General Fiction posted October 3, 2017

This work has reached the exceptional level
A night out clubbing ends unpredictably

Carcassian Night Out

by Bob Stanton

They call it a meat market or cougar country, otherwise known as clubbing.
Where else should a forty something Caucasian divorced girl go with a friend for a bit of fun, and maybe pickup a young guy for the night?
Amanda and I had already been to a couple of bars, but no action there.
It was getting late and we were thinking about making a move to another place or maybe calling it a night, when some guy handed us a voucher for a new club, "The Meet Market", down in the seedier part of town.
It advertised "Girls in free and the first drinks on us".
I read it and passed it over to Amanda. "What do you think?"
She read it and replied "What have we got to lose?"
So I got on my phone and arranged an Uber down there.

Located in an Industrial area the first impressions weren't that great.
It looked like a converted warehouse but that seems to be all the rage these days for clubs and raves. Are they still calling them that?
Inside was dark and crowded with flashing lights and predictably loud music.
They were playing some kind of updated mix of disco/punk.
We pushed through to the bar and got our free drinks, Sex on the Beach for me and a BJ for Amanda, then found a high table next to a wall to park our drinks and eye-ball the talent.
A lot of youngsters, mainly guys in their twenties, with a few oldies, mainly women.
Not to be overly critical but some of the ladies were a bit mutton dressed as..., if you know what I mean.
Too much make-up and spray-on tan, squeezed into too tight outfits after too many years of indulgence.
At least Amanda and I had made an effort to keep the pounds off and keep it toned.

After a couple more sips we put down our drinks and moved out into the dance floor.
Hands in the air and hips moving to the beat, we gyrated around and carved out a space.

They were playing some remix of a Prince track, quite a slow one, "Purple Rain" I think, when Rudi and his friend moved in on us.
Like sheep dogs his friend split out Amanda and started dancing with her while Rudi did the same with me. He smiled and leaned in to shout in my ear "Rudi" as he pointed a finger at his chest.
I shouted back "Carol" but he shook his head to show he hadn't heard, and after a couple more tries he leaned back in and shouted "You my Baranina" in a strong foreign accent.
What the hell, we'd just met and already with the pet names?
Still, he was tall and swarthy with that George Michael designer stubble look; pretty good looking in fact, and about in his mid-thirties; definitely not a toy boy.
What's in a name? I let it ride.

It wasn't long before he had his hands on my hips as we swayed to the music, and I naturally put my hands on his shoulders without even thinking about it.
My night was definitely improving.
A few drinks and sometime later I was feeling great. A bit woozy but in a nice kind of way, and Rudi was just perfect.
At some point I had tried to talk to him over the loud music and found out that he was Russian, and that apparently his English was minimal.
Still, body language is universal and we were having a great conversation.

Around 2am I guess, Rudi made motions that we should leave and I was pretty keen to get some alone time with him too, so nodded agreement.
Thoughts of Amanda crossed my mind but only fleetingly.
She was a big girl and could look after herself.
As we stepped outside the fresh air must have hit me hard as the last thing I recall was Rudi supporting me as we got to his car.

When I woke up I was lying down on a cold, hard table. Where was Rudi?
I sat-up and swung my legs over the side.
Too much too soon. What a trip.
As the room settled back down, there was Rudi a few feet away fiddling with a video camera on a stand.
He turned at the sound of me moving and smiled.

He came towards me and took me by the arm to help me down. I took a look around.
On the far side of the room were some stairs leading up and there was what looked like a central heating unit in one corner. Was this a basement?
He gave me a glass of water to drink. My mouth was so dry I downed it in one shot.
As he supported me standing I realised the floor was covered in rubber mats, wall to wall. .
A basement conversion then, but to what end, a studio? And what was with the camera?
Further thoughts on the subject fled my mind as he turned me to face him and cupped my face in his hands.
He looked longingly into my eyes as he spoke softly in Russian; His accent, too much and the words so guttural and deeply resonant.
So, so sexy.
He droned away as he held me and passed his hands slowly over my shoulders and back; gradually moving south.
The words didn't matter, and as he snuffled my ear, the sound and the touch of his hands sent shudders of delight through me.
I felt so loved and so wanted. Feelings I had thought I might never feel again.
I floated though the whole experience.
He finally picked me up gently and placed me back onto the table.
"Rudi, what does Baranina mean?" I asked as I drifted off to sleep.
The last thing I heard was his reply.
Rudi leaned over the camera and made final adjustments to the focus.
As he did so he heard movement behind him.
He turned to see his Baranina trying to sit-up on the examination table.
Smiling, he flicked the Record switch, before striding over to position the subject.
Then, cupping her head in his hands, he turned to face the camera and started his narrative in his native Russian.
"In this tutorial I will be dealing with selection and processing of fine cuts for our more discerning members of the Exotic Gourmet Club.
When hunting this produce in the wild it is important to ensure a good, healthy specimen is selected.
This subject was singled out earlier by my assistant and I from a flock gathered at a popular watering hole.
During the course of the ensnarement a relaxant was administered to ensure conscience compliance. This was followed up a short time ago by a mild sedative which will further relax the subject, ensuring optimum tenderness."

He paused following this introduction before starting on some general guidelines.

"First let us deal with the age of the produce.
Too young and you get insufficient marbling of the cuts; too old and they become stringy.
Next the fat content should be gauged; you don't want too much, just sufficient to ensure that the product doesn't dry out during preparation.
The head is optional. Some connoisseurs are of the opinion that the head cuts - cheeks, ears, brain and tongue, are delicacies; while others consider them offal.
It's a matter of personal preference.
Just a tip here before I continue, sniffing around and behind the ears before committing, along with ensuring clear eyes, which I checked earlier, can often tell you if the specimen is in full health or not.
One doesn't want to go to all this trouble just to find an ugly mess inside.
Speaking of mess, it is important to ensure that hair is completely removed from all locations on the carcass. Not everyone likes white meat but nobody likes hairy meat. "
He pauses and smiles at the camera.
"Now to the shoulders and ribs......."
Rudi completed his opening comments and lifted the subject onto the table.
As he reached for the knife beneath he heard her whisper the question
"Rudi, what does Baranina mean?"
"Mutton" he replies as he slits her throat.

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