Cowboys and Cannibals

On one particularly-harrowing night recon patrol, he, Wesley Crow, Darryl Redfern , and Charlie Yazzie along with the rest of their unit, had gotten caught in a sudden firefight with the V.C. during which their C.O., a captain, had been killed, and they'd inadvertently fled twenty clicks "over the fence", into Cambodia, where they were overtaken by a tribe of native Highlanders that the Intel boys back in Saigon had apparently never known of before. Regarding them as unfriendly interlopers, these primitives gave them the choice of joining them in a particularly-gruesome funeral feast, consisting of the dead body of one of their own killed in battle - a young woman - or else suffer uncertain consequences. Finding himself thrust into a command position, and with the lives of the men under him at stake as well as his own, young Dan had to make the decision of simply "cowboying-up", and took the first bite, heeding his father's advice that "whatever don't kill you, can't be all that bad", thereby truly earning the nickname that would follow him home. And, consequently discovered that indeed, eating human flesh really wasn't all that bad - might even be fairly-appetizing under the right circumstances - though it was the one and only time to date that he'd ever tried it.

After they'd gotten safely back home to base, word had leaked out among the top brass of what they'd done, who were aghast and gave them the choice of either a court-martial or psychological discharge, for propriety's sake. Once again, Lieutenant Wakefield had volunteered that he was the only one who'd participated in the atrocity, and took the fall for the rest, returning home to less than a hero's welcome. Undeterred, he resolved to go back to a normal civilian life, buying the Devil's Gate property and marrying his high-school sweetheart Lee Ann Thompson.

Though their married years were pleasant enough, she had tried time and again to give him the one gift he'd wanted above all else - a son - and, after repeated attempts and fertility treatments, she'd finally done so, delivering a still-born baby boy, which had cost her own life soon afterwards, just over fifteen years ago now. Since then, Cowboy Dan had stayed to himself most of the time on his spread, tending his herds and trying to forget the troubled, tragic past - until the day she entered into his life.

Isadora was both moved and touched by this tale, and related her own youthful involvement in the cannibal-fetish underworld, describing the many times she'd role-played with only-too-willing male "cannibals" and female "meat-girl wannabes", and the extreme sexual thrill it always gave her. She'd often thought of actually being either cooked or roasted alive as the perfect way to end her life, once all that she'd wanted to do & achieve had been fulfilled. And as is usually the case, out of such shared confidences, definitive plans began to be made...

* * *

PART III: "... for Auld Lang Syne."/"Shoot the Moon"

The following year went much like the previous six months. The intrepid British lady photojournalist continued her workload output, sending the pictures almost daily back to her editor, and getting some occasional shots published in local area periodicals as Horizons West, and Santa Fe Magazine. She even had a photo exhibit of her own at the Georgia O'Keefe Museum, and some toney little art galleries in and around Albuquerque. Her cowboy lover was right proud of her, as she finally taught him some of the finer points of both art, and journalistic photography. Finally, her long-awaited volume on the Southwest came out, and it soon wound up on all the art book lists, even making the London Times and New York Times Book Reviews.

Meanwhile, their sexual style grew wilder and more extreme. Though outwardly refined, Lady Isadora loved to play rough behind closed doors. Cowboy Dan even got around to showing her those "rope tricks" he'd first kidded her about, chasing Isadora around the main corral late at night wearing nothing but their hats and boots, cornering her and calf-roping her into tight bondage, where he had his way with her just as she liked it. For his birthday that year, she got him a magnificent sterling silver and turquoise belt buckle; for hers, he had a special miniature branding iron cast just for her, and after he fire-heated it, he lightly branded her on her right buttock with the mark of his ranch - a "DG" inside a circle, split by a vertical bar, denoting her as part of his own personal stock.

When the dry season began that August and September, bringing with it the ever-present threat of brushfires, she'd even joined Cowboy Dan and his fellow McKinley County volunteer firefighters, donning the heavy gear of their work and pitching in alongside these seasoned, weather-toughened cowpokes, earning their respect and admiration, cheering them on.

