3 December, 2000xxxxx

Dear John,

I have to tell you about my Christmas "turkey". The Jolly Roger's fanciful description of his "turkey". In my case, it was real, not imaginary. I've got to set it up, though.

It all started last June. I was on my vacation and driving through Montana. It was still awful cold, especially for a Southern boy like me. But still, I was having a good time. I had picked up a couple hitch-hikers -- college boys out to see the country. We enjoyed each other's company. Or, rather, I was enjoying their company and they were enjoying my feeding and lodging them -- and I think they also enjoyed the blow-jobs and occasional fucking.

I had heard rumors about a special meat packaging plant off route 22, between Cohagen and Rock Springs. It's hilly country -- mountainous to a flatlander like me -- prime cattle and sheep grazing land. I met Jerry in Cohagen and he told me the packing plant really was out there ... they did some standard meat packing, but they also catered to the kind of special market I was interested in. He said he had contacts and called in and told them we were coming.

I had picked up a third hitch-hiker when I got off I-94 at Miles City -- another college boy out to see the country -- so I had three prime hunks with me. It was a little crowded in the Geo I had rented, but the three boys crowded into the back and Jerry sat up front next to me. We had told the boys we were going to visit a meat packaging plant, and they seemed eager -- something they normally wouldn't get to see. They were especially hoping they'd get to see some cows being killed and skinned and butchered. Jerry assured them they'd get to see some killing close up and the boys were real eager.

We were greeted by a man about thirty years old. Jerry introduced him to me and I said the boys were just hitch-hikers along for the ride. We both winked and the guy knew the score.

He started off showing us some steers that had just been delivered that morning. They were in the chute and we got to see several dropped -- shot through the brain. They just collapsed and fell into a chute, limp, lumping in a grotesque pile at the bottom of the ramp. Down at the bottom there were several men hooking their hind legs. Soon as they were hooked, the carcases were jerked up and pulled into a conveyor system. While hanging by their hind limbs they passed skinners who slit the skin and pulled it off with a lot less effort than I would have thought needed. Then the skinned carcases were gutted -- their intestines falling onto a sloped floor, washed off into the great unknown. A couple men with rubber boots and suits reached in and jerked out hearts and lungs and whatever else didn't fall out right away and tossed them into barrels.

The boys were really getting off on all this, chattering and making jokes, laughing and giggling. While we were going along, several big men joined our tour, seemingly visitors like us. We walked a little more and got to see the heads cut off and a few carcass chopped to pieces, but most of the carcases were just moved into freezers -- either wholes or split to sides.

"Now for what you came to see," our guide said with a smile and a wink. "You're in luck ... we had a semi-load just this morning." The big guys sort of closed in behind our college boys who still didn't suspect a thing, and we walked through a steel-clad fire door into another part of the plant entirely. Soon as we got in, our college boys' eyes got real big ... mine too, I'm sure.

What we were looking at was a bunch of guys hanging by their wrists ... on a conveyor like the cows had been. Except these guys weren't dead ... they weren't even unconscious -- they were very much alive and awake and knowing what was going to happen to them. It was beautiful -- their eyes and faces were more full of fear than anything I've ever seen. Some guys had lots of body hair, some had just a little and some were nearly hairless -- mostly Chinese or Koreans or Japs ... and they didn't have much if any beard shadow like the blonds and the blacks and the brunettes and Hispanics.

Our host started down some steps and we followed. The college boys were both fascinated and horrified, both excited and afraid. They were a little reluctant to follow us down the steps but with those big guys phalanxing behind, they toddled down behind.

Down there with the hanging "meat" the host grabbed one guy's nuts and gave them a squeeze and said, "Not too firm, not too soft ... jus-s-s-s-st right!" Jerry and I chortled and reached out and gave a couple other guys the squeeze test. One of the college boys reached out, hesitantly, then also gave a guy the squeeze test and the other two boys did the same thing, then they all laughed ... nervously.

Some of the hanging meat had tears in their eyes, others were too afraid even to cry. We walked down the line to a wall with a hole just wide enough for a hanging guy to slide through with black plastic soft brush-like projections so the guys hanging by their wrists couldn't see what goes on on the other side. We went through a door into what was a butchery.

The college guys seemed even more agitated, if that was possible -- here were scores if not hundreds of guys their age being turned into meat. They had to feel some empathy. And they had to know that a calculus test wasn't such a big deal after all.

