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calmly for just the right individual to reply. When Bernd, who styled himself ‘Cator’, finally answered, both men quickly realised that their mutual fantasy would become something much more. After all, it is without question that both parties knew what the other wanted, and this was confirmed in a video recording that captured every sickening moment.
    Meiwes had been fishing – trawling might be a more apt term – and on cannibal fetish websites he had encountered a handful of willing participants who took the bait, swam into the net by visiting his home to admire his newly constructed cage and slaughter room, then allowed him to draw lines on their bodies to illustrate the choicest cuts and even let themselves be suspended upside down by a chain and pulley.
    Meiwes’s culinary plans didn’t come to fruition with any of these candidates, but he was a patient fellow. It was not until early 2001 that his message, ‘Searching for a well-built young man who would like to be eaten by me’, was greeted by: ‘I am offering myself to be eaten but alive. No slaughter but consumption.’
    Who would reply favourably to an invitation like ‘Gay male seeks hunks 18–30 to slaughter’, unless that nightmarish sentiment stirred something deep and secret within?
    From the start secure within the confines of the rambling half-timbered house so painstakingly customised by his host, Bernd placed his glass on the table beside him and rose. Smiling, he embraced the tall man standing before him and allowed himself to be led out of the room and along a narrow hallway. Once in Meiwes’s bedroom, he lay down on the bed and, with that same vapid smile on his face, he observed as the 41-year-old man produced something sharp that gleamed in the lamplight.
    Bernd closed his eyes and waited.
    First he felt his fly being unzipped and then his slacks slowly being tugged off. Meiwes was gentle but firm, wary of doing anything that might spoil the coming moment. Bernd snapped at him, ‘Just do it. Just cut the thing off!’ Taking Bernd’s flaccid penis in his hand, Meiwes drew the razor-sharp blade slowlyacross the member several times until it separated from his guest’s body.
    The pain must have been excruciating and the flow of blood powerful, but this Meiwes partly staunched with a wet towel. Without immediate medical assistance, Bernd would bleed to death, but death is exactly what he wanted.
    Both men were unable to consume the penis raw and, unfortunately, when Meiwes tried to cook it, he burned it black.
    With Bernd bleeding heavily from his mutilated groin and his time running out, the two men agreed to forgo the first course and head directly for the main dish. With a glass of wine in one hand, the guest proffered the ‘delicacy’ to his host. Meiwes gladly accepted and, as Bernd looked on, he savoured the heady sensation of realising this powerful mutual fantasy, then took up his knife and fork.
    In the yellowy light of the dining room, the delighted castrator tucked into this most succulent, although overdone piece of flesh, savouring it as one might a tender venison steak. He had taken the liberty of frying the organ in garlic butter – he had trusted his guest had no objections. Then, after voicing his approval, he gestured for Bernd to join him and both tucked in.
    After dinner, Meiwes waved away his guest’s polite offer to help him clear the table. He invited him instead to sit down and make himself comfortable with another cognac. Before long, the two men repaired again to the bedroom, where, after saying goodbye to the almost unconscious Bernd, the gracious host took one last longing glance at the crudely cauterised, gaping, bloody hole between his new friend’s legs.
    It took many hours for the man to die, during which timeMeiwes read a
Star Trek
novel before setting to work with the sharpest of his butcher knives.
    Meiwes had a video camera rolling at the time. He had decided early on in the proceedings that he