enjoyable to watch her become more and more acclimated to her eventual fate," Anthony mused. "I think Anthea and I could put her up for ten months or so if she would come to England."

"That little heifer's just too good to let get away," the Midwesterner allowed. "I'll chip in."

"And with me, that makes six of us," Guy said happily. "A joint sponsorship such as this is so unusual that the other girls shouldn't accuse their sponsors of stinginess for not having offered such longevity."

"I would like to raise one point of protocol, if I may," the New Englander said. "It's generally the custom that a sponsor has first claim on a woman's choicest cut, to wit, her filet. Under these conditions of shared responsibility, how shall the allocation of the filet be determined?"

"Good point," Maxwell seconded.

"As much as I enjoy munching on a woman's tasty bits," said Anthony. "I think it's only fair that, having made an initial investment in discovering Callie, the honor should fall to Guy."

They're talking about who gets to eat my pussy! Coincidental with this thought, Callie realized that she was fingering the object of discussion.

"Thank you, Anthony, but I would be willing to have us cast lots for it. Or," Guy paused as though something had suddenly occurred to him, "better yet, we could tell her the decision is hers to make; give her the idea that we're competing for her favor, which, I guess, we would be."

"Very good!" Anthony exclaimed. "Make her feel that she has control over her body. I understand that's a very popular notion among young women here in the States."

"Anthony, let us not give our American friends the impression that the concept is unknown in England." There was an undertone of reprimand in Anthea's voice.

"Oh, no, my dear. Perish the thought! I'm certain that all present are perfectly aware that, if anything, Englishwomen are even more liberated than their American counterparts."

Some amusing facial expression or body language must have accompanied this exchange because Callie heard some chuckles from the group.

"Well, y'all can compete for Miss Callie's delicacies," the Southerner said over the chuckles. "I got my sights set on some slices of that fine looking rump roast she's totin' around."

"I'm hankering for a slab of lean but meaty ribs." The Midwesterner.

"Those nice firm belly muscles." Maxwell.

"Such petite, delicate breasts." Anthea.

"I wager she could crack an egg between her thighs." Guy.

"Five years. It will be a true test of patience." The New Englander.

"But worth the wait. In this case, patience will be a virtue well-rewarded." Anthony.

Various sounds indicating consensus.

"I'll put the offer to her tomorrow," Guy said, "unless one of you believes he or she might have more influence with her."

"I think we all agree that you're the man for the job." Maxwell.

"May your powers of persuasion be at their best." The New Englander.

"Hear, hear." From Anthony and Anthea jointly, soon echoed by the rest, followed by a clinking of glasses.

Trembling, Callie got up and shut off the intercom, not because she was losing interest but because the glitch in the system might work both ways and she was about to make some noise.

She lay back down on the bed, still naked, and ran her hands over the parts of her body she had heard mentioned, parts that had been admired and appraised and hungered for.

She was not only an object of desire; she was a subject of negotiation, an occasion of an agreement. A price had been placed on her body. Five years of being supported - how much did that translate to per pound?

She touched her rib cage and imagined slabs of ribs being served up, meaty and tasty. She stroked her buttocks and wondered how many people she had met in the past three days besides the Southerner who had hunger lust for her rump. She squeezed her thighs and thought maybe she could crack and egg with them; she'd have to try that sometime. She rubbed her breasts, imagining Anthea's teeth about to sink into them; not exactly enough to feed an army, but - what was it Mark had said once? Oh, yeah - anything more than a mouthful is excess. She felt her abs as she flexed them: ripe and ripped and ready for roasting.

Then her fingers found their way again to the most coveted cut of all, her filet, and found it hot and moist. She dipped her fingers inside and then brought them to her mouth, tasting herself. Oh, yeah! Nice and juicy! This is right where a spit would enter, an ultimate, never-ending fuck. How many men would feel their cocks harden and how many women would experience tingles watching the entrance?

Everything she had been feeling all weekend had been validated. These people wanted her, every part of her. They wanted her to give herself to them, completely, without reservation, with finality. They wanted to gratify, nourish, and sustain themselves through her. They wanted to make her a part of their lives, literally; the life that was within her would be dispersed, disseminated, shared, extended, expanded.

Callie worked herself into sustained orgasmic frenzy over the thought. She brought herself to climax after climax until she was exhausted.

Rational consideration - processing - of her experiences would be deferred to another time, she realized. Right now, she was still collecting data, including surprising discoveries about herself.

