Auntie Lee's Meat Pies was one of the best, direct to video Fem Can films ever made. It did not end in a fire or in a volcanic eruption. Rather, one antagonist after another ended up making the greatest sacrifice. A sequel, Auntie Lee's Steak House was promised but never appeared. As well as memory serves, here's my best parts version.

Kimmie Sweeney checked her watch. She was late and behind schedule as she barreled down the scarcely frequented country highway in her late model convertible. Her blond hair streamed in the wind. She scanned the sides of the road on the left and on the right.

Mostly unheard, her radio droned on with news about a recent jail break. The felon, armed and dangerous, was still at-large, the announcer warned before he went on to other news. Security at Cady-Stanton County jail left much room for improvement. The Board of Supervisors was ambivalent. All regretted the bad publicity of the prisoners' escapes, but a fair number were secretly pleased that the County was spared the cost of trial and incarceration. The escapees might be guilty of crim es elsewhere, but no escaped prisoner was ever found back in Cady Stanton County at least.

There up ahead, finally, Kimmie saw a likely hitchhiker. Immediately, she took her foot from the gas and the car slowed. This was the time for decision. He was a large man all right, in his twenties perhaps, poorly groomed, and shabbily dressed. He didn't look like he came from the area. She guessed that he might weigh 200 pounds, roughly twice her weight.

She smiled at her conceit. He weighed probably something less than twice her weight. One hundred pounds was her weight only in her distant memories and fondest dreams. But as tall as she was, ten pounds was not at all obvious on her long, lanky frame. He would certainly do.

She pulled over to the side of the road and offered the stranger a ride. He looked surprised at her bold offer but climbed right in. Sitting beside her, he just couldn't take his eyes off of her. He stared at her full breasts that peaked through the open buttons of her long sleeved blouse and her long slender legs, barely concealed by her short cutoffs.

Kimmie was quite comfortable with male attention. If only he didn't drool quite so much. Pert and perky, as always, she tried to talk to him, but he was obviously a man of few words and many of those were incoherent mutterings. Kimmie adjusted her long sleeves and checked her watch again.

No more than 10 minutes had passed. "Pull over," the man said.

Kimmie looked at him quizzically and kept driving.

"Hey, pull over. I've got to take a piss. Really!" A dollop of spittle clung to his chin. Kimmie shook her head at human frailty, picked a spot and pulled over.

The man looked around and saw no one at all on this deserted strip of road. "Get out of the car," he ordered gruffly.

Kimmie thought for a moment. She looked around too and saw no one either. "If you've got to pee, why do I have to get out of the car?" Kimmie asked, quite pleased with her reasoning powers. "I just don't get it!" Something was wrong.

"Just get the fucking hell out of the damned fucking car, bitch!" The man growled more insistently.

"But I don't have to pee," Kimmie insisted blandly as if she hadn't grasped the object of his demand in the first place. "I really don't. Why do I have to get out of the damned motherless car?" "Get out of the car!" Kimmie was on a roll. "Look, asshole, do you really need me to hold your dick? Sorry, I left my magnifying glass at home!" The man was angry beyond reason. Kimmie liked them like that. He slapped at her, but she moved her head slightly and he missed. Then, he produced a pistol and Kimmie quickly did as she was told and climbed out of the car. For a second, he thought that she might make a run for it, but she just stood there, looking at him. He gestured with his gun hand and herded her deeper in the woods that bordered the highway. He looked around and saw no one. Soon the road could not be seen at all through the trees.

"Far enough, cunt!" the man ordered.

Kimmie stopped and waited to learn what would happen next.

"Take off your clothes!" Kimmie heard him but did absolutely nothing. The man slapped at her with his left hand and made some contact. He still had his pistol in his right hand. Kimmie fell back to the ground, going with the blow, and looked up at him, curiously. This was the tricky part.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered again and still she didn't comply. She didn't comply and she didn't fight back. She didn't scream. She just lay there.

"Damn you, bitch!" The man grunted in disgust and squatted beside her. He wrestled with the stubborn brass button on her skin tight cutoffs. Kimmie lay there passively and unresisting. The button finally came undone and then he worked on the equally recalcitrant zipper. Still, she made no sound and didn't struggle. Roughly, he grabbed the top of her shorts and pulled at them with no effect. Then, he literally lifted her from the ground and somehow got her shorts down over her hips.

He placed one filthy hand on her belly and wrestled with his own pants, breathing heavily.

His knuckles and fingernails were grimy and made her shudder. She found the touch of his grubby hand on her clean smooth skin repulsive and suddenly, she looked worried. She looked him square in the eye. "Mister," she asked, "you don't have any sort of disease, do you?" She could always tell when someone was lying.

The man didn't answer. He had undone his pants and he was busy stroking himself feverishly. He was lost in his own pleasure. His mouth gaped open and his tongue protruded. His breathing grew heavier and heavier.

