****** Summer Nights by P ******
===============================================================================

Summer Nights


Warning: this story contains material of a sexual nature, and may include
graphic descriptions of sex and violence. If you find such material offensive
or the state or country in which you reside prohibits such material for people
of your age, then do not read any further.

This story is erotic fiction intended for adult entertainment. The author does
condone or endorse the behavior described in this story in reality. All persons
and events in this story are fictitious and any similarity to persons living or
dead or to actual events is purely coincidental.


Summer was the time for cruising. Twilight lasted until almost ten o'clock. The
sun baked ground groaned audibly at dusk and threw its heat back into the
night, leaving the air hot and heavy with only the barest hint of a distant
promise of relief. Those older and wiser, fled the out-of- doors and hid behind
closed windows in the comfort of their air conditioning, leaving the streets to
those younger and more tolerant of the heat. Teenagers, wealthier in time but
poorer in cash, drove up and down the streets of the town in keeping with the
time-honored practice. The modulated growls of sports cars and the rattle and
thud of clunkers played against the background of the rhythmic chirping of
regiments of crickets.

Brenda drove her new fire-engine red convertible, top down, with her Friend,
Heather, beside her. Vanessa sat in the narrow back seat jammed in cross-ways
with her long legs tucked up nearly under her chin. Brenda was quite proud of
her new car. Tidy by nature, she was even more fastidious with regard to her
car. She turned around more than once to check on Vanessa. She glared a silent
warning not to scuff the leather uphostrelry with her shoes. Eating in her car
was simply unthinkable. She even wore leather gloves to protect its shiny
steering wheel from her sweaty palms.

The traffic light ahead turned amber, then red. Brenda eased to a gentle stop
next to a livestock truck that had already stopped at the light. Brenda had
been somewhat suspicious when she first saw it up ahead and her nose soon
confirmed her worst fears. The smell was atrocious. Tears literally filled her
eyes. She thought she would puke.

"P-U," said Heather and held her nose, saying the obvious. "Nobody in here did
that, I hope!" She looked around, feigning suspicion, in her theatrical way.
"Nobody - human - at least." She laughed aloud at her own wit. The others
joined her, trying to mitigate the unpleasantness with humor, however crude.

Vanessa pointed to the truck that Brenda had already seen. She couldn't help
but peer into its interior. In the eerie illumination of the sodium lights in
the intersection, she could see past the metal grating. Inside, she thought she
might see cattle or pigs. However, she saw only miserable jacks males, arguably
human - crowded one against the other, each grasping desperately onto
something, knowing that should he fall, he would be as likely trampled into the
filth that now covered the floor as regain his feet. In the orange light of the
sodium lamps, their skin tones looked surreal.

A processing plant had opened on the outskirts of the town and jacks were
shipped in from ranches and collection points all over the region. The trucks
usually traveled at night - usually late at night - to spare decent people the
two-pronged assault on sense and sensibility. The driver of the rig sat smugly
in her air conditioned cab with the windows rolled up - of course - quite
comfortable and either unaware or uncaring of the distress of that her cargo
inflicted on others. Vanessa wondered whether the driver had ever smelled them
herself at all, ever. She must have, when she climbed into or out of her cab.
She must certainly earn combat pay for the run.

"You know," Heather mused quietly to no one in particular, "males once called
themselves the Lords of Creation. Hell, once they were the Lords of Creation."
She shook her head sadly. Then she saw one pitiful jack in particular, holding
onto the grating and peering right back at her. His baldly exposed male
paraphernalia, once feared by women as a symbol of male power and eagerness for
violence, now served only to emphasize his vulnerability. His head and facial
hair, like that of the others was clipped short for cleanliness and resembled
fur. On the other hand, his body was slim and hairless, unlike the others whose
massive, hirsute bodies betrayed their otherness, their obvious, undeniable
link to the animal.

Boldly, he caught her eye and smiled broadly. For reassurance, Heather touched
the smooth skin of her face and thigh. There was a resemblance, but you simply
couldn't see him and still call him fully human. She was suddenly comforted by
the strong grating that confined him and his fellows.