As she brooded over this necessary postponement, she heard a knock at her door.

"Who's there?" Callie knew that there weren't very many people she would want to see her in her present state.

"It's Myrna, Miss Callie. I've brought you some fresh linen."

"Oh, good. Uh, just a minute." Callie looked about for her robe, found it, and put it on, thinking, Last night I was naked in front of a whole roomful of relative strangers of both sexes, including Myrna, and now I'm modest in front of her. Go figure. Of course, the fact that I'm alone and dripping wet could explain that. Opening the door, she said, "I tried to call for some towels, but there seems to be something wrong with the intercom."

"Yes, Miss Callie. That happens from time to time," Myrna said with a, perhaps knowing, smile.

"Well, you're just in time," Callie said, taking the towels. "I really do have to start getting ready for the party. And, by the way, could you change the sheets on my bed while I'm taking a bath?"

"Certainly, Miss Callie." Again, a smile that seemed to have more than a willingness to please behind it.

"Did it occur to you at any time," Colonel Stoneridge asked after Callie had related this episode, "that it might not have been an accident that you overheard the conversation?"

"Oh, yes. Not right at the moment, but almost immediately afterwards - I think while I was soaking in the tub. It was just too much of a coincidence, too perfect. I've never known an intercom to malfunction like that. The whole conversation might have been prerecorded and set to play as soon as I hit the switch, which I was almost certain to do when I found I had no towels. It could even have been scripted and rehearsed."

"And that didn't arouse your suspicions?" The Colonel raised his eyebrows.

"You bet. But it aroused a lot more than suspicions." Callie laughed.

"How so, my dear?"

"Well, the fact that they were willing to go to that much trouble made me feel that they really wanted me, and that, well, made me feel, well..."

"I see. But didn't it make you feel at least a bit angry because you were being duped, underestimated, played for a fool?"

"Just briefly. After I thought about it for a while, I figured that they had figured that I would figure it out and be flattered, and, therefore, more aroused, which I was. And having figured that out, then..."

"Let me guess," interrupted the Colonel. "This new realization made you even more aroused."

"Exactly. You understand perfectly. You got it."

"By George, I believe I have got it." Stone shook his head in amused bewilderment. "Please continue. More tea?"

Callie was sailing high when she entered the ballroom for the party. She was feeling her power, her charm, her magnetism. Everyone in the room was drawn to her. Everyone wanted her. She had much-coveted favors to bestow. She was the keeper of the treasure.

She drifted around the room, playing a game of listening to conversations and trying to identify the three mystery voices she had heard on the intercom.

Drinks were flowing freely and she found her way to the hors d'oeuvre table and helped herself to some Dee Dee on rye with Swiss cheese and lettuce. Sandwich in one hand and cocktail in the other, she continued her quest.

She caught Anthea's eye and gave her a very warm smile, which was returned. Such nice teeth Anthea had.

Voice identification turned out to be thirsty work. Drinks went down eaily.

She was on her second cocktail when she found the Southerner whose voice she had heard earlier. She made sure to rub against him "accidentally," saying, "Pardon my rump." It seemed very funny to everyone, especially herself.

After three drinks, she was finding absurdity in her situation. She was in a room full of cannibals and their future dinners, trying to find two particular cannibals by listening to conversations about people and events that meant practically nothing to her.

She saw Hank, but steered away from him. She wanted to hook up with him later, but for the moment she was on a solo mission. A partner would only slow her down.

With her fourth cocktail came the insight that she was only listening and not talking at all and this might make people suspect she was a spy. She had to find a way to contribute something. The problem was that all she knew that she had in common with most of these people was that they had all eaten the same woman that afternoon.

A solution to the problem came to her spontaneously. She was listening to a man who she was sure was the New Englander who was willing to support her for a sixth of five years (a.k.a., ten months). Suddenly, the fellow stopped talking and turned to her, along with the rest of the people in his group, apparently expecting to her to say something.

Callie had only been listening to his voice and not to his words and so she didn't have a clue what to say.

Having found herself in similar situations when she had had a similar amount to drink, Callie had found that quoting song lyrics usually worked in a pinch. Of course, it helped if the lyric she came up with was appropriate to the setting. In this case, the lyric even included a bit of New England accent.

So, she said, with a musical cadence:

" 'Have you heard? Professor Munch
" 'Ate his wife and divorced his lunch.
" 'Well, did you evah?
" 'What a swell party this is!' "

This got her some puzzled looks but also some laughs.