Kimmie looked at his growing dick with some amusement, then thought about the likely smegma under his long foreskin. He wasn't very long but he was really thick - as thick as her wrist. She really hadn't the time. She bit her lip and quickly looked at her watch. Then she looked at his red face again. He seemed totally focused on what he was doing and hardly even aware of her anymore at all. Kimmie started to get bored. She raised her right arm. She tilted her hand back sharply to release the trigger and launched a sturdy six inch needle toward his open gaping mouth from the device strapped to her right forearm and concealed by he long sleeve blouse. Her aim was true and the sharp needle penetrated the base of his skull and burst into his brain.

The man stood up, hand still clutching his dick touchingly, looking to all the world like a frightened toddler holding dearly onto his security blanket. Then he teetered back, then toppled over backwards - dead. Pathetically, his still-erect cock poked its stubby head from out his open zipper.

Kimmie stood and straightened her disheveled clothes. The price of beef was up in Cady-Stanton County and the price of Auntie Bea's special prime beef was up even more even more so. Supply had yet to catch up with demand. She checked her watch again. The day was growing late. Auntie Bea expected her home by 5. She had a body bag in the trunk of her car and she still had so much to do.

Brad, Tim, Bob, and Matt had left college for the long weekend. They had no destination in mind except to get away from school and its soul deadening drudgery. As they entered Cady-Stanton County, Bob saw a teenage girl hitching alone under the famous "Welcome to Cady-Stanton county Prime Beef" sign. He pulled right over and she walked over and peered into the car. Seeing four clean-cut well dressed guys, she still seemed unsure, but then she looked again and seemed to grow in confidence.

"Thanks for the ride! Just let me call home," she said and placed a quick call on her cellular phone. Hannah squeezed in the back between Bob and Matt. "I can trust you guys? Right?" she asked, suddenly tentative.

"Can we trust you?" Tim quipped. Everyone laughed.

Hannah smiled shyly. "Well, I hardly can believe that four strong young men have anything to fear…." Something about her appealed to Brad's gallantry. "Just a joke. So where can we drive you?" Brad interrupted.

"Up the road a bit and take the second exit west." She said, obviously from somewhere in the neighborhood.

Two turns later and they were on an asphalt road that wasn't much wider than a trail.

"I sure hope that you know where you're taking us, Hannah," Matt said. Hannah just smiled.

Suddenly a shot rang out. "What was that?" asked Brad.

"Who did that?" Tim quipped, sniffing the air comically.

"Was it a gunshot or a backfire?" Bob asked. "I didn't know it was hunting season up here." Hannah still said nothing. She searched the brush on either side of the road.

Soon all were aware of the unmistakable thumping sound of a flat tire. "Damn," said Brad. "We're miles form anywhere. He took his foot from the gas and allowed the car to slow gradually. No one made the connection between the gunshot and the flat.

"I'll bet you anything that the four of us can change a flat tire," said Tim, trying to be reassuring. "If we all work together. I'd even bet Hannah here can change a tire herself - a good ole country gal." "Anyway," said Bob, "Hannah does have a cell phone if we get ourselves in to much trouble. Hannah had a real fondness for all this masculine attention.

Brad brought the car to a stop. All piled out to look at the damage. The right front tire was ruined beyond repair.

Suddenly a rifle barked or two rifles barked simultaneously. Bob and Brad fell silently. Tim and Matt froze and looked around trying to discern where the shots came from rather than just take cover. Their hesitation was lethal. The rifles barked again and Matt fell.

Now only Tim was standing. Tim looked at Brad, Bob, and Matt's bleeding bodies. Only Brad was still breathing and only irregularly. Bob and Matt lay like discarded rag dolls, their limbs all akimbo and their empty eyes staring blankly. Hannah had made no move to take cover, but stared intently into the bush. Tim was in an absolute state of shock.

Ashley and Emily, Hannah's older sisters emerged from cover, carrying their rifles. They seemed quite pleased with their marksmanship today. Tim saw Hannah waving to her sisters. "Please, please," he begged Hannah. "Please don't let them kill me." Hannah looked at Tim and shook her head sadly. Well, she wasn't wearing her best clothes today. "Okay, Tim, relax. I won't let them kill you." She was really a soft-hearted girl. "Good shooting, Emily! Good shooting Ashley." Emily grinned. "Great site on my new squirrel rifle." Hannah smiled proudly. The site had been her Xmas present for her older sister and she had chosen well.

Ashley cut Brad's throat and ended his annoying moaning. Then she went back for the pickup. Hannah changed the flat tire herself while Emily dragged the bodies a distance from the road.