Unexpectedly, he raised his arm and waved. For a moment, Heather felt a sudden
panic. A wave of guilt swept through her as if she had been caught at something
really shameful. Then quite suddenly, she laughed aloud at her inexplicable
timidity. Who cares? Who really cares? She just raised her hand and waved back.

"What's that about?" Brenda asked.

"One of those motherless jacks actually looked at me!" answered Heather. "And
waved, of all the nerve!"

"Which one?" Vanessa asked finally looking into the truck herself. She had
here-to-for steadfastly refused to look into the truck. She certainly knew
about such trucks and she knew what went on such "processing" plants. However,
as she got older she had learned any number of unpleasant things which she
generally kept from distorting her generally pleasant life.

"The ugly one." Heather tried to point him out.

"They're all pretty ugly, if you ask me." Brenda quipped.

"The particularly ugly one then," Heather answered.

"Brenda, I thought you had a real fondness for jacks or for jacques at least."
Vanessa contributed, tongue in cheek.

"I do!" Brenda countered. "I like my jack, rather jacques, a smaller pieces -
not on the hoof so to speak all neatly butchered into commercial cuts, fully
inspected, and without all that filth and hair and everything, right."

Vanessa, wrinkled up her nose in obvious distaste. However, no one could see
her in the darkness of the back seat.

"You're right, guys. I do like my jacques served up as steaks and chops,
sizzling on the grill over a mesquite fire, say with a really good, really big
red wine. All right? Let's stop now, guys, you're only trying to make me
hungry. What about my diet?"

"The stench of that truck would kill any civilized appetite." Heather declared.

"Who ever said Brenda's appetite was civilized?" Vanessa chimed in. She smiled
at their silliness and thought it all in very bad taste. Many women, many
educated and politically aware women - like her mother and herself - simply did
not eat jacques. No one argued about the undeniable male alacrity for violence
and the necessity of limiting male numbers, but a less extreme method must
exist.

Brenda looked left and right impatiently and hoping that the light would
finally change. In frustration, she squeezed the steering wheel and inspected
her gloved hands for the one thousandth time to make the time pass more
quickly. On close examination, the fingers did not quite match one with the
next, but the corresponding fingers, thumbs, index fingers, and so on, matched
precisely from hand to hand. Natural materials.

"You know," Brenda offered, "there was a time when women were conditioned to
fear males, when a single male with no weapon beside his size and enthusiasm
for violence could paralyze dozen healthy women with terror. There was a time
when male genitals symbolized power and males could drive women off of the
streets simply by threatening to expose their male parts."

The world's sure changed," Vanessa remarked, for a moment deep in thought.
Quietly to herself, she might even allow that things had shifted a bit too far
in the other direction.

"And they smell bad!" Heather finally added after a pause, saying what was all
too obvious to all. "I bet if you look up 'stink' in the dictionary, you'll
find the picture of a jack."

"You'd stink too if you were standing ankle deep in excrement." Vanessa offered
charitably. I wonder how many comfort stop that truck makes." Everyone laughed.

"Cleanliness is next to goddessliness," Brenda said as the light turn from red
to green. She stepped on the gas firmly and deliberately. The car squealed
though the intersection, throwing Vanessa back against the seatback and leaving
the truck behind in a cloud exhaust.

"Can you imagine a truck load of jacks filing through a roadside Oasis to use
the facilities?" Vanessa asked.

"Vanessa, kind hearted liberal that you are, would you let them stop at your
house and use your facilities," Heather asked. "I sure wouldn't."

"I really wouldn't either," Vanessa answered. "Can you see a line of filthy
jacks marching over our white carpets. Can you see my mom's face?" Vanessa
concluded, her long frame doubling over with laughter within the narrow
confines of the backseat. "Mom though, might let me hose them off in the
backyard. I can't see any of our liberal friends doing much differently."

"There's some sort of natural affinity between jacks and shit, I've been told."
Heather said, trying to sound serious.

