White Meat, Breasts


Francis Levy


Evelyn was a real piece of ass. Of course that’s all she was. It was the year 2450, and the ingenious idea of converting poultry farms that bred breasts, thighs and legs into human matrimonial suites had finally come to pass. The prevailing gestalt, according to which an individual’s personality was treated as a whole, had long been dying, and after the Great War, when available men and women were in such short supply, it was decided that the only solution was to divide up the spoils. Through genetic engineering, men would finally be able to get what they were after, and there would be no such thing as the war of the sexes. Full Mentalities, as they came to be called, were free to go after the body parts of their dreams. It was no longer necessary to say, “She had a great ass,” “great tits” or “wonderful lips” (either referring to the cunt or the mouth). It was irrelevant. Frank Perdue now raised all the tits and ass that you could want, and if you were a female mentality interested in the accoutrements of the opposite sex, cojones and the finest cocks of all sizes and shapes (including Peyronics) were available, and even came in convenient plastic packs available in the refrigerated sections of selected supermarkets.

    For instance, Whole Foods had a special section where you could cop a feel of the body part of your dreams. In the window, “Breast, Thighs and Legs” were advertised for as low as 1.79 Wuros/kg. Still and all, love was love, and when Arthur fell for Evelyn he experienced all the emotions he had with his first wife, from whom he had been separated for over a decade. For one thing, Evelyn was fun. While anal sex had been a struggle not only with his wife, but with all his former girlfriends, Evelyn was built to be fucked in the ass. In fact, she was a Greeker’s dream, for all Evelyn was capable of doing was being fucked in the ass. There was something nice about being with a piece of ass. No sooner did Arthur unpack Evelyn from the ice-box in which he carried her around than other men were coveting his great catch.  He loved the candlelit dinners where he would seat her on a chair opposite him with her buttocks rearing up into the air like the old stallions in western films of centuries past, nodding in agreement as she emitted the usual hot air. The vacuum-packed asses were guaranteed to break wind, just as the cunts were guaranteed to fart.

The Meta Surrealist salon of 2200 had established the palette for this Brave New World. Jack, the great, great, great, great grandson of the famed Surrealist Salvador Dali, envisioned a race of body parts all aching for consummation. Lone predatory pricks sought out gaping cunt holes devoid of consciousnesses. Like the pathetic fallacy, in which nature is seen to embody the emotion of the objective observer, these body parts often took on a life of their own, a life they in fact probably didn’t possess, as women whose ocular nerves connected to the outside world of phenomena imputed human emotion to manufactured joints. Who was to say that a pumping prick wasn’t expressing love if it produced passion in the cunt of the thinking, liberated woman of 2500? Sum ergo cogito. “I am therefore I think” established itself, as the anti Cartesianists became the ideologues of the new world of mind made flesh. Arthur had actually met Evelyn at an orgy, which occurred in the meat section of a discount club that was the great, great grandchild of the famed Price Chopper. Several drum-sticks had gotten a leg up on her, and she had to fight off several hot breasts to get a live one, a hard cock that stood as straight as Cleopatra’s Needle. Acculturation had left its epigenetic residue, ever so slightly favoring the kind of mixed marriages that Evelyn and Arthur seemed to be headed for. Sure it was fun to play around with other body parts, but when it came down to it, animism was not a way of life. Good old fashioned values like having at least one mind involved in a bond seemed to result in relationships that really lasted, provided the body part and its adult counterpart shared the same religious values. Time and again, cocks that married women and cunts that married men did beautifully, until it came time for childbearing and decisions had to be made about whether to raise junior in the temple, mosque or church.

There is a downside to everything. Arthur might have gotten himself a great piece of ass in Evelyn, but their relationship left something to be desired when it came to conversation, the joys of which had to be found elsewhere.  Watch out what you wish for. Evelyn was definitely in his face, insofar as her rear end was concerned, but that was what you got when you ended up with a party girl who didn’t have a brain to keep her thoughts.  That inevitably was their downfall. He often felt and smelt like shit after their long nights of ass fucking, something that led him into the arms of a female mentality who had just been jilted by a prick who had called her a cocksucker in a fit of rage. Alice didn’t have great tits or a particularly well-rounded ass, and she would never have been a candidate for one of the  “events” at Whole Foods, but she was a true companion, someone he could talk to, certainly not a superficial trophy wife or someone who behaved like an ass.