Tim just stood there while Hannah and Emily stripped his friends buck naked and stuffed their clothes into the large black garbage bag that Ashley brought down with the truck. He watched, still unable to move, while Hannah gutted his friend Bob. Her efficiency of movement betrayed much experience. Biting her lip in determination, she tied off his cock without ceremony. His knees buckled and Tim thought that he might faint when she jerked the tie tight. Then she rolled Bob on his side. Using a long bladed knife, she made a deep incision around his anus, reached in and tied off his bowels. She wiped her hands clean on the grass, then cut off his balls. Using a heavier knife, she opened his belly, then sawed through the cartilage to the side of his breastbone. She extended the incision though his neck and severed his esophagus and windpipe. Hannah cut a deep circle around the base of his cock. Separating Bob's diaphragm from his chest wall, Hannah was able to remove his bloody organs in one bloody piece.

Ashley gutted Brad and Emily gutted Matt. Tim felt as if he were somewhere else altogether and watching from a distant place. He didn't run. He didn't fight, and he didn't scream. He decided to make himself making himself useful. He lifted his friends' bleeding bodies and dumping them in the 4x 4. Bled and gutted they were much lighter than when they were alive.

Tim was in an absolute state of shock. He had no will to fight and no will to run. He looked at Ashley and Emily and even Hannah with fear. You won't let them kill me," he begged weakly. "Will you?" Hannah snorted. "No - what is it, Tom - I certainly won't let anyone else kill you." She had forgotten his name.

"Tim," Tim said weakly.

"Well Tim, you're sure a filthy mess but I won't let Ashley or Emily kill you, Timmy. I promise. Just climb in back with your friends. You're too messy to ride up front. It isn't all that far."

Tim laid on top of his friends' cooling bodies. Emily drove Brad's car. Ashley and Hannah pulled a tarp over the heap and headed for home in the pickup. Tim's ride was surreal. He was covered in blood and the smell of blood was overwhelming. Waves of nausea wracked his body and he swore that his dead friends were talking to him. He was going crazy and he knew it.

Auntie Bea watched as Emily and Ashley pulled back the tarp. She had an important job in the city and her famous Steak House was an avocation. Actually, Kimmie and Hannah worked in the Steak House. Emily and Ashley had other jobs. Auntie saw three gutted carcasses in urgent need of cooling and one living male - Tim. He was drenched in blood and staring vacantly. Her supply of special beef was low and they would really contribute, although the meat needed a day or two to age.

"Hannah promised that Emily and Ashley wouldn't hurt me." Tim explained as if words might be a charm. His mind still wasn't working very well Auntie Bea shook her head. "Well, a girl's word is her bond, I guess." She looked at her niece Hannah and shook her head. "Hannah, you have to hurry because you're working in the Steak House tonight." Where was that girl, Kimmie? She has to work tonight too. Auntie Bea thought.

Under Hannah's direction, Tim carried his friends' naked bodies down some steep stairs into a basement. He dumped them from the body bags and laid them on a stainless steel table. She hosed them off and dried them with paper towels. . Hannah slid open a panel of wall to reveal a hidden walk-in cooler. Tim hung each in the back cooler.

Just as they finished, Kimmie returned. The gutted male in the back of her convertible was so heavy that she had to help Tim carry him.

"See, Auntie Bea," Hannah hinted half-heartedly, knowing her meager chance of success. "It's good to have a man around the house." Tin stood by her side, simply filthy with blood and gore.

Auntie Bea shook her head. Resigned, Hannah beckoned to Tim who followed her as obediently as a dog. Auntie Bea knew that Hannah wanted to keep a few males on the ranch for fattening.

"You promised, right? Ashley and Emily won't hurt me." Tim repeated. "Right?" "Ashley and Emily won't hurt you, Timmy," Hannah repeated, growing bored his perseveration. "I promise." "No one is going to shoot me?" Hannah thought for a moment. "Well, Timmy, okay, no. No one is going to shoot you." I'd like to shoot you, she thought but said nothing. They walked on to a large structure, where Hannah hoped some day to house a half-dozen males for fattening, if Auntie Bea would only let her. She led Tim back down to the basement. "Don't touch anything, you're really a mess." "Timmy, here. Why don't you get out of those filthy clothes and take a shower." A single shower-head poked out form a plain concrete wall. The concrete floor had a large drain. Hannah turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.

"Here?" Tim asked, plaintively. "Everyone can see me." "Don't be a baby. I won't look. Just put your filthy clothes in that bag and wash off all that filth. I'll be right back." Hannah left him alone and Tim pulled the sticky clothes from his body. The sweet metallic odor of blood was everywhere. The water was warm and felt good. He was still in a daze. The water ran off his body and flowed red into the drain.

Hannah came back and Tim was stark naked. In his shock and confusion, his addled mind had simply forgotten that he was naked.

She looked at him and smiled. He really had a good compact body. "Come with me, now" she said.

