"Come on, Honey! Lynnie! Get in the car. It's time to go! Oh, goodness, where is that girl?" snapped Helen Rogers as she snatched her purse, tucked it under her arm, and burst through the door with the explosive grace of a halfback popping through the off center hole in American football. Safely down the front step and on the walk, she paused and more as a ritual than as an attempt to obtain information, checked her watch. She knew very well exactly what time it was and exactly how far she lagged behind her all-too busy schedule. Somehow, it seemed that she was always behind schedule. She just had too much to do and too little time to do it in. Looking for her daughter, she turned the corner and walked to the side gate to see if Lynnie was in the backyard. Just as she turned the corner, Lynnie came running up the side walk with her long blond hair trailing behind like the tail on a comet.

Breathless and disheveled as usual, Lynnie dashed by her astonished mother and ran into the house with a not very lady-like declaration, "I gotta pee!" The screen door slammed jarringly behind her followed by the loud slamming of another door. Helen winced as if in pain as each thunderous bang added yet more to the frustrations of a mother hoping and praying to groom her daughter for womanhood. "Wait for me, Mom! Just a minute! Please!"

Helen had a moment. She took the opportunity to check on the dog's water bowl. She opened the gate and knew Sydney the dog well enough to close it quickly behind her.

Sydney, resting quietly in her run, yipped in glee to see her person fully confident that either she would soon go on a walk or be rewarded with some sort of scrumptious treat. At the least, she thought, would finally be allowed to join the family in the airconditioned house. No matter how much Sydney ate, no matter how many tables scraps she begged, Sydney was always hungry and looking for something else to eat. She utterly devastated when she discovered that not only had Helen no treats, but she had no intention of placing her house at risk to Sydney’s rather casual bathroom habits.

Ignoring the dog’s pitiful begging, Helen refilled the bowl and then opened the gate. She closed it quickly behind her. Sydney tried to follow and Helen had - this time - just closed the gate in time.

Helen waited as patiently as she could for her daughter to attend to her business. Thinking out loud, she went over the list of the groceries she needed for her part of the annual neighborhood dinner. How the dinner became her family’s responsibility was lost in the mists of family folklore. These dinners stretched back beyond the very beginnings of Helen's memories. Neighbors always made appetizers, salads, and desserts but her family had always provided the main course. Helen guessed that her grandmother had hosted the first dinner even before the time that jacques was first sold retail year around. People in her family had never hunted. Perhaps in the earliest years, a neighbor who hunted had provided the fare. Now every family made a contribution and she just went down to Laura’s Market.

Usually, trying to get Lynnie into any kind of store, let alone a grocery store was as tough as getting her into a dentist’s chair! Where was her female shopping instinct? Helen was more than a little surprised about Lynnie's enthusiasm for shopping for this meal. Perhaps, she just wanted to see the jacks.

Last year, Lynnie had been utterly uninterested when Helen, Aunt Kimmie, and Aunt Michelle had prepared the last dinner. Perhaps this year was different. Lynnie had seen jacks or males up close at her school and at that sorority that had started raising them right in town on campus. The males looked so uncannily human that it was difficult even for Helen to believe the terrible damage that they had once done to women, to each other, and to the world at large. Now things were quite different - fortunately. Some said that civilization itself was women's response to male size and enthusiasm for violence. Helen thought that it was all quite interesting herself.

At Laura's Market, one always might find five or six male carcasses waiting to be sold, each hanging by one heel from a stainless steel hook in the store's back cooler. Male or previously male, the hands and genitals were usually absent. The hands were only good for soups or stews but the testicles or city oysters were highly sought after and very expensive. Helen had to admit that the sights were intriguing too. Depending on the angle, one might look into an empty, gutted, body cavity and see the pale ivory of the spinal bones gleaming against the dark red tenderloins. It was all rather fascinating. The heads were often left on in the event they might be sold for roasting whole. Their eyes had always struck Helen. Their lifeless, staring eyes seemed to follow the shoppers around the store as they inspected the meat displayed for purchase, pinching a flank here and a rump there, checking for tenderness and fat content. Empty eyes looked out, as if guessing which of their fellows would end up on the butcher block sawed in halves and quarters and then cut into retail cuts, and which would be sold whole. "Whoah, girl, enough of this! These motherless jacks are raised for their meat. We kept them alive and feed for only one purpose, to end up as meat on somebody's dinner table. You're letting your fertile imagination and female sentimentality lead you way, way out of line," laughed Helen at her own silliness as Lynnie finally dashed out of the house and jumped into the front passenger side of the car.