She decided that this had worked pretty well, and another cocktail made it seem like an even better idea. So, a few minutes later, when she was expected to contribute to a conversation that focused on highway safety, she said:

" 'Have you heard? The Countess Krupp
" 'Crossed the bridge when the bridge was up.
" 'Well, did you evah?
" 'What a swell party this is!' "

On the topic of disorderly conduct:

" 'Have you heard that Mimsie Starr
" 'Just got pinched in the Astor bar?
" 'Well, did you evah?
" 'What a swell party this is!' "

On the subject of downhill skiing:

" 'Have you heard that poor dear Blanche
" 'Got run down by an avalanche?
" 'Well, did you evah?
" 'What a swell party this is!' "

She actually got some concerned looks when, as a comment on a chat about long-term investment strategies led by the Midwesterner whose voice she had heard, she said:

" 'Have you heard? It's in the stars:
" 'Next July we collide with Mars.
" 'Well, did you evah?
" 'What a swell party this is!' "

Having identified all the mystery voices, she went looking for Hank and found him chatting with Maxwell and Caroline.

She decided that she wanted to do an experiment with Caroline and asked her if the two of them could go someplace private for a few minutes.

"Callie, I don't think we should leave the party." Caroline responded, looking at Maxwell; she might as well have been wearing a leash.

Callie wondered if there were established "Rules for Roasters" and if they were written down anywhere. Anyway, Caroline would have to be persuaded to misbehave. Song lyrics had worked so far this evening, so Callie whispered to her:

" 'There's something wild about you, child, that's so contagious,
" 'Let's be outrageous; let's misbehave.' "

Caroline giggled and said okay, having received an approving nod from Maxwell, who smiled as he watched the two women depart hand-in-hand.

Hank watched the departure with a bit of concern.

As soon as they were out of the ballroom, Caroline asked. "What's all this about, Callie?"

" 'They say that spring means just one thing to little love birds.
" 'We're not above birds; let's misbehave.' "

"Huh? But it's July."

"Artistic license," Callie muttered as she pulled Caroline into the first empty room they came to.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Caroline began to get the idea and said, "Callie, if we're gone for too long someone will come looking for us."

" 'We're all alone; no chaperone can get our number.
" 'The world's in slumber; let's misbehave.' "

Callie latched the door.

" 'Slumber'? It isn't even nine o'clock yet."

Slowly advancing toward Caroline, Callie said:

" 'If you'd be just so sweet and only meet your fate, dear,
" 'It would be the great event of nineteen twenty-eight, dear.' "

"Nineteen twenty-... Callie, my grandmothers weren't even born in..." Caroline found her open mouth passionately covered by Callie's.

If Caroline would have put up a fight or even just said "No," Callie would have stopped, but there was no protest or resistance.

Minutes later, when they had shed their party dresses and were lying on a leather couch, Callie began her experiment.

She had tasted girl meat and found it delicious. If she had Caroline's dead, roasted body beneath her and were about ready to take a bite, she knew just what she could expect, just what pleasures Caroline's flesh would yield. She could imagine the robust, hearty taste and chewable texture. Using her olfactory memory, she re-experienced the aroma of her Dee Dee dinner and knew that Caroline's meat would smell very much the same after a couple hours on the spit.

She poised her mouth over Caroline's breast and looked into her eyes, where she saw, at first, alarm but soon saw pleasant surpise.

"I'm going to eat you," Callie declared in a low register.

"Yes!" Caroline almost screamed. "God, yes, Callie! I give my body to you!"

Caroline wrapped her legs around Callie and pulled her fantasy devourer's face to her ample breast.

With her mouth filled with Caroline and her nostrils buried in flesh, breathing was difficult for Callie. The asphyx effect was enhanced by the python-like grip on her midsection. Callie had to deliberately restrain herself from breaking the soft skin with her teeth. With her hands, however, she could knead Caroline's shoulders and biceps as hard as she wished - there was some good meat there, too.

"Eat me, Callie! Eat me alive right now! Right here! Don't share my meat with anybody! I want to be inside you. I want to be yours, just yours, only yours."

With hardly any foreplay and almost no genital stimulation, Caroline was already trembling with orgasmic spasms.

Callie had discovered the secrets of the sisterhood of roasters.