Obediently he followed. "You won't let those two bitches hurt me," he asked again, stumbling after her.

"You shoulnd't talk about my sisters like that," she said. " But no, no. You're safe from Ashley and Emily. Here. Sit here and wait for me." Tim sat on stool next to a heavy wooden table. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?" Hannah snorted. "I said I won't and I won't. Tim - Timmy, just put your head down and close your eyes. You really look like you need a rest," she said softly. She put her hand on the back of his neck gently.

Grateful for her gentle voice and touch amidst all this madness, Tim did just as he was told. He was exhausted. His shattered nerves left him a passive lump.

"Damnation," Hannah muttered to herself. "Where did I put my mallet?" Some day, Auntie Bea would let her keep a cute guy around, even for a few days. However, if she put Timmy down herself, then someone else would have to gut him.

The blow was true and smashed Tim's skull. A palm size piece of bone was pushed into the brain. The edges of the wound oozed blood and spinal fluid. Hannah was pleased. She would have hated to hit him twice. She hung Tim's unconscious body and stuck him - that is opened the large vessels in the side of his neck. No drugs might used as he was destined for human consumption.

Ashley had gotten the duty and, seething with resentment, put on her coveralls. Tim's cute body assuaged some of her anger. She had to be done and at work at midnight. She hadn't ever seen him without his clothes and golly gee, he had been hiding a great body underneath those garage band grungies. She paused for a moment to admire his tight buttocks and the long muscles of his back and shoulders. His ball sac was full and plump. She tied off his penis securely and cut a small circle around his rectum with her narrow bladed knife. Then, she reached in and grabbed and handful of bloody colon. She tied off his bowels so that he wouldn't soil himself. As she worked, her resentment evaporated. The steam hose left him a bright scarlet, but his abundant body hair came loose easily as she scrubbed him head to toe with antibacterial soap and her coarse brush. She had gutted him and had him hanging in the cooler within one-half hour.

Bea's Steak House was an institution in Cady-Stanton County. Many of the leading citizen and a few knowing travelers dined there regularly. Few knew to ask for the Special Menu, not the ordinary Special Menu, the special "Special Menu." Of those few, the waitress brought the special - "Special Prime Beef Menu" to only a few.

Ms. Winston wanted to impress her visitor from New York. Hannah was glad to see her but frowned when she asked for the Special "Special Prime Beef Menu." "Sorry, Ms. Winston," Hannah explained as she handed her a menu. "Demand is running a bit ahead of supply, this week. But we got a big new shipment in this very afternoon." Hannah thought of the five newly dressed carcasses hanging in the cooler - more than 500 pounds of meat all told. "You'll have to come back later in the week for most of the items. It's best if the meat stretches on the bone. Except maybe that." Hannah pointed to the menu.

Ms. Winston wasn't sure. She had come to the Steak House with something else in mind. "If heard that they're chewy and taste of, well, urine?" Her guest had even more doubts but they finally agreed to try.

Kimmie was cooking tonight. She saw the order and went to the refrigerator and retrieved the string of sticks and hangers that she had brought from home that very evening. The special larder was almost empty. However, fives fresh sets of cock and balls hung from the string like ripe fruit. They differed remarkably in hue, shape and size. Kimmie always found the contrast between the silky, smooth skin of the phalli and the coarse hair of the ball sac striking.

Kimmie plucked one choice unit from the string and went over to the sink and dropped the cock and balls into the basin. She filled a saucepan half full of water and added a fair bit of salt and a dollop of lemon juice. She placed the pan on a high flame and turned her attention to the wanker in the basin. With a sharp paring knife, she freed both testicles from the ball sac. Then, she tented the delicate skin on the underside of the barrel and slipped the thin point of her sharp blade beneath and slit the skin up to the end of the foreskin. Using her finger and the dull side of knife, she stripped away the skin until the glans and inner structures lay bloody and bare.

Once the cock was skinned, she rinsed it off again and dumped it into the boiling water unceremoniously. While it scalded for a few minutes, she heated up some olive oil in a fry pain and diced an onion. Once the onion was sizzling on the fire, she removed the flayed cock from the boiling water and gingerly dumped it into a colander in the sink. She rinsed it with cold water until it was cool enough to touch safely and then dried it with a paper towel. She laid it out on her cutting board, sharpened her carving knife, and then made a series of precise thin slices. Once it was sliced, she added it to the sautéing onion and sprinkled it with a few turns of freshly ground pepper and a dash of salt.

The meat hissed in the pan. Stirring the fry pan from time to time, she chopped up a pair of ripe tomatoes and added them to the pan together with a splash of balsamic vinegar and a pinch of cinnamon. At the end she threw in a handful of golden raisins.

The testicles were simply deep fried until the sizzling juices inside boiled and burst their fibrous capsules, then sliced thin with a razor sharp knife.

