Production Line

This is another story that was found in his files of thousands of writings. We have no idea when it was written, why....although, not included here, there was a tag that said, "Part One".  We cannot guarantee this is finished work, only that, on reading, it seems to be a complete story. Some of his favorite motifs, cowboys an castration, are present but, as usual, they are elements supporting what he may have thought of as a philosophy regarding the use of prisoners. A close friend of his was doing twenty five to life and, it's known, they discussed alternatives to full term incarceration. 

Again, we apologize for not knowing if this is how he would have wanted it published, it was written in 2002 which provides no clues as there do not seem to be any events that would spur him to write this; At that time he was mourning the death of his adopted son in New Zealand.

We wish we could say we hope you enjoy this but, please, just consider it as another story he wrote. It may even be that he never intended publication. 

“Any trouble finding us? That part about the entrance next to the barber shop throws off some guys….”

“Nope, instructions were first rate and gotta thank you for the clue and where to park, trucks goin’ and comin’ around here, don’t want to explain a mashed tail feather to the insurance company...”

“Say, who does?” We sat down in his rather spartan office, his desk shoved up against what looked to be a series of window, all shaded now. Not uncomfortable just for the size of the organization….a little unexpected.

Some guy stuck his head in the side door. “Hey, you wanted to be told when six….”

“Oh, hey, thanks.” To me. “Business, make yourself comfortable, shouldn’t be but ten...sorry...” and followed the man who’d summoned him. I got out my tape recorder, easier than trying to make notes….every teacher I had told me, whatever I did, do not go into a profession where it might be important to be able to read my handwriting….good advice. Buddy of mine said I should be a pharmacist, if I could read my own scrawl, deciphering what Doctors sent in should be a snap….

Ignoring what was probably good advice, I took up journalism and, worse, went to University of Missouri where, it seemed, every other person was also majoring in Journalism; The joke was if there was a person in or near Columbia who hadn’t been interviewed by a student they were either dead or just left town. Couldn’t accuse me of running down people just to get a comment, I could have cared less on the opinions of anybody about politics, the GNP, up coming elections…..you get the drift. Probably  being raised on a ranch outside (I am not making this up.) Hooker, Oklahoma, my interests were in cattle, meat production, anything to do with ranching,   farming...which made me a rarity. Professors said they were almost grateful to read about the corn/hog cycle when I handed in an assignment-even if they didn’t give a damn about hogs, it was more interesting than a too long paper written by someone overly enthusiastic about the way wall paper was hung on walls over ten feet high. I was showed the paper….someone actually wrote it.

Another plus, no wardrobe acquisition. My fellow students, preparing, I guess, for “The New Yorker” or similar spent a lot of money on designer duds which, I found, probably allowed them, if they were lucky, to get a job writing obituaries in Raleigh, North Carolina. But, hey, they looked sharp doing it. My Levi’s, Boots and snap front shirts carried me, along with a blazer from J.C. Penney, from the Hooker High Prom to Graduation from Mizzou, only buying semi-used from ebay...an excellent source, or so I found, for pants that didn’t have to  be ‘worn in’, already soft, comfortable. As we grew up, I got what Bull, my older brother, outgrew etc. Around Hooker we didn’t spend any time admiring new clothes; Trucks yes, clothes, no.

I had worked hard to get this interview and whether I’d be allowed to write the story or not was to be decided after I’d had the tour and a very careful discussion with the guy who just left, Bill Monk, the owner of “Gents Meat Service”. To put it simply, he provided meat from men for a small but very select clientele. Not to be confused with cannibalism, Bill’s company fulfilled requirements for specific parts, some for medical usage, Kidneys for example, were referred to a teaching hospital, the more common, genitalia- a very big seller-in specific, the balls. That was what I was here to see, the production line, how it got started, how it worked, where they got their livestock….whatever else he could or would show or tell me.

Part of why I’d been grateful for the instructions on where to park was to avoid the protest groups in front of what they believed to be the actual offices. Predictably, signs saying, “Save Our Men” or “Men Are For Loving Not For Eating”….as well as a chorus, with megaphones, chanting...who knew what. As I said, the small door by the barber shop was helpful.

Bill came back, apologized, said in this crazy business….just shook his head. Sat himself down, put his boots up, offered coffee or whatever and, somewhat surprisingly, didn’t bother with any preamble about business, the economics, shit like that. Nope, first thing he said was, “Guess you want to know how I got in the nut selling business, guys nuts, not goats or whatever….although I got a place in the country for that, we do them as well. Mountain Oysters, big seller, always keep up with the market.”