"Put on your seat belt, Honey", admonished Helen as they headed to Laura's Fine Meats. Lynnie put on her seat belt only reluctantly. "Mom, are we going to buy a live one again this year? You always say that fresh killed tastes better, don't you? Don't you think?"

Glancing at Lynnie's face, Helen could see the excitement in her eyes. Slaughtering and butchering a jack was certainly was a bother, but freshly killed meat did taste better. Lynnie just had no appreciation for the work involved. Laura's had all of the right tools, winches, and scalding tanks. Home was messy and makeshift. "Oh, I don't know, Honey. It's all so much bother. We've had some really tasty roasts and steaks right from the meat counter. How about those barbecued ribs you love?" asked Helen.

"Yeah, they're really yummy but there's something special bringing home a live one and cooking him right from scratch ourselves," responded Lynnie with some enthusiasm.

"Not ourselves, dear. You mean your aunts and me slaughtering, gutting, and cooking him from scratch. It's really messy, dear, and goodness, just so much work," pleaded Helen searching her daughter's face for some hint of compromise. "It's really a fair piece of work."

"Well, Mom, it's really kind of educational too." Lynnie, said knowing what sort of argument was likely to elicit a favorable response from her mother. "The teacher dissected a jack in school last year. I'd really be happy to help you this year. I know that I played with my cousins last year and didn't even want to watch. This year is different - really. I’m bigger. Just tell me what to do. I'll even help clean up afterwards. I promise!" declared Lynnie, tossing her long blond hair off her shoulders. "I promise, really!"

Feeling her resolution begin to crack, Helen decided to change the subject as they rounded the last corner just before Laura's. Her Lynnie would never help clean up, whatever she said now. "I heard that Laura’s has joeys this year."

"Joeys! I want to see the joeys," responded Lynnie, her interest now tweaked.

The small parking lot was full as they drove up and parked, "I hope that they have a really good one for us this year. Hmm, not a good sign," mused Helen. Many families planned special dinners this season.

"Where are the joeys?" chirped Lynnie, dashing into the store with her mother plodding behind in her wake. "Can I get a treat?"

The signed proclaimed Beth as manager for the day at Laura’s Market. Helen knew Beth from their old high school days. Beth was a petite brunette with beautiful long hair and sparkling blue eyes, certainly attractive but almost but not quite beautiful. She managed Laura's Market and was well respected for her work. She supplied several restaurants like Frere Jacques and Les Guerrilleres as well as many retail customers. It was already afternoon when Lynnie pulled the store's door open and triggered a spring-loaded bell.

The bell rang. Helen and Lynnie entered to see the gleaming tall stainless steel commercial refrigerators with lined either side of the store's interior. On one wall, one might find the prime beef, lamb, pork, and poultry. Laura's only sold the best. On the other wall, one found jacques, larger cuts, such as rounds, rumps, saddles, racks, shoulders, tenderloins, and barons and smaller cuts, such as roasts, steaks, back ribs, stew meat, hommeburger, and soup bones. Hams and pickled tongues were there too, along with livers, kidneys, and animuelles or "city oysters."

Emily Norton and Sarah Ponsonby stood at checkout with an entire tenderloin. Catherine Legrand stood behind a shopping cart that contained a large

package all wrapped up in white butcher paper. Against the back wall hung three freshly slaughtered jacks, likely slaughtered that very morning, hanging head down by their heels. Their skins were bright scarlet from their scalding in boiling salted water that eased the hair removal process. Carcasses were usually aged for several days before butchering, if they were not to be consumed within hours of slaughter, so that rigor mortis might pass and the meat to stretch on the bone. These would be ready for the holiday. One half of a fourth carcass hung beside the three, already flayed. It had been cut along the spine and the leg, rump, loin, rack, and shoulder were likely trimmed into retail cuts and displayed in the coolers already. Helen winced when she thought about the stainless steel meat hooks that pierced their heels but soon quelled her silliness and reassured herself that the jacks were well beyond pain. One carcass rotated slowly on his turnbuckle and caught Helen's attention. A small pan had been placed beneath him to catch any fluids or blood that might still drain from the long slit that opened him from neck to groin. His arms were truncated at the wrist. His hands had been removed as well as his male parts. Helen glanced into his upside down face. He looked nothing other than surprised! His lifeless eyes were open wide, staring at nothing at all. His tongue lolled out one side of his mouth. Helen almost commented out loud as she studied his comical expression.