Hannah served a first course of slices of testicle served with slices of hard boiled egg and green olives on a bed of baby lettuce with a lemon dressing. The second plate was the sliced cock served with arborio rice. A big Merlot complimented the dinner well. Both Ms. Winston and her guest were very pleased. Not one grain of creamy rice nor one morsel of meat was left on their plates. They promised to return later in the week to try the famous special steaks.

Hannah hated to disappoint good customers. However, she and her sisters could no longer keep up with demand. As hard as they tried. This "OBF" Recycling plan of Emily's had the potential to increase the supply and end these regular shortages.

Ms. Winslow's friend from New York was coming over tomorrow for dinner to sign the contract. Auntie Bea had agreed to provide her with two Cady-Stanton County Special Prime Beef carcasses a week.

Emily went into the basement to retrieve a tray of steaks. Today, the larder was finally full. With some difficulty, she wrestled Tim's carcass from his meat hook. Bled and gutted, he weighed a third less than when he had been alive. He lay prone on the stainless steel table. Hannah was right, he really had a great body. Rigor mortis had now come and gone. He looked totally relaxed - absolutely without a care in the world. Emily found herself a touch jealous before she chuckled at her silliness. He really had been shy and sweet, she recalled fondly. He had been so mixed up, he was really comical. She didn't know how Hannah kept a straight face.

His broad body hid the incision that opened him from pelvis to throat. His muscular buttocks concealed the round hole where his rectum had been. The "V" between his thick thighs was devoid of any evidence of his masculinity.

Emily found his hairless skin was smooth and cool to the touch. Only the hair on his head remained. Hannah ran her hand over his now soft skin. She patted his pert rounded buttock and smiled at the firm slapping sound. Bolder, she beat a little rhythm on his cute butt. Soon she was in the midst of an extended riff. Suddenly, she sensed that she was not alone. She stopped what she was doing and pretended to be fussing with the flaying knives.

"Emily," Auntie Bea said sternly. "I've told you not to play with your food, dear." Embarrassed, Emily said nothing. Auntie helped her flip the boy onto his back. Emily put on her goggles and cut off his head with the power saw, severing his resemblance to anything human. She cut circles around his wrists and ankles, then made long slits up his legs and down his arms. The subcutaneous fat had hardened in the cooler and she wrestled him out of his skin like a mother wrestling her child out of her snow suit. The skin was deposited into a saltwater vat. The arms and legs were cut at mid forearm and mid calf. The hands and feet were put aside for soup and the carcass was neatly halved and quartered. When she was done, Emily could hardly see through the blood and bits of gore that clung to her goggles. Her gloves and sleeves were splattered.

Auntie Bea had left long before, confident of the girl's skill once she put herself to work. If that new order came thought like she hoped, she didn't know where all of the carcasses would come. Maybe Emily's scheme might work.

Before long, Emily came in with a platter heavy with thick, red steaks. Auntie Bea like the tender filet for herself and her friends. Emily and her sisters preferred the more flavorful New York cut.

Officer John Beauchamp put a pin in the map for each disappearance. His partner walked briskly into their shared office and Beauchamp quickly hide his map. Officially, the matter was officially a non-starter. He didn't want his colleagues to see him wasting the peoples' money.

He was a policeman. He had seen it all or at least too much of it. He knew that many older adolescents run away - especially adolescent males running away from home. Curiously, though, few of the inquiries were about Cady-Stanton youths. It seemed that most of the calls came from neighboring counties or even further away.

He had talked with Dean Flowers at the University in the next county about the four boys who up and disappeared a couple of months ago. Dropouts happen all the time she explained. Only about one half of entering freshman ever graduate; they have money troubles, poor work habits, and/or distractions. More men than women drop out.

"Maybe, the four just dropped out. After a few weeks on the road, building up their courage, they'll go home. Lot's of freshmen drop out -too many," she told him.

He asked around campus. The story was always the same. Tim and three buddies just went on a car trip over a long weekend and not one of them returned. Curiously, they were all doing well academically and never spoke of any acute money problems. Tim lent some girl - Sarah Ponsonby - his chemistry notes - they were excellent, she said and she said that her friend, Brigit, was still anxious to get her art history notes back from him. She hadn't seen any of the boys now for two months.

Then he screwed up his resolve and called each home. The parents were distraught, of course, and he made things even worse by bringing them more questions and more questions than answers. It was a downer, but it was his job.

When John put a pin in the map for the last sighting of each missing youth, the pins made a sort of rough circle and there at the center of the circle was Auntie Bea's Ranch. He knew that he had to stop by and look around.

ohn parked his squad car a ways down the road and walked. You can always see more and observe more on foot. A long driveway separated the Todd house from the street. Well-tended flowers and shrubs bordered the path. He smelled the mesquite before he saw the parked cars. Beatrice Todd must be having some sort of party tonight.