“Thirty years ago I was a stumble bum cowboy, I read your resume, Hooker, Oklahoma, so you know what I mean. Followed the season, got hired on where I could, work a season or two get laid off...lucky if I could hang on to my truck and my saddle...One year, bad, Jesus, I hope to shout, it was bad, not ashamed to admit it, I was hungry….tried the old trick of making your finger look like a gun in a sweat shirt….guess they’d seen that one.” He looked off in space… “Mineola, Kansas. Fuck, at least when they took me in I got fed, sheriff’s wife did the cooking, damn fine at it. Anyway, the sheriff, he really was a good guy, saw it for what it was all he could say was...he had to charge me with a felony ‘cuz it was a robbery….Lost, expected to, in court got sent off to Lansing, right next to Leavenworth, did my five plus parole and got out. Never, ever going back.”

He whirled around, pulled one of the blinds, looked out, turned back to me.

“Shit, you don’t watch ‘em, all hell breaks loose. Right below me is what I call the ‘waiting room’ cuz the guys in there are waiting to see what’s gonna happen. Guess you didn’t know it, but, sure, all the ruckus is about cutting off their nuts, but that’s not all, nosiree.”

“Back at Lansing, that’s where I lost mine, too young and dumb to know better so bet some guy…..my nuts against his commissary for a year. In the joint they don’t bother with things like anaesthetic, four guys held me down, someone produced a knife and….one eunuch con. It’s how I got out early.” He paused, reached in a drawer, pulled something out, slid it across his desk…. “Me, now.” It was a full length picture, nude, of him. Yep, no nuts.

“Okay but….how from there to this? Seems to me the last thing you’d want to be around was castration...I mean...you….”

“Tell you something. At first I was fucking mad, swore I’d get the man who did it but….some things happened. This isn’t for your story, if I let you write it, but turned out the guy who cut me got released and applied for a job where I was working. Figure it out.”

“Can I ask how? I’m betting you didn’t just grab  a Swiss Army Knife and zip ‘em off.”

“See, that’s why you may write this story, you think a little like me. Sure as hell I cut him but….” He started to laugh… “I did him with a can opener. All tied down, one of those electric ones, I’d give it a burp, the knife edge would move….wait….give it another touch….he was screaming….see it’s as much the fear of losing ‘em as the deed. Watching the cutter close in, knowing you’re, forgive the expression, dead meat. Jesus did he scream when it finally got to him…..can openers aren’t the  best thing but, hell, suited me just fine.”

“Did you take his cock?”

He gave me a real conspiratorial smile. “Yeah, I did, just not right then. Got him fixed up so he wouldn’t bleed, even got him a tetanus shot but one thing I didn’t do….let him go. By then I had a group, most of ‘em here, you’ll meet ‘em, so we treated him just like back in the pen, fucked him, well, rape would be more like it, then one day, we planned it, took him out in the country, found two trees, spread eagled him…..whattya think we did…..?”

I had to smile….we looked at each other, I was getting turned on by this, he saw it,…. “Just a wild guess….small, hot fire?”

“Damn, you should work here….almost….stuck a metal sound down his pecker then rolled over one of them little Jap Hibachis…..”

We both laughed.

“Tell you something, even barbecued, cock meat is tough….tried it other ways but you want it? You can have my share anytime.”

“Even Sushi?” We both laughed.

By now I was hard and didn’t care if he saw it. I knew it wouldn’t bother him, only thing was...I needed to stroke it down….

“Put your  boots up, shove down your britches….” He tossed me a roll of shop towels; Clearly he didn’t mean for me to clean the oil from the floor in the garage.

I guess I was a little taken aback when he plunked down beside me, pulled his meat out and joined in. “You shoot up enough Testosterone and not all is lost. Here, let me take a feel of you, check your nuts….” He laughed. “May take you downstairs and put you in line…..”  we both laughed.

Both of us were good at jerking off, he reached over took mine, I returned the favor then, after a few more strokes, seemed the thing to do, I dropped to the floor and took his cock in my mouth saying…. “I like cum that hasn’t too much flavor.” He leaned back, clearly enjoying himself just got into it, held back, made me work for it then shot. Never had cream without all the fixin’s. Not bad...told him so as I licked the droplets I couldn’t get swallowed.