Just then, Beth came out from the back where she had been tending to the "live" storage pens. Jacks were delivered several days before slaughter to allow them to recover from the rigors of transport. They were restricted to a liquid diet to purge their bowels and ease processing. "Hi, Helen! I was really expecting you yesterday. Shopping a little late, are we - as usual?" she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

Reaching into her purse, Helen took out her cigarettes and offered one to Beth. She paused to light Beth's and then her own and said, "Why Beth, I know you always save one of your very best for me. Otherwise, I would have to do my holiday shopping over at Kate's," retorted Helen. The response was almost choreographed - a running joke between the two women. At every visit, Beth needled Helen for doing everything at the last minute and Helen threatened to take her business elsewhere.

"Well, what's it to be this year? Do you want to take the easy way out this year? I have a beauty I've been saving in the back. Put him down a couple of days ago and he's ready to butcher just today, he's well marbled but not too fat. He should cook up very tasty and tender. A little stuffing, some basting, and he's all ready to pop in the oven. Dinner for the crowd at a bingo party. I can sell you a side -a half carcass, if you like. Or are you going to take one home again this year and do him from scratch," quipped Beth, rolling her eyes boldly and exhaling her smoke at the ceiling for emphasis."

While the grown-ups talked, Lynnie examined the hanging carcasses. First, she reached up hesitatingly and touched the flank of the nearest jack for a brief instant. She waited, expecting trouble, but no one scolded her. No one even said a word. Now bolder, she tentatively squeezed the rump, mimicking her mother and the other shoppers. Again, no one said anything. Lynn looked around quickly and comfortable that no one was watching her, she ran her hand around the front of the carcass and furtively reached for the large, flaccid penis dangling upside down. She suddenly remembered the "tail" that she had seen on the jack at the sorority house. She had just been a little kid then - a bout 6 months before - and her mother and granny had told her to call it a "penis." Her teacher had shown the class a penis when she dissected the jack in 4th grade science. She told the class that in the bad old days this silly thing was some sort of weapon that jacks used to terrorize people. Her granny had said no such thing when they saw that jack the other day. Now, it certainly didn’t seem very threatening at all. It just seemed sad. A thick wire ring tightly enclosed the barrel just above the helmet. Lynnie couldn’t resist. She flicked it sharply with her finger.

Interrupting her conversation with Beth, Helen called to her daughter, "Lynnie, Honey! Don't play with the meat. Dear, really, he's going to be somebody's dinner." Mothers have always had a sort of radar.

Jerking her hand back as quickly as possible. Trying to be inconspicuous if not invisible, Lynn sheepishly turned away from the hanging carcasses and studied the cut meat in the nearest cooler. Then she gathered her wits and confronted her mother in turn. "I remember, Mom. A jack uses his 'wormy-thing,’ - his penis - to tinkle, right?" Lynnie asked with a knowing smile. She hoped to win her way back into her mother’s good graces. "Is that what they 'rap’ with too? The teacher said so in school!"

"It’s all right, Lynnie. We needn't worry about this fellow 'raping’ anyone. I told you that jacks use their "wormy-things" - their penises - to tinkle. Their bags hold their testicles or city oysters. Those are delicious and expensive. They kind of taste like liver."

Lynnie wasn’t impressed. She didn’t much like liver.

"When you're older, you'll learn about other uses." Helen said uncomfortably and turned to Beth to change the subject. "Well, Beth, I was really looking forward to an easier time this year. I'm still not completely over last year. The motherless creature was half bled out and somehow got the idea to jump off the block and head for the door!" Both women laughed as they reminisced over last year’s debacle when Helen's half slaughtered jack had somehow found enough steam left in him to damn near run out of her kitchen. True enough, with his substantial of blood loss, he hadn’t gotten very far. Still, it was unnerving and it did make quite a mess out of her kitchen. It was good that she had tile floors and not a carpet. She had had to wash the jack too - head to toe - all over again.

"Well, what would you have done if somebody was sawing off a precious body part and getting it ready to drop in a hot buttered skillet," snickered Beth, taking a last drag of her cigarette.

"He might have been more thoughtful and recognized that two very discriminating and determined ladies with gourmet tastes had invested a fair bit of money and a lot of hard work and were looking forward to his participation in their lunch. I don't know what he hoped to accomplish anyway, but he ended up in the pan all the same," laughed Helen.

