It was after working my fourth graveyard shift in a row as a bartender at the Fuzzy Belly Bar that I felt the odd urge to take action. I was exhausted by the time I pulled on my robe and fell into the couch cushions. The TV produced much of the same with the usual infomercials promising miracles. In the mist of mocking the ever climbing number of phone-in orders scrolling at the bottom of the screen, I realized at least they were taking a chance. And if they could go out on a limb, maybe I could find one.

I stood straight up from the couch too quickly as though my pep talk would wear off and I walked to my computer. Something inside me told me this wouldn’t be as easy a search engine query away. The bright glare of the screen in my dark room seemed to make my heart race more. Guilty for even attempting to make my ?bad thoughts a reality. The only thing to do was start so in one motion I typed in ‘cannibal lovers.’ I don’t know why I felt it was necessary to squint my eyes waiting for the results to form, but I did. It was when I saw the first result that my eyes widened to normal size again. LoveYouToPieces.com, Offering Service To Singles With A Special Taste. With each click I imagined my front door being smashed down by some branch of law enforcement, but I’d never gotten this far before and I couldn’t turn back now so I clicked on the bolded link. Every word on the page was so careful to insinuate, but not incriminate. I surveyed the page for a few minutes before entering the personal ad section. To my surprise there were over 500 hungry lovers already actively seeking. I was antsy with fear, but something new too: hope. It wasn’t more than five minutes later of having entered the site that I had posted my own ad.

I then quickly closed the site, turned off the computer, and returned to the couch where I eventually fell asleep. When I awoke I was uncertain as to whether or not the whole thing had been a dream. But when I logged back onto the computer, the blinking reply I’d received proved it hadn’t been. My hand shook as I opened the email.

I took a breath for the first time in minutes after I finished reading the reply. What would I do next? After all these years of my urges sitting dormant to my sensibility, they must have been silently bulking up for this moment of total recklessness.

I was aware of the risk and it wasn’t even as though I didn’t care about it, but as though I cared more about going back to the place I was in less than 24 hours before. And what difference a day truly does make. In less than 10 hours we’d spoke on the phone and he was in route to my house. I’d taken the meat hook I’d bought years before at a flea market in only wishful thinking then and bolted it to a beam in the ceiling. I vacuumed, dusted, and re-checked everything no less than five times to make sure tonight would be perfect. The house was filled with candles and I couldn’t stop wringing my hands. Was it really finally going to happen? My answer would soon be found out as I heard the doorbell ring. I jumped a bit, but smoothed out the front of my dress, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. With my hand on the knob, I looked through the beveled glass near the top of it. There stood a man the right age he’d given in his reply with dark hair, light stubble, and a tailored black suit. In his hand he held a bouquet of red roses. A possible serial killer or not, I was letting him in. I opened the door and he jumped in the same way I had earlier. We stood smiling at one another until he spoke.

“These are for you.” He handed the beautiful bundle of red flowers to me and I cradled them to my chest.

“Please come in.”

He nodded and I stood in the doorway as he walked in past me. Once inside, I locked all four locks on the door.

“I should get these in water, would you like to come with me into the kitchen?”

John smiled and took steps right after me. Once in the kitchen, I could see John look around at the beautiful dinner table I had set, glowing candles, and hook hanging from the ceiling. As I filled a glass vase with water from the sink, John spoke. “This is all so beautiful. I imagined it just like this.”

I placed the vase down in the windowsill. “Me too. It’s nice to finally meet you. I wasn’t sure you even existed out there.”

John smiled and looked down before walking just in front of me. I held my breath as he put his hand on my cheek. I looked into his eyes and the only word to describe what I saw was relief. And that’s how he made me feel as he kissed me. Like I had finally found release after being bound so tight all these years. After we kissed, we said little else to one another, there was no need. We shared a bottle of wine at the dinner table and kept touching the other’s hand, as though part of us didn’t believe it was finally happening and the other part was afraid one of us would run for the door. After we finished our wine, I excused myself before we got started to change into my black jeans and matching tank top. Once I returned, standing beneath the meat hook, I started to undress John. I loved the indents and protruding bones of his body. I had never felt this pleasure before. By the time he was naked, we had kissed so deeply that I could already taste him on my lips. His breath smelling of sweet wine.

I brought over a small stool and John stepped up onto it. I held both his hands as he leaned back, now a bit higher than the meat hook. I looked to his face and he nodded his head as I then kicked the stool out from under him. As he hung from the sturdy hook his face arched in a smile and blood began to run everywhere. Seeping from his back and curling around to the front of him. It was a beautiful sight. I let go of his hands and reached for the cleaver I had already placed on the counter. I cradled his leg as I clutched it from swinging in the air. Bringing his kneecap higher, I gently kissed it. Then, using the foot stool for my right leg, I draped John’s leg over mine and began to saw just above the knee. He let out a moan and I stopped to look up at his face. “Please. Don’t stop.”

I smiled and then resumed my sawing. The flesh began to part and I could feel the tremors in the veins of his calf as I held it. The sweet white meat shown through the dark red blood and pinky interior of his flesh. I cut in a circular motion until I lifted the perfect sized steak from his thigh. The chunk was slipperier than I had expected and it fell to the floor. I dusted it off and laid it on the plate on the counter before I sat the cleaver down next to it. I then reached for the melon baller and brought it to the now open crevice in John’s leg. But I stopped with my arm posed to check on John.

“How are you doing?”

John’s eyes were closed as he shook his head from side to side. “Excellent. Thank you.”

With that, I brought the metal melon baller down into the open flesh and started removing perfect, circular meatballs. But it was somewhere between this and my using the cheese grater on his stomach that I noticed John had stopped moving. I then stood on the stool, pulled his head down and kissed his forehead. For the next hour I finished cutting John into economy slices, wrapped them and put all but his lips and one buttock away in the freezer for another day. I pulled all my cookbooks down from their cobweb-ridden shelves and used all the spices I had in the cupboard.

After grilling the meats and setting them in front of me at the table, I anticipated the first bite so highly that I waited at least three minutes just staring at the beautiful table setting. Finally, I brought the fork to my mouth with a piece John’s buttock squired onto it and then took my first bite. The taste was indescribable. It nearly melted in my mouth and the buttered garlic I had glazed it in before brought all the flavors alive. Each consecutive bite was better than the last.

And that is how I find myself here putting my dishes in the sink. My stomach filled with John and contentment. The entire room now darker than before with some candles gone completely out with most soon to be joining them. I run the water up to the brim and decide to let the cutlery and dinnerware soak. There is clean up left to be done, but I’m on too much of a high right now to concern myself with household chores. I wander into the living room, my steps on air and everything seeming a little brighter than it was before, and walk to my computer. Sitting in front of the screen, I bring up the already bookmarked personals section of LoveYouToPieces.com. I skim through the now abundant replies to my post. Some are too excited, others too boring. But finally Peter, age 24 and ?dying to meet me catches my eye.

Send.