“I owe you one.” He watched while I quickly finished myself off, smiled at him, we both zipped up, stood up….

“Guess it’s time to take you downstairs and start showing you the production line. Good day to be here…..fresh bus load just came in.”

“Speaking of…..true that’s only where you get your livestock? Prisons?”

“Yep, where better? You’re old enough to remember when they changed the laws on castrating sexual offenders? Used to be chemical but...a couple cases, that’s all it took, were so goddam gruesome, just stickin’ a needle in their vein didn’t seem quite enough. Probably Texas was the first, allowed them to cut ‘em off. If memory serves, that joint they got at Huntsville, was slammed with too many cases and, easy to guess, not enough staff just to handle the numbers much less do the nuttin’. That’s where I stepped in, wasn’t as if I didn’t know about getting ‘em sliced off in the joint, just drop my drawers and there’s the proof.”

I interrupted him. “How’d you find this place?”

“Well, after Chicago, Kansas City was the big meat packer so...’course the railroads all came here...must have been hellacious when a hundred cars full of cattle showed up on one day….this building is one of the smaller slaughter houses, kinda on the side, I’m told they took what the big boys couldn’t handle, slaughtered and packaged for the smaller chains, mom and pop stores in this area...Lord, I could not have used one of those big places, ain’t enough cons in a year to keep it open...”

“...you’re in with the prisons….and their, uh...”

“You mean how’d I get the contract? Easier than it may seem, a course, there was all sorts of whooping and hollering about men being cut up and sold...specially since after the cutting they was still living….”

He stopped to laugh. “Fuck, when you think on in, what’s the difference? At least this way they are living, not on a ‘flash’ sale for rump roast, today only…..” It was funny once you saw it that way. We were both getting closer to the same line, the salacious look I got didn’t just suggest, it screamed, ‘ fuck buddy’.

Just to keep it sort of on keel… “How many prisons do you do?”

“Bout as fast as the laws change in each state I get a call to see if we got space, that makes KC a good place for them, central, Interstates cross here….some states send ‘em up on converted railroad cars, just hitch ‘em on a freight, drop by my door.”

“Think of putting in a landing strip?” We both laughed.

“For your article….if I let you write it….I’m about limit up...looking for a new place, probably further West...Texas would be ideal, shit, I get enough business from them...their legislature keeps changing the age and crime for which nutting is eligible….”

“Yeah, must hurt some of your guys, see a kid, barely 18, come in….gotta be some sympathy.”

Suddenly his expression changed. “Sympathy? From my guys? Here’s something for your article, every man who works here had his nuts taken, not by some doc, but, like me, in prison or by a gang…..they know what it’s like, they know, fuck their age, they committed a crime serious enough to get sent here to be deballed….look at what you have to do, it’s a lot more than serial shoplifting….sympathy? I Guess ?Not.” His anger passed, looked at me, smiled…grinned.

He walked over, spread my legs, reached down and took a hand full of what I had and he did not. “These why they call you ‘Butch’?”

I kinda laughed, rolled my hips up to give him full access. “Nope, Butch is my real name. Dad named all four of us. Bull, my older brother, he runs the ranch, then me, Horse-yah, horse and finally Colt. Told all of us, ‘cept Bull, go out, get work or he’d nut us, keep us as field hands...woulda done it too. Hey, you’ll...oh yeah, don’t get too far done or we might get delayed...”

“Told you I owed you one, I’m thinkin’ this would be a good time to collect...go on.” He knelt down, unzipped me, pulled out my nuts, took them in his mouth….seemed to enjoy that. Knew it was too soon to do much else, but having your balls in some place warm and moist…

“...uh, yeah, Dad. None of us has the same mom, intentional, fact is, we’re all bastards, he said it was better that way. Guess you can tell he had his own way about a lot of things. Like fucking. When each of us was sixteen, he figured it was time to lose our cherries so he threw whoever was celebrating over a fence, pulled ‘em down and fucked ‘em. Bull and I screwed each other right up to the day I left for Columbia, all I know he’s still poking Horse and Colt….”

He let my nuts fall out of his mouth. “Your old man gets up here, tell him he’s got an open invitation, same with your brothers.”

“Sure you don’t want a trophy set of balls? Father and four sons?”

“Won’t say I wouldn’t” We both laughed …. “Lets get moving, gotta get to the locker room, change out then we’re ready for the tour.”