"Why don't you take a look in the pens," said Beth walking back toward the door that led to the shed where the live jacks were housed. "I have some real nice ones, fattened to perfection, off their feed of a day or two, and ready to go. All are guaranteed to stay put - once you actually slaughter them." teased Beth holding on to the conversation's thread.

"Boy, you really know how to hurt a girl's feelings," laughed Helen, stubbing out her cigarette and following Beth into the shed. Just before the door, Helen turned to see Lynnie. She looked bored stiff and leaned lackadaisically on Beth's glass cooler. Helen called to her, "Hey, Honey! Do you want to see some live jacks?"

"Sure! You bet!" chirped Lynnie, as she dashed in front of her Mom into the shed.

The live storage shed was a metal-sided building about 30X20 feet. The "long" wall had large, sturdily gated pens approximately 6X5 feet. All were lined with fresh straw and had a squatter toilet. In one corner was a small platform used as a sleeping area. Five of the pens were occupied. Despite Helen's fear, the room did not have an unpleasant odor, except perhaps a faint sour smell. Laura's Market liked to keep the jacks at least partially drunk with beer. The temperature was comfortably cool even though the jacks were naked. They bore wrist and ankle restraints. Their facial and head hair had been clipped neatly. Shaving a squirming living jack would be quite a challenge and it was much more efficient to depiliate them in the scalding tank once they had been slaughtered. As soon as the women entered the room, the jacks slunk to the back walls of their cages as far as possible from the visitors. Their chains rattled as they moved. They avoided looking directly at the women, staring at the straw instead as if something extraordinarily interesting was going on, hoping desperately to avoid notice.

Singling out the meatiest jack, Helen walked closer to his cage. "What have we here? Well, you're a fine fellow. What's your name?"

The jack studiously ignored her and her question and continued to stare sullenly at the floor of the cage.

"Do you know what his name is? He seems really shy. I asked him, but he just won't talk to me," asked Helen with a wry smile, pleased with her wit.

Beth checked her clipboard. "All our jacks are family reared and they all have names. Here it is: Larry! Aw come on now, Larry! Helen is a very nice lady. Don't you want to say, hello," cooed Beth.

Larry just squirmed back tighter into the cage's corner. He had never thought that this day might come. He had grown-up with his mother and sister. Like other young males, he had looked forward to the challenge of the Hunt. However, his sister’s test scores were a few point too low for the scholarship and her damned letter from that stupid band teacher just a few degrees too lukewarm. His mother had cried, but she had signed him over for the bonus.

Ashley, his girl friend, had had to know. His mother had likely told her so that she might prepare herself. No one had told him.

She had let him stay over that last night at her apartment. Not only did she fuck him, with double rubbers, as always. But she gave her roommates turns too. He had been exhausted when the Gender Police had taken him there in the morning. She had cried though.

"Let me get him out so that you can have a better look. This one's been really jumpy. I bet you can't get near him without him scooting away. Why don't you and Lynnie stand over there and give me some room. " Beth grabbed the taser from the wall and opened the cage. "Okay, big guy, come on out of there. You have a visitor!"

The jack hesitated a moment, as if unsure whether to cringe back into the cage or make some mad dash for freedom. He looked at Helen and Lynn. He looked Beth and at her taser and opened and closed his fists in his wrist restraints. Over the space of 10 minutes that morning, this woman had come into room with a couple of helpers. Using a noose on the end of a capture pole with some skill, she had snagged Zach, Billie, and Adam in quick succession. Using the leverage of the pole and with the others help, each jack had been wrestled to the floor and hog tied. Each had been lifted into a waiting wheelbarrow despite his screams and utmost resistance and wheeled from the room, never to be seen again. Larry guessed their fate and knew his also. In the end, he chose to comply. The women did not have that damned noose and pole - this time.

The other jacks turned away, indifferent or uninterested in the fate of their fellow, simply glad that it wasn't them this time.

The jack stood motionless in the middle of the room. Helen looked him over with a practiced eye.

"Do you know how much he weighs, Beth?"

"My best guess is about 190 pounds on foot. Dressed out, that would be about ninety pounds with forty of that being prime cuts."

"He looks kind of big. I always worry whether or not they'll fit in our oven," said Helen, scrutinizing his overall body length. At the word, "oven," the jack visibly blanched and let out a small whimper.

"Lots of good eating. He's really about the same size as your jack last year. Trussed, he ought to fit just fine, that is if you can keep him in your kitchen," chuckled Beth.