"Seriously though, my mom and I don't hunt, but our neighbors do. The poor
buggers lose control of their bowels when they're shot. The neighbors wash them
up thoroughly before they show them off." offered Brenda. "Dress 'em up, real
good too, I'll bet! Take out the yucky guts and all.

I'll bet that you would find a fair number of jacks in the Oasis - though. All
chopped up and mixed together in ten to the kilo hommeburger patties." Heather
quipped.

"You're so naive! You actually believe that they serve meat at the Oasis!" said
Vanessa.

"Stop it! Now you're really ruining my appetite," Brenda joined in
breathlessly, once in partial control of her laughter. "It's not the shit -
hanging with you guys, I'm used to shit. It's the food at the Oasis!"

"I've known you for a long time, Brenda, and nothing ruins your appetite,"
Vanessa offered. "Let's just go somewhere and let me get out of here and
stretch my legs. If I can't unbend, I'll have a future as a human pretzel."

The car pulled up to Hommeburger Heaven. The women piled out of the car,
energized by the loud music and the prospect of something to eat. Brenda
certainly did not allow any eating in her car. Vanessa stretched her long legs.
Involuntarily, Brenda surveyed her car for nicks and scratches and then peeled
off her very expensive, thin, leather gloves. The tempting aroma of meat
cooking promptly recalled her from her reverie.

***

Eight guests and their hostess sat around the heavily laden table, dressed in
their finest apparel for this Gamma Delta Delta Sorority party in Pleasanton,
both sisters and alumna. The familiar facial features of much loved friends
were soft and irridescent in the light of a hundred candles reflected from the
polished surfaces of the silver serving pieces. The crystal sparkled in the
flickering light and added to the magic of the evening.

Brenda, Vanessa, and Heather, all freshman at State, trooped in late, a bit
beyond the conventionally polite one hour limit. Brenda wore a hunter's green
that flattered her copper red hair. Vanessa's height accentuated her native
elegance. Heather dressed with her usual flare.

The room hummed with the chatter of a half a dozen simultaneous conversations.
These were the intimate conversations of lifelong friends where much was unsaid
and as much was conveyed by half-muted gestures or subtle movements of a well-
groomed eyebrow as by the words themselves. A stranger would have been utterly
confused, but then no stranger had intruded on the scene and violated their
intimacy. The consonant buzz of their voices reflected their old friendships
and was punctuated by the tinkle of silver-wear as the guests found time amidst
their discussions to partake of the wine that Megan, their hostess, had so
carefully selected and the last remains of the tasty and elaborate appetizers
that she had prepared.

At first, Brenda, Heather, and Vanessa were uncomfortable to take their places
among the others. They looked at one another and hesitated to join into the
buzz of conversation. Caitlin, a junior in psychology, offered Vanessa wine.
Vanessa blushed and shook her head sheepishly, remembering her age. Caitlin
gently reassured her that the offer had been genuine and not a trap. Vanessa
gladly accepted, glad to be considered an adult for once. She sipped the wine
slowly at first but soon grew more bold. Soon, Heather and Brenda had glasses
too and soon all three had joined the give and take of conversation.

With help from Brianna, Megan brought in the piece-de-resistance. Megan had
graduated twenty years before and gone on the get a law degree. Brianna had
graduated two years before, then won her MBA, and now held a job in the City.
Caitlin carried small dishes with mango chutney and pineapple salsa. The
guests, long tantalized by the aromas wafting from the kitchen, looked up to
see the source of their delight. The guests had thought themselves almost sated
by the delicious abundance of appetizers that Megan had prepared and the fine
wines that she had served. Now they found somewhere new appetite and new
impatience with the leisurely pace of their festive meal.

An entire saddle of jacques, studded with coarsely ground pepper, lay a rich
deep brown on a bed of red lettuce on the large carving board. The appetizing
aroma of the roasted meat, rosemary and garlic filled the room. For a long
moment, all conversation ceased, then one woman applauded and the others
followed. A lovely, high-pitched tinkle sounded of ringed fingers and bracelet
bedecked wrists clinked pleasantly against silverware and crystal. The women
prepared for the feast to begin in earnest.