It was down three flights during which I could get my first look at what was going on. What I could see was guys stripped, wrists cuffed then hung from a pipe. Same time, a spreader bar went between their ankles while something, couldn’t quite see, went on with their faces...One thing, guys with clippers were shaving down their pubes, not smooth, but just to the point it looked like five o’clock shadow. We turned a corner, he unlocked a back  door which led to a locker room just like any college, big, one part given over to a work out area, two hot tubs then beyond that the showers-one sectioned off to be a ‘rain room’ fitted out with benches, some recliners, all first rate.

“This is hard work, guys who work here have been through hell already so this is what I can offer. Anyone who thinks this is just a matter of cuttin’ off a guys balls….” I could see the fervor for the job but also the camaraderie he had with his men….few businesses can have that sort of intimate event to bind them into a group….couldn’t think of one.

“When we’ve finished, come back here, get a soak, relax, you can think about your article….”

“….which you may or may not let me write….I know, you’ve mentioned that.” We both laughed.

“There’s an empty locker next to mine, strip, put your things in there, we’ll get suited up to go out on the floor.”

Okay, I could do that. Nice lockers, sort a team has, wood, not metal, his had his name on it, mine...did not. Once we’d peeled he steered me to an area that, at first glance, looked like a snow storm but proved to be filled with white, long slickers, white knee high rubber boots plus white hard hats, arms almost like a kid’s  mittens, pair of white rubber gloves hung from each arm, more like gauntlets, that long, elbow length. Each pair of boots had a pair of white athletic socks, made it easier and more comfortable to walk in them. Took all of a minute to get it all on...just waited for him to follow. Interesting, no special name on his, just, like all of them, on the back, “Gents Meat Market”. Every guy I saw wore exactly the same thing.

“Okay? Lets get out there, you probably want to start pretty much at intake...I’m gonna suggest we skip that, all that happens is their clothing is taken, marked, ID checked. Just what you’d expect. Next, before they move to the room we’ll start in, cuffed, you may have noticed, hung from a pipe then moved into the ‘start’ room as we call it. Come on, follow me.”

From where we’d been, in the  really pleasant quiet of the locker room, low voices, the soothing sound of the showers, the ‘start’ room was pandemonium. Didn’t expect any of the men scheduled to be castrated to take it well and they didn’t. Even though their hands were cuffed and attached above them, they rolled, trying to avoid the men attempting to put a spreader bar on their ankles. Can’t say I blame ‘em, hell I’d be fighting too. Bill kept us back until we passed where the bars were in keeping the bodies pretty much stationery ‘cept for some hollerin’ and trying to bounce around.

“Okay, this is where the first thing I insisted upon started. Fuck, you cannot work in that caterwauling, does nobody any good but just a gag….too much chance they’d puke, maybe choke so...come on over, I’ll show you.”

Two men were holding a piece of ‘livestock’ while a third guy fiddled with his mouth. Bill moved us closer.

“See that steel ring he’s holding? It opens at one place, there’s a male and female end and, well, watch, see Franky push the male part, which is pointed and sharpened through the tongue? Goes on around, just like a piercing place, goes right through the lip and back up, snaps into the cunt end.” It was ingenious and, I would have bet, not particularly painful-I knew guys who had pierced lips, tongues….I could think of some occasions when I’d like to have had a couple of these in my pocket, shut up whoever needed shutting up right then. Done this way, they could still make a sort of noise but no shouting, no words, just a mumble. Bill said the rings came in various diameters so, depending on how much silence was wanted, and how much trouble they’d already been, rings could effectively almost close the mouth, leaving only the upper jaw to have an opening where you could let water in.

“Come here, look into this guy’s mouth, see on that lower lip….”

“Hey, just like at the ranch, tattooed a number.”

“Yeah, only that’s done back at the prison, a lot of them use that as identification…..”

“Okay” I thought of something …  “maybe they do it differently but….that ink in a warm, moist place fades pretty quick...sure does on our….” I paused, gave him a tap in his side…: “livestock”.

“ Yeah, they’re finding that out.” He laughed popped me on my ass. “Some smart ranch kid knew what they shoulda known.. Problem is...makes no sense, we can cut off their balls but the law is you can’t apply something that, upon release, marks them as having been a prisoner. Fuck, most of ‘em get ink inside that marks ‘em more than a number, look at some of those guys….Back in the locker room, I’ll show you my collection of prison tats.” He roared with laughter. “Fuck, ain’t one of these the state would have put on me but they can’t even put a eight or nine digit number where it probl’y wouldn’t a showed. Ex cons should run their joints….” In a way, being around him, I began to see he had a point...

