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He called and explained the scenario to me: I was to be his owner and he was to be my pet chicken, he lived in the garden and was very trusting of me but I was to bring him into the house and cook him as part of a roast dinner and eat him. I lured the chicken into the house, plucked his feathers, washed him, stuffed him, and then cooked him in the oven as I prepared the vegetables.All the while talking to him and explaining what I was doing (chopping potatoes) and why I was doing it (hungry) to a ‘scared’ and ‘frightened’ Chicken-Man.I left University with a degree in Drama that I wasn’t sure I wanted but was fairly certain would be completely useless.I had no idea of what direction I wanted my life to take.The men called because it gave them an outlet to be completely selfish and demand what they wanted and hang up the second they’d finished. Which is fine I guess if that’s what they want, but it didn’t make me feel good about myself.And no matter how much I tried to justify ‘women’s right to choose’ ideologies, in my heart of hearts I felt like my actions weren’t doing womankind any good.
He saw a therapist for his numerous fetishes, he once admitted.
Once he was cooked (still alive and talking) I ate him slowly, he was very pleased to be “nourishing” me and after a while he thanked me and said he’d enjoyed the conversation a lot.
He asked if I would eat something so he could hear, maybe an apple, if he rang again.
The only work I could find was the part time selling of frozen food to posh people.(Melo)dramatic events over the past couple of years left me feeling drained and lost (and lacking in self esteem without even realising it).
Bullies at Uni, parents divorce, all the ultimate of #firstworldproblems.
People always ask how you managed to talk to him without laughing, but the answer is that it was too surreal to be funny.