A few moments later, Callie found herself blinking, being shaken by Caroline, who was laughing and saying, "I almost smothered you!"

"And I almost swallowed you whole," Callie replied.

Within seconds, they were back at it.

When they returned to the party an hour alter, everybody thought they had accidentally put on each other's dress. It wasn't an accident; it had been hard work to squeeze Caroline's breasts into Callie's dress. They wanted everybody to know what they had been up to.

The rest of the night was pretty much a blur in Callie's memory.

She awoke in her own bed, alone and still wearing Caroline's dress. There was no evidence that she had been sick or that she had engaged in any further sexual adventures.

She had a headache and needed to use the bathroom immediately. She also wanted to wash the muskrat's nest out of her mouth.

She examined Caroline's dress in the mirror. Not too many beverages had been spilled on it and there were no permanent stains.

Despite the relatively good condition of the borrowed clothing, Callie was as far from being proud of herself as she had ever been. She had come closer to forcing herself on Caroline than she had imagined herself capable. True, Caroline had never said "No," but it was legitimate to ask if she still had that monosyllabic word in her vocabulary. Maybe she had been so conditioned into submissiveness that, when it came to giving informed consent, she might as well have been unconscious or retarded.

A thought occurred to Callie that made her sick to her stomach: maybe Caroline had been under orders from Maxwell to "play along" with Callie, give her "whatever she wants." Oh, please, I hope that isn't the case, Callie thought as tears began to well up in her eyes.

A knock at the door interrupted the self-loathing.

"Who's there?" Callie hoped she would hear Hank's voice; she really wanted to see him.

"It's Myrna, Miss Callie. I have your dress and a note from Miss Caroline."

Callie rushed to the door and was almost rude in the speed with which she grabbed the note from Myrna's hand. It was in a sealed envelope with her name written over the seal.

"Thank you, Myrna." Callie began opening the envelope.

Myrna laid the dress carefully on a table, saying, "Miss Callie, most of the proteges are ready to leave, but everyone wants to respect Miss Dee Dee's wish that you be given first pick of the chocolates, so they are waiting for you to make your selection."

Callie was about to tell Myrna to let the others go ahead, but decided that she also should respect Dee Dee's wishes.

"Tell them I'll go to Dee Dee's room as soon as I've read this note. And thank them for waiting."

"As you wish, Miss Callie. Myrna departed, having closed the door.

Callie sat down on her bed to read. She wasn't prepared for what the note said.

"Dear Callie,

"Max and I have to take off early, so I'm returning your dress. You can keep mine. I won't need it in the next month and after the next month, well, you know.

"I really hope you come to my roast, but I won't be hurt if you decide not to.

"I'm going to tell you something you may have already guessed.

"Oh, by the way, Max is watching me write this but he's not reading over my shoulder. He sees me smiling and looking horny and he's eating it up, but if he tries to read this before I get it sealed in an envelope, I'll tear it up.

"Honor bright.

"You probably figured out that Max wants to see you on the menu and he asked me to play up to you and do everything I could to get you hooked in. Yeah, I know Max is a shitheel. I also know he thinks I'm a brainless ditz. Who cares what he thinks? Max and I just exchanged conspiratorial looks. Fuck you, Max. I just blew him a kiss.

"I do, though, want YOU to know that I didn't do anything with you last night that I didn't want to. I know how to say 'No,' and I also know that, if I'd asked you to help me cover my ass, you wouldn't have ratted me out to Max for not being cooperative.

"I really like you, Callie. So do all of the other girls who've said anything one way or the other. Some of them really hope you'll join us. Me - I'm not going to be around long enough for it make much difference.

"I don't know if this scene is for you or not. Only you can decide that and I don't expect you to make up your mind in the next month, so I'll probably never know.

"If you decide to join us, welcome to the sorority.

"If you decide not to, well, at least come to Texas next month and get one more free meal out of the deal.

"Hope to see you again.

"XXX

"Caroline."

"Thank you," Callie said aloud, resolving to go to Caroline's roast, if for no other reason than to thank her for the relief her words had given. Curiously, she found that her headache had vanished.

Still wearing Caroline's dress, Callie made her way quickly to Dee Dee's room to pick up some chocolates so the other girls could take their turns.

A surprise awaited her. Carefully arranged in alphabetical order in the middle of the bed were rows of envelopes with women's names on them. There were some gaps in the pattern, including one next to Callie's envelope, leading her to believe that Caroline had picked up her envelope before leaving.