"Okay, really! Enough is enough. Just because one of my more important guests didn't want to stay for dinner," said Helen, her voice trailing off into laughter.

Lynnie watched the proceedings warily. However, once she saw that the jack seemed safely restrained, she sidled up next to her mother.

Helen walked around him, hand on her chin and deep in thought. She wished that she had worn older clothes. She laid her hand on his backside gently; as much to calm him as to gauge the quality of the meat. He trembled. Speaking softly, she said, "There, there. See, no one is going to hurt you." Continuing her gentle mode of speaking and soft touch, she felt his loins and rump. "Hmm, some sub-Q fat, yet firm," she judged as she pushed her fingers into the flesh, past the outer layer of fat and into the muscle. She continued inspecting his loins and shoulders. "Lynnie, would you like to check his arms for me?" asked Helen. Helen wanted Lynnie to learn to participate in the art of selecting quality meat for her dinner table one-day and not just watch her poor Mother prepare the poor creature for their dinner.

Hesitantly, Lynnie reached her small hand out to the jack's muscular arm. His sudden movement caused her to yelp and yank her hand back.

"Go on, Honey, its okay. He can't hurt you. See his arms are held by the cuffs," said Helen, whispering into Lynn's ear. "He can’t hurt you! It’s safe."

Cautiously, Lynnie tried again. She touched the jack’s biceps. Moving her hand slowly down is arm she squeezed the muscle, imitating her mother's hand movements.

"Well what do you think, Honey?" queried Helen with a twinkle in her eye as she winked at Beth.

"Well, he's really hard, Mom. I'm afraid he'll make an awfully tough roast. He's really cute though," offered Lynnie, somehow worried for an instant that she might hurt the jack’s feelings. She laughed at her silliness.

"Of course, dear, his arms are tough, silly. Remember, Beth talked about prime cuts and stew meat. We make all kinds of things with the tougher meat left over from the arms and lower legs, stews, soups, and hommeburger meat are just some of the dishes. When we're through with him there's won't be much left except bones for Sydney," smiled Helen, pleased with her resourcefulness.

The jack's eyes showed that he knew exactly what they were talking about. He struggled in his bonds hopelessly and the women simply ignored his movements now. He knew the probing, touching, and squeezing was simply to assess his meat quality and offered no hope of salvation. He searched Helen's eyes for a sign if she were pleased or would look still at others. He prayed that she was somehow not satisfied.

Lynnie saw that he had a drooping worm-thing just like the jack hanging in the cooler. He was standing unlike the other male who was hanging by his heel. This one’s worm-thing pointed down and covered his bag. While Helen was assessing the heft of his buttock, Lynnie chose to lift his worm thing and look at his bag underneath.

With all of this stimulation and female attention, Nature exerted her sovereignty. The wormy-thing stood to attention despite its erstwhile owner’s best efforts to restrain himself.

Lynnie was amazed. She stepped back to take it all in and her eyes grew as saucer wide as saucers. "Mom, look at his wormy-thing! It’s standing up. Do you think he’s going to tinkle?"

"Look at that Beth!" exclaimed Helen. "It’s disgusting."

Beth was chagrinned. "I’m so sorry, Helen. They’re just animals. Are you all right, little miss?" She looked at Lynnie with concern and reached into the pocket of her apron.

Lynnie didn’t quite understand why everyone was so concerned about her all of a sudden. She suddenly knew what she wanted for her treat.

"We have had so many shipments in the last few days that we must have forgotten to band him." She retrieved a stout wire and a pair of pliers. She threw Larry a fierce look. "You move, bucko, and you’re dog food tonight.

Beth took his stiff cock in her left hand and with her right looped a wire circle over its head. Larry’s manhood wilted at her touch, but he still screamed when she tightened the band with her pliers. He screamed but he did not move.

Lynnie winced at the sound. "Did she hurt him?" she asked.

"No, no," her mother reassured her. "Jacks just like to make loud noises. They don’t feel pain like people. What did your teacher tell you?

Lynnie nodded her head. It sure sounded like pain, but that was precisely what her teacher had told her. She felt a bit better, still the sound was bothersome.

His cock quickly shrunk to its flaccid state. "There." Beth said after she tightened the band a few twists more. "We can all feel a bit better already. It was just an oversight. I hope that he didn’t upset Lynnie too much."