It was in the autumn of that second year that she finally made her decision - she'd accomplished all that she ever set out to do in her life, traveled just about everywhere, interviewing celebrities and covering foreign wars, climbed most of the major mountains, did just about everything a person could do in this world, and she figured she'd "go out with a bang", in style, the way she chose, while she was still at the top of her game - before the infirmities of age gradually overtook her. Naturally, her cowboy lover tried his best to talk her out of it, hoping that they would grow old together, watching the gorgeous New Mexico sunsets from the front porch. However, she was as fiercely independent and strong-willed as ever, adamant about this, until at the end, he reluctantly gave in to her wishes.

His compromise was that she'd wait until the year's end, during the Christmas holidays. Both of them would see the old year out; only one likely to see the New Year in. The cover story to her editor would be that she'd finally exhausted her supply of photo opportunities, and wished to take an early retirement here in the States. What little family she had left in the British Isles wouldn't be likely to inquire after her. And so, all during that October & November, while the aspens and cottonwoods transformed their leaves into scarlet and golden shades to match the ochre hills, the happy couple traveled to, and dined at, many of the finer restaurants and inns from Albuquerque to Alamogordo, Socorro to Santa Fe. They compared and contrasted the more traditional Southwestern cuisine with the newer Tex-Mex, and other fusion ones, researching recipes, poring through local cookbooks and gourmet magazines, and visiting expensive wine shops, until they were sure they got it right. And they continued in their other happy pursuits as well, interrupted only by a brief stay in the Gallup General Hospital for Isadora, and the attendant recovery period that followed.

As November waned, and Thanksgiving drew near, Cowboy Dan and his luscious lady decided to hold a sort of "dress rehearsal" for the main event, and role-played for the holiday dinner with Wesley, Darryl, Charlie, and a few other invited guests who were let in on their little secret. Just before the mesquite-roasted turkey was brought out to the hungry diners, Isadora herself, nude & bound-up in classic poultry-roast fashion complete with apple in mouth, and carrot "stuffing", was served up to them on a huge silver platter, wheeled out on the serving cart, to appreciative cheers and laughter, before being released in time to dress and join in on the real feast.

For their last Christmas together, Dan and his lover gave each other the gift of their own intimate company, spending almost the entire week between Dec. 25th and the 31st in residence at the only four-star, four-diamond, elegant old-style hotel, in the heart of Downtown Santa Fe - the Eldorado, right next to Santa Fe Plaza. There they enjoyed casual days strolling arm-in-arm through the picturesque streets of the historic old district, lingering over authentic Southwestern crafts and delicacies, and long, passionate nights spent between luxurious silken bed sheets, making love yet again with a renewed fervor and purpose. As New Year's Eve drew nearer, they opted to stay in their sumptuous suite more, the genteel British woman pampering herself with massages, facials, body waxes and manicures/pedicures, ordering their meals from room service. They knew their time together grew shorter with each passing day now, as they held each other close, murmuring promises in the dark...

Being an election year, the incumbent won his seat back in the Capitol, and as Cowboy Dan was always a faithful voter and contributor to his campaign, he and his lady were invited to the Governor's Inaugural Ball on the evening of Dec. 29th. For such a gala occasion, the ol' cowpoke rented one of those fancy formal black Western tuxes, which his favorite hat accented quite well, and Isadora chose an antique-white, chantilly lace Southwestern fashioned evening gown, with low, revealing decollage', that contrasted well with her dark tresses and fair skin. As they danced to the strains of the orchestra, playing everything from Strauss waltzes to "Desperado", many envious male and female eyes were on them on the dance floor. It was the very last time they were to be seen together in public...

* * *

On the morning of December 30th, the two of them woke up in the ranch house with the realization that things were much more serious, now. Isadora began her fast, taking only a little broth and soup, along with dry crackers; Cowboy Dan began to check on other preparations for their New Year's Eve feast, calling the caterers and reminding them to deliver the rest of the ordered side dishes early in the afternoon, lest they discover just who the main dish was destined to be. His attitude was a good deal more somber, which she noticed and tried her best to joke him out of, with limited success. Later that afternoon, they took one last long ride around his property on both Cal and Patches, drinking in the warm Southwest sunshine and the pleasantly chill desert air. Following a bedtime enema, which he helped her with, they turned in early, passing up sex for just the opportunity to hold each other, naked and warm, in their arms, one final night.