Most of the envelopes where ordinary letter-sized, but several, including Callie's, were large manilla envelopes. Callie's appeared to be the thickest.

Curious as she was to see what was in the envelope, Callie didn't want to make the other women wait any longer, so she tucked it under her arm, picked up three boxes of chocolates, including the nearly empty box from England that had been a gift from Anthony and Anthea, and left the room quickly.

Once back in her own room, she looked at a clock for the first time since awakening and realized she had just over two hours to get ready for her limo ride to the airport. She showered quickly and let herself air dry while packing. Fortunately, she had room in her suitcase for the extra dress and three boxes of chocolates and there was room in her carry-on bag for Dee Dee's envelope.

Having dressed in comfortable jeans and a tee-shirt, she went looking for Hank so they could exchange farewells, but she was intercepted by Guy. Of course, she had planned to take leave of her host, but she had hoped to have Hank with her for support.

The conversation with Guy lasted long enough that, by the time she found Hank sketching by the swimming pool, there were only minutes left before she had to leave for the airport.

"Hi." Her greeting was tentative because she was unsure of her reception.

"Good morning," Hank said with a warmth that put Callie at ease.

"Whew. If you're still speaking to me, I must not have been too disgusting last night. Uh, I wasn't too disgusting, was I?"

"Well, let me put it like this: I don't think your family would have disowned you, but, if you have a prudish rich aunt, she might decided to establish a carefully managed trust fund for you rather than give you a lump-sum inheritance."

"Nothing to worry about there." Callie laughed. "I do have an uncle with a big farm, but he's one tough customer. He'll probably outlive me." A slightly awkward laugh. "Of course, if Guy and the others have their way, that'll definitely be the case."

"Oh?" Raised eyebrows.

"Guy made me an offer," Callie explained. "Five years of being supported by six members of the circle - well, seven, depending on how you count Anthony and Anthea. At the end of it, I get a spit jammed up wherever I want it jammed. In the meantime, they want me to act as a traveling fitness consultant for the proteges. Oh, and I get to decide who gets my choicest cut. He didn't specify that I have to bequeath it within the group of my sugar daddies and mommy, so you'd be in the running if you'd be interested. Would you be?"

Rather than answer the question, Hank asked, "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I've enjoyed the weekend and I thanked him for his hospitality, but I said I'd be an idiot to agree before I had seen at least one spit roasting."

"Good girl." He patted her on the shoulder. "What did he say to that?"

"He's booking a flight to Texas for me so I can go to Caroline's roast next month. Will I see you there?" she asked hopefully.

"Count on it," Hank assured her with a hug and a kiss.

Returning both the hug and kiss, Callie asked, "Uh, do you have your own car here?"

"Sure. I like to be able to leave anytime. Why?"

"Could you give me a ride to airport? I'll pay for the gas. I think I've had about all I want of Guy's hospitality for now."

"Let's go get your bags." As they began to move toward the mansion, Hank added, "And don't worry about the gas - unless you have something against my hospitality, too. I will take the money if you insist."

"Hmm. Maybe we negotiate a trade in the airport parking lot," Callie suggested playfully. "Maybe we can misbehave."

"I'll drive fast."

"I'll watch for the highway patrol."

A couple hours later, very satisfied from Hank's farewell and comfortably seated on the plane, Callie decided to occupy herself by looking at the contents of the envelope Dee Dee had left for her.

A sheet of typing paper with a message on it was stapled to the future plot outlines that Guy had commissioned from the writers of Dee Dee's favorite soap operas.

There were also many of the pictures that Hank had drawn of Dee Dee as she would look roasted and served for dinner. Those pictures had been precious to Dee Dee and Callie was touched that Dee Dee wanted her to have them.

As for the plot outlines, Callie had thought the two of them had dismissed the idea of Callie using them to win bets, so why would Dee Dee give them to her? Maybe to "keep them from falling into the wrong hands," Callie thought with a smile. Still, they were, potentially, the most valuable possession Dee Dee owned. I can't take this lightly.

What really gave Callie pause, though, was the very brief handwritten message on the sheet of paper stapled to the plot outlines. All it said was:

"Callie,

"Remember me."

"Dee Dee."