Certain of her daughter’s resilience if nothing else, Helen shook her head, "Seeing an erection can be unsettling - especially your first, but Lynnie will be fine - I’m sure. How many pounds did you say he was?" The jack whimpered aloud and felt faint. His irons rattled. The women ignored him, now concerned about other matters.

"One-ninety. I'll tell you what, we can put him down here, dress him, and have him all ready for you bright and early on Thanksgiving morning. All you'll have to do is pop him in the oven. What do you think?" proposed Beth, feeling confident that a sale was near.

"Dress him?" Lynnie asked. "You mean put him in clothes like a dog in a circus? Can he do tricks?"

Beth snickered, "No dear, not dress him like that - dress him like taking out the icky parts."

"That sound's good. You have him ready and Auntie Kim will pick him up in her 4 x 4 at about 8AM on Saturday morning.

"Great!" said Beth. We'll only be open until ten."

"Can we see the joeys, Mom - please? They're really cute!" asked Lynnie. "And don’t forget my treat!"

Beth pointed to a rear door of the shed. Lynnie and her mother went out into the bright sunshine.

A dozen naked joeys played noisily in a fenced enclosure in the sun and fresh air. Several knots of women stood around the enclosure talking and pointing to this joey or that. Unlike the larger and more dangerous jacks, the joey’s were not restrained. The nice people at Laura’s had provided a slide, swing set, and wading pool. Under a large market umbrella, a drinking fountain bubbled, providing a source of drinking water and a place in the shade. The joeys swung, slid, and splashed exuberantly. They were less hairy than the jacks and their male parts were tiny and cute. Numbers were painted on their chests and back to aid identification. Several strands of barb wire topped the six foot chain link fence.

Catherine Legrand returned home and was glad that Valerie, her S.O., was home to help her carry the heavy package from the car. A joey, a prepubertal male, was much smaller than a jack, but at 25 pounds dressed could still be a challenge for a woman to carry by herself. Garcon, the flesh of a joey, as jacques is the flesh of a jack, was famous for its flavor, tenderness, and low fat content. The joey just fit in her large laundry room sink. He was compactly trussed to assure even roasting. The tendons above his knees had been cut. His legs were flexed severely at the hip and the cut tendons allowed his lower legs to flop backwards over his thighs. Thus, the underside of his knees could be tucked up under his arms and tied. His feet rested on his buttocks. His arms came around the outside and were held tightly against his flanks. A single skewer pierced both his hands, one resting upon the other, and both his feet, similarly positioned, and was securely anchored in the tail bone between his buttocks.

Catherine rinsed him thoroughly. She had to scrub in order to remove the wax pencil number on his back. She opened his body cavity and reached down to the hole where his anus had been and all the way up into his neck. She retrieved the plastic bags containing his liver, heart, and kidneys. One bag held the small pink tongue that would add much to the flavor of her stuffing.

Something was missing. Something was missing. She rinsed him out thoroughly, plucking the remnants of translucent membranes and a few lumps of fat. Garcon was generally very lean. Still, she did not find what she sought.

She took a step back and looked at him. His face was blank. His clear eyes stared off into space. If his eyes were the windows to his soul, he looked totally at peace without a worry or care, if jacks had souls. Once there had been some sort of vote on precisely this matter.

Suddenly, Catherine just knew. She sighed and smiled broadly. With one finger, she pried open his unresisting jaws. Then she pushed two fingers past his lips and teeth and fished out what she had sought. She held up her hand and marvelled at his tiny cock and balls. Chopped, these too would add to her stuffing.

Rinsing her hands in the kitchen sink Catherine grabbed the terrycloth towel and dried her hands. Time for a nice glass of wine while the roast drained in the sink. Pouring a glass of Chardonnay she settled into her favorite kitchen chair and mentally went over the afternoon's chores. "The roast has to be ready for the oven by tomorrow early...say 7:00AM. I have to make the stuffing and get the

veggie's ready that will go in with him. Kim and Susan liked pie for dessert so let’s see...how about lemon? That works and it will be light to offset the rich meat. Now what position should he be in for the roasting," mused Catherine.

"Squatting on all fours is the most dramatic," thought Catherine. "And the garnishes in that position really accent the roast." "Yes Catherine but you know what its like trying to get the stuffing out...a big mess. "If I truss him turkey style it would be easy to get the stuffing out and carve but the meat juices don't baste the stuffing as thoroughly, comes out too dry and tasteless, murmured Catherine. Turning towards her blank eyed joey, Catherine said, "Well guy, it looks like you go in squatting after all," as she rose to change into her grubbies.