On New Year's Eve, they rose early, dressed casually, and went about seeing to the festive decorations in the outer courtyard, where the night's dinner would be held. A large, open BBQ pit was just off of the veranda, complete with grilling rack and rotisserie frame, and the charcoal and mesquite wood all ready to be fired up soon. After much thought and debate, they'd agreed on spit-roasting the lovely British woman Southwestern-style, then just after she'd expired, quartering her for final grilling separately, to order, for their invited dinner guests. Elegant, engraved invitations had been sent out months in advance to not only Dan's old Army pals, but various other local dignitaries with whom she'd become well-acquainted during her stay, such as the mayor of Arroyo Diablo and some town council members, other local ranchers and their wives and girlfriends, and just generally any close friends who'd been carefully screened and advised never to speak to another soul about what they were about to partake in.

Sheriff Crow had requisitioned some extra deputies to stand guard just outside the ranch's main access points, to prevent any possible gatecrashers from spoiling their plans. That afternoon was another dry, clear, sunny one as both busied themselves with stringing up colorful crepe banners and Mexican-style paper lanterns, even a piñata filled with party gifts for a little pre-dinner entertainment. The overall theme was to be that of a typical Southwest fiesta, as light-hearted and gay as could be - complete with a genuine Mexican mariachi band, all of whom were sworn to secrecy as well. She'd wanted her last night on earth to be as pleasant and life affirming as possible, just the way she'd tried to live her own amazing, accomplished life.

Inside the kitchen, Jesus the ranch foreman and his wife Pilar, the cook, attended to Isadora's needs and preparations prior to being fastened to the spit, while an apprehensive Cowboy Dan supervised. She'd already received a second thorough internal cleansing that morning, and had kept her fair, alabaster skin as hairless and smooth as possible for days now. She held steady, self-assured even whilst nude, as the three of them began to trace a familiar pattern all over her fit and toned body with black grease pencils, to prepare the mature beauty for her "coming-out" party ...

In the late afternoon, just as dusk began to fall, their guests started arriving, greeting the cowboy heartily, with early New Year's greetings and well wishes. He mustered a bit of his usual cocky nonchalance when asked where his Lady fair was: "Busy in the kitchen, gettin' tonight's chow ready", is all he'd tell them, to bemused chuckles. After they'd all been seated, he fired up the cooking fire, then ducked inside to check on things, re-appearing minutes later wearing an immaculate white chef's apron, holding up an antique triangle bell, striking it a number of times to get their attention. "Ladees and gentlemen," he drawled, "presenting tonight for your exclusive dining pleasure, an imported delicacy from across the Pond, for one night only - the most delectable, delicious dish this side of the Rio Grande - and, I should know!" He winked at them all, as they caught the joke with knowing laughter and loud catcalls. "The most mouth-watering meat you're ever gonna' sink your teeth into! 'Chez' Devil's Gate' proudly serves up for you, tonight's main course - 'Isadora Long Piggy'!!"

And, with that cue, Jesus and Pilar smilingly wheeled out the delectable Isadora, kneeling upright on a serving cart, still nude save for her cowgirl hat and beef-cattle-diagram markings, mimicking the classic old "Cattle Baron Steak House" naked girl poster from the late '60's, with a juicy Washington State red apple in her mouth. The mariachi band broke into a lively rendition of "La Cucaracha" as they made a complete circuit of the greatly-appreciative guests who gave her a standing ovation, many calling out which cuts of her meat they'd request once she started cooking. She seemed more pleased and happy than he'd ever seen her, he thought, as she raised up and waved her hat at them all, thanking them for coming, laughing along with them. "Soon to be 'Roast Isadora'! See you all later, on the open range - oh, I mean - grill!"

Once back inside the kitchen, final preparations were to get underway, as they carefully removed every last trace of the grease pencil. By this time, Artemis Grey Owl, the local Apache shaman, had arrived, and they greeted each other warmly. Wanting to spare his fair lady as much pain as possible, Dan had recruited him through his good friend Wesley Crow to prepare a special sedating medicine, combining a mild hallucinogenic from native mushrooms and peyote buttons with natural herbal analgesics, which he produced from a plastic bottle and poured into a handmade, decorated clay dish, chanting over it a few ritual words in his people's tongue before giving it to Isadora to drink. If it had its' intended effect on her, she'd be able to stay alive long enough to both feel, and smell her own meat cooking over the coals.