He knocked on the door and one of Beatrice Todd's attractive nieces answered. He couldn't remember whether there were three or four girls.

"Officer Beauchamp, I'm Kimmie," she said.

John told her his story and Kimmie invited him in to look around. She led him to the dining room to find her Aunt. John remember vaguely that the nieces had a different last name than their Aunt but he couldn't just remember what it was.

At the table, John saw Beatrice Todd, two other nieces, and two other women whom he didn't know. Out of town visitors, he was told. They were eating big thick luscious steaks and talking business. They discussed something about the automobile market, supply and procurement problems, Emily's new scheme, and the possibility of extending procurement to New York City.

"I'm thinking about opening a steak house in New York. Like the song, 'if you can make it, you can make it anywhere.'" Bea grinned. Graciously, she offered John a place at the table.

Officer Beauchamp politely refused. The steaks looked very appetizing. He told his story and asked permission to look around.

"I hope that you put an end to this mystery. You know, though, you'll be able to search the ranch better during the day," Auntie Bea pointed out helpfully. John's face revealed his impatience. "Otherwise," she allowed, "just be my guest.

Kimmie gave him the whirlwind tour. He saw the front yard, the backyard, the attic, the upstairs, and the main floor with its sunroom. When he asked to see the basement, Kimmie had to go and retrieve a key. She returned promptly though, unlocked the door. Together, they descended the steep, narrow stairs.

Under brilliant fluorescent lights, John saw sturdy stainless steel tables and a large walk-in refrigerator. Few women hunted, but two of her sisters hunted deer, and they didn't trust any meat processor in town. Sometimes, Kimmie explained, they even processed their own livestock for the Steak House, right here in the basement. John asked to look in the meat locker. It was locked. Kimmie searched around a bit and after an uncomfortable delay, returned with the keys. The refrigerator was empty.

John didn't find anything at all suspicious. He thanked Kimmie and Auntie Bea and went back to his car. There, he called in to report that he was leaving the Todd residence. Ashley was on dispatch. He was a bit disappointed that she didn't favor him with one of her famous quips.

He put down the microphone. A thought suddenly popped into his head. May be a girl could carry a dressed deer down those steep stairs. How in the world do they ever get a steer into that basement or even a split carcass. Suddenly, he heard someone rapping on his car window. He looked up and saw Hannah, the youngest of the nieces.

"Come with me, Officer!" she insisted. "You've just got to see this - tonight!" Officer Beauchamp called in to report his next move.

John and Hannah entered the house by a side door unseen. Together, they descended the steep stairs. Everything looked very much the same. Hannah went immediately to a very ordinary section of wall and slid it to the side to reveal a second walk-in refrigerator.

Hannah threw open the door. A dense fog formed when the chill refrigerator air hit the warmer moister air in the room. Through the fog, John could make out indistinct forms hanging from meat hooks in a line. They were vaguely deer-sized. All were headless. None was intact. Some were half carcasses and others were fore- or hindquarters. At second look, their origin was not at all obvious. John's mind began to piece together the clues to form a notion. John's rational mind simply rejected his first totally unacceptable impression. He studied the shapes more closely. Fear gradually welled in his belly as his cognitive powers gradually overwhelmed his visceral disbelief. Suddenly, he was very happy that Ashley was on Dispatch tonight and not one of those airheads. Finally, John just gave in to the undeniable. Those were human carcasses hanging there or parts of human carcasses, headless, halved, quartered, arms chopped off at mid forearm, leg chopped off at mid shin, human carcasses.

In his shock, he hadn't thought about Hannah standing behind him. He opened his mouth to speak at the same instant Hannah pulled the trigger of her air pistol. The sturdy six inch needle slipped through the skin and muscles of the back of his neck, pierced through ligaments, and burst through the softer bone of the base of his skull into his brain.

"Why'd you pick this place?" Brigit asked staring at the pseudo oriental décor. "It doesn't look Chinese. Is it Thai or Japanese?" "Japanese - it's called Wasabi - that's Japanese for horseradish." answered Sarah.

"That's sushi over there, right - raw fish. Do you eat that stuff, Sarah, really? Is there anything that crawls, walks, or swims that you wouldn't eat." Brigit didn't even give her a chance to answer the first question.

"First question, I eat raw fish. Second question, there's nothing that I won't try at least once. Got to eat - something has to die," She quipped. "I heard that some place." Do you eat frogs' legs?" "Tastes like chicken!" said Sarah, a bit smugly.

"Well, if frogs' legs taste like chicken, I would rather just eat chicken," said Brigit a bit defensively. Her mother never served anything out of the ordinary at home. Her family thought that pizza and chop suey were exotic enough, "Say, Brigit, did you ever eat oysters - raw oysters?" Sarah was quite proud of her adventurous palate.