Now dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a light pink tank top Catherine returned to her dinner preparations. Since she was alone so she left her bra off for comfort and padded bare foot into the kitchen. Grabbing a role of paper towels she walked over to the joey and stuffed his empty cavity with as much paper towels, as it would hold. Next she tried to dry him off as much as possible in a wet sink. Giving that idea up she grabbed him firmly by both his ankles and wrists and hoisted him out of the sink. The water made the hairless skin even more slippery as she struggled to lay him on the butcher block. Nearly dropping him more than once she plopped the carcass with a wet thud on the block. "Okay fella this won't hurt, if you cooperate," snickered Catherine knowing he was well beyond caring in this world.

First, Catherine stitched up his belly with a heavy needle and large heavy string. Next, she flipped the joey on his stomach and spread the cheeks of his rump as widely as she could. Holding the mounds of flesh apart she stuck her six inch paring knife into the hole which once was his anus and made a deep butterfly cut outlining his left buttock. Some meat juices flowed from the cut as she did the same to the other cheek. Laying her knife down she then forced her hand and wrist into the now enlarged opening. Wiping her hand on a paper towel she stood back to admire her handiwork. "Now that's big enough to get your stuffing in and out," she snickered.

"Okay fun’s over she quipped your not going to like this part," said Catherine as she used the same knife to cut a notch of skin just above his wet hair line. Grabbing the loose skin she yanked backwards and neatly pulled the scalp from the joey's head. Discarding the scalp in her trash bin she rinsed her hands in the sink and found her meat saw in the tools bin.

Catherine woke up early Saturday morning quickly showered and dressed and wondered into the kitchen. Rambling around in her nightgown she put up the coffee and peaked into the fridge at her marinating joey. "Still here I see", she snickered as she wiggled a trussed leg by the toes. Catherine was pleased that the joey's skin had taken a brownish tint indicating the meat had absorbed the spicy marinade it was soaking in overnight. Positioning her heavy-duty roller cart to the fridge she slid the marinating pan onto its surface and rolled her marinated joey over to the butcher block "The soon as I've had my coffee we have to get you stuffed and in a nice toasty oven". Dinner is at eight so lets see...hmm at twelve minutes a pound that means you have to be roasting no later them nine-o-clock my plump friend," she snickered as she poured her coffee and lit her morning cigarette.

Just as she sat down Valerie popped into the kitchen with a cheery good-morning. "Mmm that coffee smells good," she chirped as she sauntered over to the joey. "He looks delicious, would you just look at those plump thigh's, hey fella I can’t wait to sink my teeth into one of those," she snickered. "You know, I bet it's that new high fiber feed we've started them on. It really does make a difference they fatten up beautifully and they seem to like it a lot better then the old stuff."

"Yes contented joey's make for a better roast," agreed Catherine. Glancing at the joey's lax face, open mouth, lifelessly soaking in the marinade Christine felt a mild pang of guilt. "I know we shouldn't get attached to them... I mean after all they're just meat but this one had a lot of personality. Like you know, he was so happy to see me in the when I filled his feed bowl. Kind of cheery and always smiling, she mused.

Valerie interrupted lighting her cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke in the direction of that night's meal, "Yeah, I know what you mean but you had the easy part I had to take him to Laura’s! I felt like such a traitor when I opened his pen and he followed me, so trusting out to the car. I stayed with him until the end. I think he knew because he was always frightened when I put on my apron," sighed Valerie.

"Listen to us Valerie! This little guy is fulfilling his purpose and who better to enjoy his sacrifice but us," quipped Catherine. "Besides we're both hypocrites, I'm sure we'll both absolutely stuff ourselves with roast tonight, now speaking about stuffing it's time fat boy there got his and into the oven with him!"

Stubbing out her cigarette, Catherine open the fridge and removed the large bowls of stuffing prepared the night before. Valerie started preparing the vegetables that would go on the roasting platter with him. "Help me get him out of the pan, he's really heavy, whined Catherine," as both women grabbed the cold, wet meat and slid him onto the butcher block. Lying face down on the block Christine again forced her hand into the large hole between the mounds of his rump and said, "now say ah," ahe quipped. Grabbing a large spoon of moist stuffing Catherine began forcing the mix into the artificially modified orifice.