Academy Award-winning actress Cloris Leachman, who had Midwestern roots and was, in fact, distantly related to Callie, had made her screen debut in the 1955 film noir classic "Kiss Me Deadly," based on a Mickey Spillane mystery. Like the more glamourous and much more troubled Lana Turner, Leachman's first role had been that of a young girl who is murdered in the first minutes of the movie. Spillane's detective, Mike Hammer, picks up Leachman's character, Christina Bailey, hitchhiking in only a raincoat. Christina asks to stop at a gas station where she secretly mails a letter to Hammer, having obtained his address. A few minutes after they are back on the road, Hammer's car is stopped by men pursuing Christina; Hammer is beaten unconscious and Christina is taken away to be tortured to death.

A few days later, recovering from his injuries, Hammer receives the dead girl's letter. All it said was:

"Remember me."

After puzzling over this cryptic message, Hammer concludes that its meaning is that the dead girl's body itself contains, in a very literal way, the key to the mystery behind her death.

Callie's mind was racing.

Guy and his group had the means to find out practically any information they wanted about her. If Felix D. Mizz and R. Kiver could discover her fondnesses for Cole Porter and classic movies, Noffager and his cronies could do the same. They could even know she was distantly related to Cloris Leachman and, therefore, would have a special interest in "Kiss Me Deadly."

Could Dee Dee have known that? Could she have seen the movie?

Was this a similarly meaningful message disguised as a simple sentiment?

And was it intended to get Callie to focus on Dee Dee's dead body as depicted in the pictures?

The note was stapled to the plot outlines and not the pictures. Maybe Dee Dee don't want to put staple holes in the pictures. Or maybe.....

Callie looked through the plot outlines.

Dee Dee had made brief notes in the margins.

"Good!!!!" was written beside a description of how one of Dee Dee's favorite characters was cleared of a murder charge just as she was being taken to receive a lethal injection.

"Yea!!!!!" was written by the revelation that two young lovers who had been erroneously led to believe they were brother and sister were finally married after learning the truth.

"I knew she'd make it!!!!" was the comment on the fact that a heroine believed buried in a snow avalanche had actually been trapped in a cave where she survived on bear meat until the spring thaw.

"Great!!!" - a recovery from a coma just as life support was about to be withdrawn.

"Terrific!!!" - a mislaid winning lottery ticket found just minutes before the deadline for claiming the prize.

And so on and so on.

Well, Dee Dee did say she was a sucker for a happy ending, Callie remembered fondly, then closed the plot outlines and looked at the message.

"Remember me."

I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

Bong!

Callie's eyes opened wide.

She looked at the pictures of Dee Dee's roasted body.

Dee Dee's death had not merely been happy; it had been ecstasy itself.

Maybe Dee Dee was actually afraid of death, so afraid that she could only face it if it were eroticized. Maybe she wanted an erotic demise so badly that she was willing to give up her life prematurely for it.

I can almost hear her saying "Ain't that something? They found my weakness and used it to suck me in. Callie, they'll do the same thing to you, if you let them: they'll find your weakness and use it to get you on the spit."

Callie had plenty of food for thought for the rest of the flight and the cab ride from the airport to her home.

"Welcome back!" Jody threw her arms around Callie and gave her a loving kiss. "Did you have a good time? What was it like?"

"I'll tell you later. Right now, I want to go lay down. Oh, before I do, though, I brought you something." Callie opened her suitcase, fished out the three boxes of chocolates and handed them to Jody.

"Wow! Thanks!" Jody took a piece from the box that was already open and bit into it. "Hey, this tastes great! Thanks again."

"Enjoy them," Callie said, heading for her room.

"Hey, wait! Look at this!"

"What?" Callie turned to face her roommate.

"Here. On the box." Jody was pointing to some lettering. "These came all the way from England. Ain't that something?"

Callie froze. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes misted.

"Yeah. Ain't that something?" she choked out.

Then she went to her room and remembered Dee Dee until she cried herself to sleep.

"I sometimes wish," Callie told Colonel Stoneridge at the end of this story, "that Dee Dee had been more explicit. I'll probably never know if I read the meaning she intended or if it was all my own projection."

"One possibility," Stone responded, "is that Dee Dee was a very wise woman, wise enough to know that the answers we discover for ourselves have more significance and meaning for us than those answers that are simply given to us."

"You may be right. There was a lot more to her than met the eye - though quite a lot of her did meet the eye." Callie laughed in memory of Dee Dee's humor about herself.

"So," the Colonel asked, "did you go to the roasting of this Caroline woman?"

"Oh, yeah. I went. I had a good dinner."