There were three butchers and they weren't killing their carcases. They were tying their guys' ankles and spreading them apart then slitting the inside of their legs and thighs and pulling the skin back, just like others had done skinning the cows. And then they skinned the guys' arms. They then pulled back the skin and sliced into the fold between the abdomen and thigh, under the leg and across the buttocks, then deeper all round. They reached in the wound and grabbed the thigh bone and gave it a hard jerk and broke it out of the socket then cut through the meat till nothing was holding except the skin. They cut the skin down the thigh and pulled the leg and buttocks off.

They did the same to the other thigh and something like that to the two arms, tossing the leg/buttocks into one pile and the arms into another and folding the flaps of skin and putting the torsos and heads, all very much still alive, faces twisted and screaming only there was no sound, onto a conveyor belt that rushed the living torsos out into another room.

In that room the bleeders were all stanched and the skin was trimmed and sutured and feeding tubes were shoved down their noses and they were put in a rack -- scores of them, rack after rack -- like something you might think your friend Jersey would have. -- Until then, I always thought Jersey's was just a fantasy friend you used as an artifice. Now I'm not so sure.

I asked about why they kept the torsos and he said it was an idea they got out of a magazine in Florida. I think he was referring to Katharsis ... I didn't ask. But he said he saw some altered photos of quad-amps and thought how much they looked like turkey carcases. A couple years ago they stopped offering pectoral steaks and bacon (abdominals) and slabs of back meat and cocks and balls, leaving the torsos intact and just curing the hams (thighs) and turning buttocks into roasts, legs and arms into steaks, and selling hands and feet intact. And selling torsos as living "turkeys" for stuffing and serving alive or roasted.

Anyway the college boys were trembling now. I asked about why there was no screaming, just the mouthing of screams, and our host nodded and the big men grabbed the college jocks and they started to scream. He stepped up to them with scalpel in hand then said, "None of these your nephews or sons or anything like that?" I said no and he stepped up to the first, a blond, and grabbed the boy by the back of his neck and pressed the scalpel to the base of his Adam's apple, made a quick slit, and the boy suddenly had no voice. I grinned and he went to the next, a red head, then silenced the third one.

For the next hour or so I got to try my hand at turning my three hitch-hikers into hams and steaks and "turkeys". Jerry and I stayed for lunch -- fresh smoked ham and candied yams. After some more convivial conversation and bull-shitting, Jerry and I left. I stayed with Jerry that night and we had some of the hottest sex I've ever had, then I left in the morning for some more sight-seeing with a renewed appreciation of the beautiful scenery in that vast, empty state.

When I got to Great Falls I traded the Geo in for a Dodge Ram Van (a fifteen passenger van) and puttered around up near Canada and back down, picking up seven hitch-hikers before heading back to Jerry's. The guys went along with no protest and we gave them to the packing plant -- my thanks for giving me the tour. I really enjoyed handing the guys over. Jerry and I didn't go in, we just went back to his house and sexed again all day and night.

I had j.o. fantasies about those ten ... especially the seven we just dropped off, living out various speculations in my fantasies over and over again.

Then a couple days ago I got an unexpected delivery ... it was from the packing plant -- a "turkey" for Christmas dinner. A raven-haired beauty with nicely developed abdominals and pectorals and a soft, pathetic, plaintive smile. It might be one of the seven I delivered to them in late June, but I can't be sure. I know it wasn't one of the first three.

They gave me printed instructions on how to stuff and roast. I'll have to get a large barrel and cut it in half and hinge it back together if I want to smoke him. I could dig a pit out back and roast him on hot coals. Or ... I like this idea best ... I could wash him out with a hose with a flush-plug on the end and then hand-stuff him with several gallons of dressing and serve him alive ... slicing off pectorals and laterals and love-handles and cooking the slabs of meat on heated rocks, Japanese fashion.

I've had fun with the guy in bed ... he can't resist or fight back and I really enjoy slapping his under-arm scars ... they have healed badly and he winces each time I even touch them. I've also hung him by his cock and balls, like in this Eryl drawing you let me have.  While he was hanging  like that, I soft-leather paddled him all over his belly and chest and back.  That was really fun!

I've had so much fun with him, I don't really know I want to roast him or having him for Christmas dinner. I rather enjoy using him as a living pillow, like in some stories you've had. Maybe I won't end up serving him for Christmas dinner. But, then, I don't know how long he could live without any arms or legs -- not enough bone marrow to make the blood he needs.

Maybe I could sell him to one of the members -- the collector might like beheading him ... maybe Clark Williamson would like choking him ... maybe the Jolly Roger would like to have a real "substitute turkey" of his very own to serve to friends. Lots of options ... decisions, decisions!

Got to go ... bottom of the page again.  Check out the photo of the "turkey" the sent me.