The next step was for her to soak in the marinade that had been mixed up the day before and held in the refrigerator, then poured into a long, open wash-basin, set inside a larger tub - actually, a converted water trough - filled with ice. He led her to it by the hand, and she gingerly sat down in it for about an hour and a half, to let the cider vinegar, lemon juice, tomato sauce, pepper, liquid smoke, and other spices soak into her skin, flavoring her. As she rested, and the medicinal potion took effect, the British woman looked herself over, and gazed about her surroundings.

Wow, she thought, so this is what it's like to be raw meat in the kitchen, just passively waiting to be cooked alive for adoring, hungry dinner guests - finally, for real? What a turn-on! Just like I'd always imagined, during so many countless role-plays.

Even though she'd never shown the slightest reluctance at being internally skewered, either vaginally or anally, with the roasting spit, her cowboy lover had insisted that her body be simply tied to the spit securely, at select intervals. This important implement was lying upright against the wall nearest her, and when the kitchen timer went off, he came back inside from tending to the fire and helped her out of the marinade, allowing for some of it to drip before wiping the excess off her. As per her instructions, Cowboy Dan brought over to the work area both her favorite Canon SLR, and a digital camcorder as well, set up on tripods, arranging them to cover the entire work area, and instructing Jesus how to operate both, capturing the last moments of Lady Isadora as living-female-human-meat for posterity.

Then, taking the spit down and laying it on the prep counter, he helped her climb up and onto it. Bringing some strong cooking twine from the shelf, the two of them set about to tying both her wrists and ankles to the spit's crossbars, both above her head and below her waist, stretching her tall, athletic frame it's entire length, careful to secure her to it without cutting off circulation. Then came the moment of truth, as he stared into her deep dark eyes, looking for ... perhaps, a reprieve from this fatal course of action. Though wide-pupilled already from the drugs' effect, they returned his gaze unswervingly, as he picked up the large, scalpel-sharp ceremonial gutting knife, holding it poised above her flat, trim belly. She already knew what he was thinking.

"C'mon, Danny-boy - you can do it, I know you can! 'Cowboy-up' one last time! Do it for me - for Isadora!!"

"I ... I can't, darlin' ... I don't want to! This has gone far enough, joke's over! I love you, you know that!"

"OH, you self-obsessed man!! It's always about you, isn't it?! You've learned nothing in all our time together! What about me - respecting my wishes? You promised! If you truly love me, then - you'll do it!!"

These were words that would haunt him the rest of his life. A moment of indecision, of internal struggle ... the knife held poised, in mid-air ... an eternity of doubt. Grey Owl began to chant again, a consecration of some sort, as Dan gave her both a dram or two of Glenfiddich, and an antique bullet to bite on, then - plunged it downward, into a spot just below her sternum, and sliced sharply across and down perpendicular to it, as crimson ribbons began to rapidly ooze out of the crude incision, in stark contrast to her fair alabaster skin. She gasped in sublime pain, but held steady, as he worked quickly to cut away at her now useless internals, remembering how he'd often watched the M*A*S*H surgeons during the war perform "meatball surgery", under much worse conditions, on shrapnel and gunshot wounds. He removed her stomach, liver, both kidneys, and spleen, saving them in a separate plastic bucket, aware of her wish to use as much of them as possible in future dishes such as pate', sweetbreads, steak and kidney pie - she even wanted haggis made! He cauterized the major arteries as best he could with a hot poker from the fire, she shuddering almost in ecstasy with each application.

Then, according to the agreed-upon recipe, Pilar brought over a huge bowl of cornbread, Mexican rice, chipotle peppers and pinon nuts stuffing, and after soaking up as much of the blood and gore with thick towels as he could, began filling her hollowed-out abdominal cavity with plenty of the warm, spicy, fragrant mixture, up to its' capacity. He took some of the stuffing, and pushed it up into her vaginal cavity, grinning at her as she writhed in wanton pleasure with each handful, moaning. Isadora watched with some heightened awareness as her cowboy lover took a large, husked ear of fresh sweet corn, and poised it for insertion into her smooth, hairless pussy, now leaking wetness.