He went on about tattoos and prison. “You could almost tell how long they’d been in by how much ink they had or whether they bore the signs of prison fights won or lost.” I saw one young kid, maybe 20, still was pretty clean….had to ask.

“What about that guy? The one they just pierced? Jesus he looks young, no tats….you know what he’s in for?”

“Yeah, we gotta know all through the process. Some shitty inspector shows up, can stop the line, make us prove man for man, well, you studied writing, who, what, where, when...that kinda shit and we gotta have his papers not more, according to law, no more ‘n five feet from his, his tat number, top and bottom of however pages they got. Part of, for one, making sure they get sent back to the right lock up. They can be a mess sometimes. One smudge on a page can shut me down for hours…..Also, they will not wear all this white, says it isn’t in their contract...but let anything get on them...figure it out.” I’d watch Dad deal with people from various groups, particularly ones from animal rights, so knew precisely what he meant. About the kid?

“Him?….Hey, Frosty, swing your guy out, got his sheet?”

The kid did not react positively to being upped and made to move with the bar between his legs. Frosty reached in a large, sealed pocket, pulled out a sheet, handed it to Bill.

“Eighth down, Evans, Thomas C. Murder One. Life. You want him for anything?” I swore he winked.

“Uh maybe, I got a guest, you,, might, chain him over on the ‘B’ pipe.”

“You got it...if, uh….”

“I’ll put your name on him, by the book, you know where your piece of beef is, all nice and legal….”. Both men laughed. Evans, Thomas C. lost some of his fear of one thing thinking maybe there might be worse.

I coulda told him otherwise, having been fucked plenty by my Dad and my brothers. I couldn’t prove this for a fact but….getting it in the ass seemed a helluva lot better than having your nuts chopped off.

“On the other side, once they’re cut, we leave the ring in, easier, quieter and, between us, I’d fucking seal their mouths shut. Jesus, some gang types come in and until they get sealed, louder than Pneumonia in here. That little gadget shuts ‘em up. I heard one joint leaves it in until they get back and in their cell, just keep ‘em hydrated….”

We walked on a bit toward the sort of door covering, flaps of rubber, I associated with any slaughterhouse. Bill pulled me back a bit. “Okay, got ‘em shut, time to start moving ‘em toward the nut house, inside joke. See how they’re attached to that pole? About...there” He pointed to a junction between the pipe and a slowly rotating piece of what looked to be hard rubber, or similar….  “it meets a sort of rotating rubber bar. The cuffs fall into a spot on it and just like a screw bringing up water, this moves them along toward the opening. You’ll notice it pauses now and then, that’s so the guys who are gonna work on ‘em have time to do it right. That’s where I make my real money, what the states pay me for doing the job just about pays the rent, but it’s their nuts that really bring in cash. S’pose you know that part.”

What I knew was that Bill sold ‘specialty meat’, specifically, male testicles. I also knew they were not cheap, sold one at a time, no twofers, no flash sales, only variation in price had to do with the size. All guaranteed to be fresh...he sold all across the country. All of it graded just like meat in store and approved for sale by the FDA.  At first UPS refused to deliver them but finding it was legal-after all they shipped for Omaha Steaks, “ Gents Meat Market” was a regular pickup for them, twice a day for sure, some times three times.

We stood and watched the transfer to the screw that moved the livestock-seems normal to call ‘em that, it’s what they were-toward the opening.

“Watch their faces, interesting, some get mad, some get frightened, some just seem to go blank, nothing they can do. Not really accept it….none of them seem to realize that once they lose ‘em, life goes on, well, if you like life in prison but...hear tell even this isn’t considered enough for some, too many people beginning to think that killin’ guys on a comfy slab, just going to sleep...doesn’t quite make the point of the term, ‘Death Sentence’.,, whaddya you think, college man?”

Back home the ‘death by lethal injection’ was considered a joke. Most of us felt, hell, particularly for murder, a man dies swingin’ from a rope, no other way. Told Bill that. His only comment, apart from agreeing, was that he hoped I’d tell Dad about my visit, more he heard, more he’d like to meet the man that sired me.

Couldn’t resist it. “….and after a couple ‘a pulls from the bottle, try and talk him into letting you take his bull nuts….Right?”

