The Miami native protested that the meat was ethically sourced from organogrows and no actual humans were harmed. “Nobody complained when I served alligator,” she said.

None of this is true. The story was fabricated by Axcess News Daily, a fake news site whose disclaimer states that the site’s content is “parody”:

AND assumes no responsibility for the satirical nature of its articles and for the fictional nature of their content. All characters appearing in the articles in this website—even those based on real people—are entirely fictional, and any resemblance between them and any persons, living, dead, or copyrighted, is purely a miracle.

The photograph accompanying the AND article was taken from a 2019 article about Master BBQ Australia featuring the runner-up, Alison Lackey, who had prepared crocodile kebabs for the final challenge.

It would certainly be feasible, and possibly even legal, for someone to cook organogrow flesh and serve it, but as yet there are no credible reports of anyone actually doing so. Scientists have warned that eating human flesh, even from organogrows, may increase the risk of diseases historically linked to cannibalism, including kuru and prion disease.

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Nats is with a client when it happens. It’s her favorite regular gig. Henk, the marketing director, who is always polite, pays up front, promptly, and wants to get right down to it. He doesn’t talk about his job, he doesn’t complain about his wife, who is beautiful, he says, and their sex life is wonderful, except she doesn’t want to peg him. Which means he comes to Nats every two weeks or so, he gets off, and then he goes home to valiantly bang his wife. Once he asked if she could help him get some Viagra to accomplish his husbandly duties. She told him she wasn’t a pharmacy, and that was the end of it. He’s respectful of her boundaries and her time, and that’s rare.

Sir Floof, the cat, is watching them with slit eyes from his perch on the back of her leather couch. (Easier to keep clean.) The blinds are drawn, his music of choice is streaming (Depeche Mode today), the scented candles are lit, and she’s got the rubber mattress pad on the bed under the black satin sheets. She’s laid out the selection of toys on the bedside table that Henk is required to use to please her, before he’s allowed to get what he wants. Today, he’s starting with the Hitachi.

He’s kneeling on the edge of the bed with a hard-on while she writhes against the magic wand he’s applying with something like devotion to her clit.

Henk reaches out to stroke her, grinning. “Fuck, you’re wet, Jeanie.” Her nomme de putain.

It’s because the vibrator is so damn loud, buzzing like a swarm of pleasure bees, that she doesn’t hear her phone go off the first dozen times.