Megan grinned almost embarrassed by the exuberance of the praise, but she
simply could not hide her unalloyed pleasure. "Just wait until you taste him."
She sharpened her carving knife on the sharpening rod, as much to delay and
sharpen their anticipation as to add to the already fine keenness of her
excellent blade. Megan paused again, with her high sense of theater, and went
through the motions of testing the sharpness of her carving while she basked in
the sincere approval evident on the faces of her guests. Right away, she knew
that she had done well. All eyes were on her when she neatly carved inch-thick
slices from the succulent loin. He was cooked just right and carved
beautifully.

The meal began. Brenda looked over to Vanessa. "It's jacques! I know it's
jacques," she said in a loud half-whisper, hoping for some sort of embarrassing
reaction on Vanessa's part. Heather looked over at Vanessa too, smiled her
idiotic grin, and waited for something interesting to happen.

Vanessa's face burned. She simply pretended that she hadn't heard anything for
as long as she possibly could. She sipped her wine once more. She took a long,
deep breath, exhaled slowly, and only then looked up. She shook her head subtly
and gestured Brenda to silence. She knew that it was jacques. Vanessa would eat
or not eat what she pleased, but she would not be rude and humiliate herself.

In a couple of minutes, a slab of roast graced every plate. Conversation ceased
and everyone was eating. Vanessa sipped her wine again and watched her fellow
revelers. Heather manipulated her knife and fork adeptly. She ate slowly and
gracefully, savoring the exquisite taste. Brenda attacked her slice with
energy, using her knife like a machete as she tore through the tender flesh.
She swallowed great gobbets, hardly chewing. She hoped to be the very first to
be ready when the opportunity came for seconds. Brenda reminded Vanessa of her
yellow Labrador, swallowing the meat in chunks.

Vanessa looked at the meat on her own plate beside the orzo, porcini mushrooms
with pine nuts, and broccoli. She really was hungry. The roast lay "au jus,"
redolent in its savory aroma that somehow reached her brain's appetite centers,
infiltrating past her finely constructed and maintained aesthetic and ethical
barriers. She fingered her knife and fork nervously and picked a little, first
at the mushrooms and then at the broccoli. Vanessa knew that she was really
hungry. However, she would just never eat jacques. She had never eaten jacques.
Jacques was never - ever served in her home. She stopped her picking and looked
up once more and saw the others eating with unequivocal enthusiasm. They were
completely oblivious to the conflict raging within her. What would her mother
say? The Hunt was six months ago, but she might have guessed what would be
served on such a festive occasion. One might think that a hostess might
consider the possible preferences of her guests. Vanesssa and her family were
not the only ones who eschewed jacques. She took another healthy sip of her
wine. She had never drank so much in her life, but she was pleased when Caitlin
refilled her glass without being asked.

Caitlin laid down her fork, looked up. and offered her praise. "Just delicious,
Megan. I bet the poor old jack was never treated so lovingly in his entire life
as he was in your kitchen." Megan smiled.

Everyone was eating and complimenting their hostess. Somehow, no one seemed
bothered at all by what seemed so important to Vanessa. No one was even talking
anymore. Heather stopped eating just for a moment, neatly dabbed a miniscule
spot of juice on the side of her mouth, and then returned to her business at
hand. Neither Brenda's appetite or energy appeared to flag. She completed her
first slice and looked up anxiously for a second. Vanessa found that her
picking had increased rather than decreased her hunger.

"Seconds, yet?" Brenda asked, never reticent to talk about matters of pressing
importance.

"Just one second, Brenda," Megan responded, pleased with her guest's
enthusiasm. "Let me have a couple of bites myself first. There's really plenty
for everyone."

"You eat like a jack yourself, Brenda!" Heather whispered after she had
swallowed one last mouthful.