He smirked a little but I felt his answer was true, “Naw, a man like your Dad has suggestions, little ones maybe, but ones that we can use...even offer him a limited partnership if what we used upped the bottom line.”

I could see Dad, well, the two of them, getting drunk, having a helluva good time and, truth to tell, even I had some ideas that might help Bill...but compared to what my father might suggest, mine were nothing. Even if I didn’t write the article, I sure was gonna tell Dad, I knew he’d want to see the operation, fact is, he and Bill might get on just fine. All I wondered was who’d corn hole who first.

“Your Dad have a name or do most just call him, ‘Sir’?”

“Yep, you nailed it, ‘Sir’.  

“Good Dad, ain’t he?”

Suddenly almost….teary… “Yes, sir, a good Dad, no one better….” dropped it there. He put a white covered arm around my shoulders. “I had a good dad myself... once.”

“One thing more, gotta stick their cocks in condoms….too many guys shoot a wad and one thing I have to be is very strict about cleanliness, as close to sterile-almost a joke when you think what we’re doin’-as we can be. Health inspectors just show up whenever. They actually help, guarantees that what we’re selling was fresh and clean at the time of removal, no shit on the floor and”, pointing at some guy who had just had his pecker slid into a rubber sheath, “as clean as we can keep it, that’s partly why all the white, anything shows on it. Also, once they’re rubbered up, cock is pulled up, I’d use another of our mouth rings to secure it but doesn’t work as well, so electrical tape, top and bottom, never know how much a guy will blow, don’t want leakage.”

We stood watching a few more men have their pricks grabbed, pulled out, a condom pulled over it, taped at the bottom, pulled up, real tight, and more tape just to keep it that way. By the time they got their cocks covered and out of the way they were real close to the flaps that covered the opening. As close as we were, you could tell it was very cold around the corner where the cutting was done. Never thought about it but that was about how it had to be. Asked Bill.

“Yeah, bought a thirty degree drop, minimum, at all times from here. Guys who work in there, well, you’ll see. One problem is the shudder factor. Only way to solve it is to put a wide band around them just below their waste, it’s not perfect but it’s the best solution so far...Come on through, see what you came to see.”

Walking through the dangling heavy rubber strips was like going from Kansas to Oz without the technicolor-everything that wasn’t steel or flesh was white. Smelled almost like a hospital, just didn’t look like one; Patients aren’t bare ass naked, cuffed, their mouths closed by a steel circle. One other thing that wasn’t a hospital or Oz was the sense of a sort of fear on one hand and revenge on the other; I was the only one who would walk out a whole man.

“See that conveyor belt? Brings in fresh, sterilized small steel pans, almost like the sort you’d buy a frozen pot pie in….there just wasn’t going to be in a crust.” He laughed. “Okay, stand here, watch, guy is in front of our man, about the only one not wearing gloves, just surgical latex. He’ll take the bag, heft it, make a single incision, main line, puts down the scalpel, pick up what looks like an old fashioned button hook, reaches in, finds a spermatic cord, pulls it out, puts the ball over the tray, snips it off, cauterizes the cord, goes back in, finds the other one….”

No surgery, except for something I’d seen about cataracts being removed, was even like it.

“Okay, next the newly nutted moves on, next guys is ready, sews him up….”

“Why not surgical staples?” I was getting into this in a whole lot of ways...another of them getting hard, wanting to massage or protect, hard to know which, my own nuts….just to make sure they were still there….couldn’t help but wonder….what if, just what if I’m the guy next in line?

“Flesh is too loose, be a fucking lot easier if we could use staples….okay….the man doing the stitching has to decide how many, spacing, but, you know this, you’ve been in a shower with other guys….” He paused, grinned, looked at me. “….least I hope you have...” I gave him a thumbs up...why?

“Guy goes on around, but what we do, why you’re here, why we’re here is now we’ve got the meat. Once the guy has both balls in the tray, goes back on the conveyor, through that opening….you want I’ll show you….back there each ball is peeled, you know there’s a tough covering on each one?”

I nodded ‘yes’.

“Get ‘em peeled, weighed, put ‘em in a carboard sort of thing, sealed then into a quick freezer…..could take less but we leave ‘em in there twenty four hours...at that point we can safely take the containers out, package ‘em, make them into a pallet, back into a freezer….someone checks our orders….makes a label, UPS has a refrigerator truck…..off they go, all we do after that is cash the check.”