Brigit turned up her nose in obvious distress. "Raw oysters - raw?" She looked around to see if any one was eavesdropping, then whispered, "They say oysters taste like pussy. That's what people say, at least. I really don't know, myself. I've never really tasted oysters." "Oh, I don't know, either." Sarah responded, always grateful for a straight-line. "I've tasted oysters, but I've never tasted pussy." Brigit winced but she was accustomed to Sarah's humor. Actually, Sarah enjoyed the taste of her own pussy on her boyfriend's mouth. Speaking of boyfriends, Mike had asked her away for a weekend. Of late, she had felt some distance in their relationship and maybe this was his way of trying to get closer again.

Sarah ordered sushi while Brigit worried and fretted for quite some time and finally ordered more conventionally, tempura and soup with fat udon noodles. At Sarah's urging, Brigit tried gyoza - potstickers.

"I'm getting back together with Mike. He's asked me away for a weekend," Sarah announced.

"Mike sure is cute." Brigit said. "But I don't know if I like him. Say these potstickers are really good!" "He is cute and sweet. He's just not very good with words, but I really think he likes me and he's worth one more try." He was an enthusiastic but clumsy lover, although he thought that he was the Master of the Universe. Sarah chuckled quietly to herself. Doubt crept in. Perhaps, he had been less enthusiastic recently and had tried just a bit harder when they first got together.

The waitress brought their food.

"You actually eat that stuff!" Brigit marveled as Sarah slid a piece of raw tuna down her throat with wasabi and pickled ginger.

"Look, you eat your food and let me enjoy mine!" Sarah ate another piece while Brigit stared at her, her curiosity unabated.

"How's your investigation going. Everyone knows that journalism is your first love." "Maybe that's my problem with men," Sarah admitted. Journalism is my first love." Sarah had learned more from Officer Beauchamp than he had learned from her.

"So, tell me what happened to Matt, Brad, Bob and the other one." "Tim. Tim from my chemistry class. Remember, he has your art history notes." Sarah had no doubts, but she didn't want to make her findings public yet. "Just give me a bit more time. Right now, I'd bet you just wouldn't believe me if I told you. She had found this strange "OBF Recycling Company" card. It was all so bizarre. This famous Auntie Bea somehow kidnapped young men, slaughtered them and served their flesh to their eager customers at her famous Steak House.

Just one thing was missing from her story. She hadn't tried the steaks herself. At first, the idea disgusted her, but Auntie Bea's Steak House had no shortage of customers who ordered eagerly from the special "Special" Menu. After thinking long and hard, Sarah decided, that professionalism demanded she should really try the special steaks herself. Would any one actually believe her tale?

 Michael sat up in bed with a start. The morning was still dark. Sarah, his girl friend or rather his ex-girl friend now must have just gotten up and fled into the night. He really didn't care any more. Maybe, he had never really cared. Apparently, she had hoped that this weekend would help them get back together. He remembered her face when she was basking in the post-coital huddle. He, on the other hand, wiggled uncomfortably to avoid the wet spot. He had told her bluntly that he didn't love her anymore. The distress on her face as a gas. Then he told her that he never loved her. He allowed that she was okay for sex, one step better or perhaps a half-step better than masturbation in an old sock. She was in a panic. Luckily, she didn't vomit until she got out of bed. He wished that he had gotten it on videotape. She just hadn't seen it coming. Sometimes, Mike knew, there was a need to communicate clearly.

Nothing was as pleasant as a farewell fuck, even if she was no more than mediocre. Why hadn't her mother taught her to suck cock - why hadn't her father or brothers. The images were quite amusing. She never did want to swallow. Finding himself finally free of bitch was simply exhilarating. She was always talking about journalism and the school paper - as if he cared. Why hadn't she worried more about pleasing him? Mike felt quite proud of himself for pursuing his own interests and not giving in to sentimentality and muddle-headedness.

Little of her remained, nothing of her clothes except for a hint of her perfume lingered in the bedding. There, by the telephone, he saw a white business card: "OBF Recycling Service." Suddenly, the door flew open and a masked, jump-suited figure burst into the room.

"What the hell!" Mike said as he sat up.

The red dot of a laser site appeared in the center of his forehead. A silenced automatic popped and Mike's head jerked. Red blood oozed up from a lethal bullet wound. Mike slumped slowly down onto the bed.

Emily bagged ole Mike's body then went out into the hall and wheeled in her cart. She jammed Mike onto the lower shelf and dropped sheet over it. Then she wheeled him out to her truck. Were he any heavier, she would have had to take one of hers sisters with her. Suddenly, she remembered and dashed back inside to retrieve her card. "OBF- Old Boy Friends Recycling Service, at your service!" Emily said quietly. This one and the Officer John last night would make up this month's shipment to New York. The Recycling Service might very well be the answer all of Auntie Bea's supply problems. Cards were being circulated quietly both in the dorms and the sororities.