"Where did you get this roast - if I may ask. The Hunt here was - yes- already
six months ago - and I didn't think that you hunted." asked Lindsey. "Was he
shipped in from out of state?" The Hunt dates were staggered around the
country.

"Jennifer works at that new processing plant on the edge of town," contributed
Megan. "She needed a few days notice, but you can now order jacques all year
around."

"Kimmie and I work in the front office," Jennifer explained modestly as she
nodded to her friend. "Actually, I'm some sort of VP for something or other.
Mary, our CEO, insists that we all spent some time back in the plant,
especially now that we're so busy . I actually got to walk this jack all the
way from the truck to your plate - practically. It's really a good story."

"You know," Megan commented, "it was really less expensive than I had been led
to believe. Something about supply and demand."

"The government feels that too many jacks are at large and they're paying a
sizable bounty to anyone who sells us one for processing. The supply is up
right now but people are still frightened by the old prices." Kimmie
contributed.

"I turned in my house jack for the bounty. He was really a sweet boy," said
Nicole. "But I had to board him when every time I went on a business trip and I
had this tremendous investment opportunity. Jennie and Kimmie here were at the
bon voyage party. It was a great party! I hope really he appreciated it."

"Yeah," said Kimmie. "We never got our turns - remember. Your friend, Sheridan
rode his bottom so bad, he looked like he was having his period. Talk about
sloppy seconds!"

"You promised us a rain check, but the next morning - Todd was gone." said
Jennifer. "Guess what happened then." She paused.

Vanessa thought of the truck load of miserable jacks that she, Brenda, and
Heather had seen last week. Her wine was a ready comfort. There must be some
limit to coincidence - except in stories. She raised the glass to her lips and
drank.

"We saw the poor bugger again at the plant, believe it or not! Jennie and I
signed even him out for the long weekend. You had promised us a rain check,
after all - remember. We got him home and he was all gushing gratitude. He took
a shower to wash up, found a razor somewhere, and shaved himself up, smooth as
a baby's bottom - all on his own." Jennifer took her turn to explain. "I guess
he thought that he had earned some sort of reprieve. We were very careful never
to lie, never to promise him anything. He was sure eager to please and we
really had a blast. He was really a sweetie, Nicole."

"He was really shocked when he learned that we planned to take him back to the
plant on Tuesday morning after all." said Kimmie. "All the life went out of
him, if you know what I mean. I guess that's why we keep those prostaglandin
suppositories in the condom box."

Nicole stopped eating and looked up. "You've got to be kidding! My Todd?"
Kimmie nodded her head. Nicole appealed to Jennifer and she confirmed the
message.

"Two days later, I see this line of dressed carcasses hanging in a cooler ready
for skinning and butchering. All of them were the usual hairy male carcasses -
hairy chests, hairy legs; hairy backs, hairy as all get out - gross, isn't it -
but one was all smooth -even his armpits. Even without a head, I knew whose
carcass it must be. A word to the lead worker and Megan had her roast - our
roast." Jennie concluded.

Nicole laid down her fork and looked at her plate thoughtfully. "This is my
very sweet Todd - my very own?" He always wanted to please." She became quiet
for a moment. "It's really a damn small world!" Her stomach made a rude noise.
She blushed and looked down.

"Well, Todd is delicious!" Megan declared.

"I heard that you can even buy garcon now?" asked Samantha to change the
subject. She was an architect who graduated five years Megan's junior, planning
her own dinner party. Garcon was illegal, though rumor always made it somehow
available on the blackmarket. Although no one could ever say that she had
tasted garcon herself, in every gathering someone reported that a friend of a
friend had attended a clandestine repast and sampled the forbidden meat.

"I don't think so. I hope not. But I saw a roasted joey in my Gourmet magazine
- roasted whole with his little mouth stretched around a red apple - a cute
little thing." offered Amanda. "I'm sure it was faked - the April Fools Day
issue and a story on urban legends."

"I really could never bring myself to eat a joey!" Lindsey offered. "They're
too cute!"