I had a dumb thought which I should have kept to myself… “There a recipe on the box?”

He almost fell over laughing. “Say they’re your balls in there, how do you want ‘em done?”

“From Oklahoma? Barbecue, only way...”

He laughed even harder. “Shit, shoulda known that. On a ranch? Bet you never cooked yout calf nuts any other way….”

“Mostly, don’t even bother, like you said, take your knife, skin ‘em, why do you think they’re called ‘Prairie Oysters’?”

He was suddenly sober. “Yeah, well, that’s what the guy did with mine...raw.” There was a silence only broken by the sounds of machines plus the muted sounds of men looking down and resisting the idea they weren’t….men. Just prisoners without balls.

What a thought. You’re parked in a cell knowing some guy is eating you just like a piece of meat from….livestock. What does a guy think?

“Lets us get out of here before we both have frozen cocks and your balls pull up.” Seemed a sensible suggestion. I’d been around cattle when we’d steered them but this….was just a little too close. I thought about days, hot, sweating, holding a beer in one hand and a just peeled cow nut in the other….what if someone else was holding that beer? Had their hand on my balls? Getting ready to cut off what would be their next thing to wash down with a cold one? For whatever reason I got hard thinking about it.

Bill interrupted my almost sexual fantasy.

“You wanna see what happens after they go out? Pretty standard. There’s a room where we keep ‘em just to make sure there’s no reaction, some guys faint, fall over, we expect that, why we keep the cuffs up. ‘Course, doesn’t take long for a good many of them to get mad….I think I told you that ring stays in, that’s partially why. Also their cocks stay taped up, rubber on, don’t want anything getting in the place where they were just cut. Did you notice? All the condoms have extra big reservoirs, bunch of guys will squirt, some might even like it….” I could see him remember. “After mine got took, all I got was fucked. Bout the only thing that finally saved my life was that it got infected down there so off to the hospital. Some doc went in….finished the job. At least it looks professional, almost as if I wanted it that way.”

We were back at the entrance to the locker room.

“Seen enough to write a story? I’ll let you, proved yourself, just hope you’ve got a publisher cuz this is not a story that “Reader’s Digest” will want, particularly the digesting part. Don’t think a ‘gourmet’ magazine will be quick to buy it….they’ll write about killing and eating anything but one part of a human….no. Shame, too, it’s an interesting story or do you disagree?” He opened the door for me.

“Only one thing you left out….”

He looked puzzled.

“The taste test. Feeling a guys balls tells you nothing about how they’ll taste anymore than looking at mashed potatoes tells anyone what they’re like.”

“Want me to cut off yours? That answer your question?”

I thought about the question more in the abstract than in the actual fact. From the lockers we padded to the shower.

“Shit, thirty minutes in that white stuff makes you your own sweat factory.” He ran a finger down my spine; I could feel a stream of water growing in front of where he was pressing.

He was right, those showers were some of the  best I’d been in...maybe better  as it was in a place, in a situation virtually no man would ever be in. He took hold of my sack, using two fingernails, I could feel him search for a spermatic cord, found one….held me against him, the other arm across my chest, two fingers scissoring a nipple.
“You got a great set down there.” He massaged me, held them, gently squeezed them, separated one ball from the other. “I could get ten bucks a piece for those...you need twenty bucks? Today?”

I pressed back against him, felt his cock hard, waiting for my ass, waiting to be the skewer for the two in front….I wanted him.

“Fuck me.”

“...and what about….these?”

The intensity of fear and desire is almost unquenchable.

“Only if you take ‘em the way you lost yours….watch you eat them dipped in my blood, standing over me, one at a time.”

Inside me I could feel him grow bigger, longer, closer to getting what he wanted. I knew the immense want to do what I said, he grasped them by the top, pulled down, those fingers still pressing into a cord….and then he stopped, his head rolled on my shoulder, tears went down my chest, dripped off my nipple.

“Jesus, I want you….just can’t do it...now….please Butch….promise me….please.”

“Get a guy with a tat gun, ink your name on ‘em….I’ll make the barbecue sauce or get my Dad and my brothers….have a real feed for you...think you could eat all ten?”

He tightened his grip on my chest, his dick was spurting cum inside me. He kissed my neck. “On all fours, want to fuck you and milk you at the same time….”

It all felt so good. So masculine, every man should be fucked...maybe lose at least one of their nuts just so they’d know what they tasted like…..I wondered if I would.......?