Sarah Ponsonby went through her briefcase and checked her files one more time. This story was simply too big for the campus newspaper. It could be her entry into the world of professional journalism. She had had more time to work on the story since Mike had disappeared and the clues came quickly together. She paid her visit to the steak house and tried the special fare. She did not her best not to think about what she was eating. Surprisingly, the steaks were really outstanding. But then why would people go to the trouble and danger of slaughtering and butchering human beings or male human beings at least, if the product didn't have extra-ordinary appeal.

Thinking of human beings, she thought of Mike - make that sub-human beings. She wondered what that OBF Recycling Service had said to him or done to him to scare him away. She hoped that what ever they did, they made him suffer as much as he had made her suffer. Beyond that, she just didn't really care.

This would be some story for the Sentinel. Her hands were sweating and the pressure of her grip had left an imprint of the handle on her palm. Why did her mind keep returning to that bastard Mike.

The chief editor of the Sentinel was said to be a she-bear - a lioness - everyone said. She rarely met with staffers, let alone some undergraduate college journalism student. Sarah just had to have everything in order. She was Danielle in the lion's den, but she was driven by the recognition that her exposé would bring.

Sarah got the nod from the receptionist. She knocked once and then waited. Time seemed to stand still. Finally, a cultured, authoritative voice called, "Enter!" Sarah opened the door and walked into a lavishly appointed office. The entire wall was one great window looking out over the city below. The Editor-in-Chief sat in her great over-stuffed chair with her back to the door, enjoying the view. Sarah took three steps, her feet sinking into the deep pile of the plush carpeting and waited.

The Chief swiveled around on her chair. Her hair and makeup were impeccable. Her clothes were the finest cut and style. Her kind smile had already somewhat undermined her reputation for fierceness, but her energy was clearly revealed by her eyes. "Hi," she said. "Hi, I'm B. Anne Todd." She held out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Sarah Ponsonby. Really pleased to meet you." Sarah took her proffered hand. Suspicion crept into Sarah's mind. Associations began to form.

"Pleased to meet you." Ms. Todd held out her hand also. " Please sit down, Sarah." She indicated a leather chair that stood at the corner of her great oversized desk.

"I've really got something to tell you, Ms. Todd. Just like I told your receptionist when I made my appointment. There's something really curious going on, right here in Cady Stanton County, at that Auntie Bea's steak house, really.

"Rally?" Ms. Todd found herself using that hated word.

Sarah tossed her sheaf of papers on the desk. "Really. It's all here -copies at least." The Editor-in-Chief looked them over. "Good work, Sarah, very good work." Ms. Todd looked up and smiled. "Well tell me, Sarah, did you enjoy your meal?" "I really felt I had to try the special menu. That special prime "beef" is really delicious. - it's really pretty special too, I guess." Ms. Todd winced. She really wished that Sarah, a supposedly a journalism student, wouldn't use the word 'really' so frequently. "The things one has to do for one's profession!" Okay, Sarah, Sarah thought to herself. This is the moment of truth. "Will the Sentinel print my story?" She waited. Her mind was a blank.

"Well, it's a fine bit of journalism. But Sarah, I'm the Beatrice from Auntie Bea's. My nieces and I run the place." Sarah never expected this.

I've got something for you too, Sarah." Ms. Todd pointed to an envelop on the corner of her large desk with Sarah's name on it.

Sarah lifted the white envelope and found 5 crispy $100 dollar bills. "Ms Todd, is this some sort of bribe?" "Not exactly a bribe - Ms. Ponsonby. Please call me Bea - every one does. It's more of a payment." "A payment to kill my story?" Sarah asked incredulously.

"No, a payment for goods provided. Here's a card." Auntie Bea hand her an "OBF Recycling company business card. "Fifty kilos at $10 per kilo, right?" An embarrassed smile blossomed on Sarah's face. Poor Mike. She was chagrinned by her failure to put things together sooner, but a lot of things were falling into place by the second. She thought about him butchered and eaten. She really didn't feel all to bad about it. She thought about him haranguing because just she didn't like to swallow. She clutched the $500 tightly. Plans would have to change. Now, she herself was hopelessly implicated.

Auntie Bea came to the rescue. "I usually don't hire students, right out of Journalism School, but you're an exception. I just happen to have a job for you with this paper. I think that you're likely to have quite a future here." . "Well, Auntie Bea, thank you. And if you don't mind, then, please, call me Sarah and don't hesitate to call. Your Steak House sure serves some of the best Special Prime Beef I've ever eaten." Men had exploited women's bodies for millennia. We've been chewed up and spit out, she thought. Wasn't a bit of turnabout fair play? This time, I'll even swallow.