Vanessa thought about little joeys being slaughtered for their flesh and skins.
The idea really made her sad. She was glad that it was illegal. She had vast
sympathy for all young and helpless creatures, kittens, puppies, lambs, and
even boys. She was glad too that someone else had spoken up. Vanessa gulped a
large mouthful of wine. Quite promptly, someone refilled her glass once more
without asking.

"I know it's illegal and it sounds simply ghastly, but garcon is supposed to be
delicious, tender and almost fat-free. If I ate garcon, which I never have and
never would, I would have them take off the head in the kitchen," Amanda
continued.

"Let me tell you, my friend Ashley says that her cousin from Boston has a
friend who knows someone who swears that she ate garcon herself on a wilderness
retreat, said Samantha. "They surprised a good-sized joey pilfering their camp.
They chased him away and he climbed a tree Then he must have panicked at all
the shouting and screaming. He fell and broke his neck. He was dead already or
almost dead. What were they to do? Several of the women had hunted and knew how
to dress a jack. What can I tell you? She says that joey's are tender,
delicious, and - believe it or not very low in calories too. Very, very lean -
almost no fat. It's hard to believe that something so tasty is not fattening."

"That's just why it's illegal," Megan answered.

"You know what I heard." offered Jennifer. "When the government captured those
rogue males in Idaho a couple of weeks ago, they liberated their women and
girls and also captured a fair number of joeys - ferals, either the offspring
of the rogues themselves or boys they kidnapped from neighboring communities.
The women and girls had medical examinations and psychological debriefings.
They're now in re-education now. We're processing the adult jacks at the plant
right here in town. That's why we're working double shifts, and the front-
office people are helping out in the plant. The government is still trying to
decide what to do about the joeys."

Pensive and deep in thought, Vanessa was warmly glowing from all of the wine
that she had drunk. Although she was not fat, she worried about fat constantly.
Paradoxically, nothing provoked her urge to eat like worry. Without thinking,
she scooped up a forkful of orzo and raised it to her lips. The mild doughiness
of the pasta was complemented by a novel, complex taste. As hungry as she was,
Vanessa knew that she really liked it before she clearly identified what it
was. When she recognized what it must be, she caught her breath and took one
more large swallow of the big Bordeaux.

Vanessa was still hungry. The aroma of the roasted loin was corroding her
defenses. Really, she recounted to herself, she had not slaughtered or
butchered the jack herself. She herself had not caused his death either
directly by killing him or indirectly by ordering the roast from the butcher.
She had not prepared his flesh in her kitchen with her utensils. The motherless
jack was already dead. She might protest to Megan, her hostess, and thoroughly
embarrass herself in front of the others. She might simply sit and not eat. If
anyone asked, she might plead simple indigestion. However, for her now, the
jacques was just meat on her plate and waste was also really unconscionable.
Even Brenda could only eat so much. Yes, Vanessa could put all other
considerations out of her mind, at least for tonight. At least, she could try.

All of the accompanying orzo, broccoli, and mushrooms were gone. She could
simply wait for dessert. She looked around the table to see if anyone was
watching her. Satisfied by her momentary anonymity, she took a big deep breath,
and then cut a tiny sliver from the thick slice of loin that dominated her
beautiful dinner plate. She raised the fork to her lips, closed her eyes, and
calmed her racing thoughts. Yes, the jacques was truly delicious. The company
was good, the wine outstanding, and the saddle of jacques truly, truly
delicious. If her mother found out, she would simply allow that each woman must
follow her own conscience. However, Vanessa would never eat a joey with or
without the head. She hoped that Lindsey was as strong as she.

"Pass the salsa and the chutney, please," she asked. Vanessa was curious to
learn which condiment best complimented the wonderful saddle of jacques. As
one, Heather and Brenda gasped and looked at her in surprise. Then they looked
at each other. Brenda returned quickly to the task before her, the second slab
of loin of jacques. Heather shook her head in disbelief, sighed, and quickly
passed the pineapple salsa.


Please take a moment and let "P" know whether you enjoyed his story!

Pr_squared@hotmail.com

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