"Mmm these potatoes are beautiful, I love when they cook in the meat drippings...gives them such a good flavor," said Valerie. "Yeah, he's nice and plump for a joey should make plenty of gravy," said Catherine forcing the last of the stuffing into the now bloated cavity. Picking up her kitchen shears Catherine carefully snipped the joey's fingers, toes and ears into her small saucepan. "I'm going to sauté these for the veggies. Boy, they look tasty," she sighed as she poured in a cup of water and stared the mixture simmering on the stovetop.

Greasing up her large roasting tray Catherine positioned it on her roller cart next to the stuffed joey. Using coarse twine Catherine roughly stitched the distended buttocks together. "Help me get him in the pan. You can place the veggies about an hour before he’s done," said Catherine. Valerie grabbed the joey by the head and Christine the butt and together they centered him on the oiled roasting pan.

"Mmm, he's starting to smell good already," laughed Valerie, recalling past feasts, as she stuffed a large carrot stick into the remaining opening between his rump.

"Valerie! What are you doing," laughed Catherine.

"It will keep his stuffing from oozing out," quipped Valerie.

"Well it may work, but it looks so uncomfortable," snickered Catherine.

"Oh, come on Kit, with what this poor guy has been through the last couple of days a carrot stick up his ass is the least of his worries," Valerie laughed lighting another cigarette.

"I guess you're right," sighed Catherine as she positioned her long stem meat thermometer forcing the tip into the thickest part of his thigh deep into the meat just above the bone.

Valerie grabbed a carving fork and punctured the skin repeatedly with the thick tines in order to let the spices penetrate and fat run out.

"Let's give him a good seasoning rub'" chirped Valerie as she lined up the jars of seasoning.

"I love this part," giggled Catherine as the two women seasoned the meat making sure it was rubbed in on the entire roast.

Next Catherine removed the small pot of melted butter from the stove and proceeded to baste the joey from head to foot.

"And now the crowning touch," snickered Valerie as she stuffed the joey's gaping mouth with an empty coke bottle. The bottle would be replaced by large red apple just before serving.

"Well look at that just eight-thirty...right on time fat boy," chuckled Christine. Together Valerie and Christine rolled the cart to the 350-degree pre-heated oven and opened the door. An almost visible wall of heat greeted them as they positioned the roasting platter and slid it onto the extended oven tray. Slowly Christine pushed the tray into the oven and closed the door. Flipping on the oven light, the two ladies viewed their handiwork...the joey lay peacefully on his roasting platter. They would place his garnish of vegetables, carrots, potatoes, and turnips about an hour before he was done. A bright red apple would replace the bottle that now held his mouth open.

"See ya for your first basting in about an hour big guy," quipped Valerie as she slid him into the oven. Both women turned and went about their business.

Helen’s house was a bedlam. It always was bedlam and more this morning. People were always coming and going. Doors were opening and closing. A dozen women worked and chattered in the kitchen. Helen was pleased that she had remembered to send Lynnie to feed Sydney despite all the tumult before she went off to pick a few more things at the store and Aunt Kim went to pick up the roast. Lynnie seemed unusually out of sorts.

Helen had made it home first. When Aunt Kim returned, Lynnie was so excited, she had dashed from the dog run to her Aunt’s 4 x 4.

The jack was too large for one woman to carry in by herself. Clutching a neatly folded white paper bag, Lynnie charged into the house to recruit reinforcements. A number of the teenagers, not yet trusted with more complex tasks, were only too pleased to have something to do.

Help quickly dispatched, Lynnie held up the bag. "Mom, Guess what Beth gave me at the Market - my treat."

Much distracted by all the work that remained and the army of strangers who occupied her kitchen, Helen tried at least to feign interest. "What, Honey?" she asked, unable to rally the mental effort to make a guess. Overhearing at least a part of the discussion, several women turned their heads.

Lynnie reached into the bag. "Mom, look at this!" Proudly, she held up her hand. Her hand grasped a wormy-thing - a penis - by its wire ring. The bag was nowhere in evidence. "Beth gave it to Auntie Kim just for me! See! My own penis.Megan has one and now I have one too."

Helen sighed. Her daughter had suffered from penis envy!

Sydney was a blur. From under the table, she charged across the floor and grasped the proffered treat from Lynnie’s outstretched hand like a defensive back making an interception. Now it was hers. A woman carrying two shopping bags of dinner rolls entered the kitchen. Just as the screen door closed behind her, Sydney slipped though and narrowly won the yard and the freedom to enjoy her prize in peace.

Lynnie burst into tears.

Helen shook her head and did her best to keep from laughing. "Lynnie, dear, just think of it as Sydney’s special treat."