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July 10, 1999xxxxx
Dear Charles:

Thank you so much for the item you filled my last order with. He was so adorably cute -- fake big-boy bravado, cow-lick, gosh, gee-whiz smile and all ... and that tattoo that said he was trying to be a macho man. Ha! When he arrived in those farmboy overalls with just one strap and his two-hands-full of pec hanging out the other side, I just had to have him stripped bare ass naked right then and there -- to see if he really was as hunky a slab of beef as you said he would be.

I'll tell you, I certainly was not disappointed! The young, dishwater blond steer had solid muscular legs and well developed chest and arms and a hard, rippled belly with just enough fat to make especially good bacon slabs. All over he had just enough fat to make the meat juicy -- I know lean's in, but not DRY!

And the guy's cock was so thick it already dripped with juice! And inserting those fresh nuts from your most recently nutted steer gave him that complete look most steers lack. -- You really know my taste when I ask for an All American Boy for my Labor Day bar-b-que.

He said his name was Andy. Now, I mean, just how much more All American Boy can you get! -- Perfect body, perfect name ... and such a bashful-boy-next-doorish demeanor! Perfect! He couldn't be better if he was named John Armstrong!

Despite having no nuts of his own -- not counting those you "borrowed" from the other boy -- he was so horny I had him fuck this old pussy on the spot. You must've come up with something really good to keep that cum coming ... and coming ... and coming!

He was so concerned about the loss of his balls, he kept apologizing all the while. I told him I not to worry. I told him all I wanted was his hot stud body and that big hot dog cock to keep me happy -- Besides, I told him, Nuts just make the meat bitter!

He laughed and told me you nutted him just two weeks ago. He still didn't really realize what he was here for. He probably knew, you know, in his head, but he didn't really feel it yet. But he would. That was for sure.

Your nutting him just two weeks ago was perfect. I always knew you knew your business! Two weeks really does make the meat sweat -- takes the bitter right out. And there's just a little tenderizing -- but none of that turning to mush you get with steers that have been nutted for months.

I have to tell you again, I really appreciate your picking this one personally. I don't think you have ever sent me such a succulent cock before -- not the largest I'v had, but one of the best. And it was just great to put my teeth on that virgin cock -- hard and just dripping with juice.

The bar-b-que was so much fun. I was going to have all the boy's body hair plucked out that morning so it didn't have enough time to grow back into a stubble, but Ginger said she liked hair and besides it charred and added to the "flavor of the wild," as she called it.

He'd been taught a special slow bumps-and-grinds strip-tease and he performed it in an Uncle Sam outfit for the guests, flag waving an all.

He really danced his big heart out for us on top of the picnic tables. We each got to see that magnificent organ bob up and down as he stroked it in our faces. During his dance, he would poke it at us and we would lick and suck and fondle it -- and the rest of his hot body.

Finally he gave us the fireworks we had been waiting for, shooting streams of white-hot cum all over the place. He did it at least once for each of us girls. When he was finished, he was exhausted and out of breath, just as I had hoped he would be.

He was really thirsty and asked for a glass of water so it was easy to slip him that acid you sent -- I put it in a Coke and he guzzled it down just like young guys do. He wiped his mouth and grinned then just collapsed, just like his legs were knee capped!

He was still conscious and all, so he knew what was going on -- he just couldn't do anything about it. His eyes darted back and forth to each of us with that tearful, little boy cow-eyes I like so much.

It was then we told him that we were so please that we wanted to give him a special rubdown. Each grabbed a limb and the cuffs I always have handy and cuffed his feet and hands. We picked him up and threw him into a wheelbarrow and carted him over to the wall and hung him up by his wrists. Sandra took off her sash and tied one end round his cockhead and the other round his neck so his soft cock was held up.

He was surprised, but so out of it it didn't really matter. Then we rubbed him down again, this time with oil -- heavily mixed with spices, of course.

We took some pix of him as he started to get his strength back so he could stand on his feet. Here's one showing his face -- I don't know if he's questioning "Why?" or if he's trying to hold back tears. Either way, it's a hot photo -- knowing what happened to him.

I took the sash off and worked on his cock and was able to get that large organ of his erect for one last time and clamped it with one of those rubber band bull castrators you sent us -- all the way to the root so it grabbed a bit of soft pubic flesh too. That just wadded up and sort of framed the cock.

I think he really started to realize what was happening to him now. I don't know how you get these steers to accept all that regimen you put them through to bulk 'em up and then the nutting and then the whole idea of being eaten. It just blows my mind! But, then, that's your business, and you do it so well!

Well, to calm him down a little, I told him how pleased I was for him to be here for the celebration, how I began having such affairs about five years ago after going to one in Texas. I told him it was so much fun, I just had to have bar-b-ques like it for my own friends. He grinned and nodded, like he approved.

But then he yelped a bit when I took the hypo and injected the pepper and salt and spices into his cock and then squeezed it back and forth to mix them in the blood. And he screeched like a little girl when I put in the yeast-rising bred dough that swelled up to make his cock bigger than it had ever been in his whole life.

You know, speaking of Texas, that was where I got to eat my first hot dog! I was at this big party where they were having a dozen bar-b-qued steers and I was lucky, getting to have one of the hot dogs all by my self.

Back to our steer -- I reached down to where the other guy's balls hung and scratched his ball sack. That made him shudder a little and then smile through his tears. Maybe he was thinking at least I couldn't nut him or squash his balls because they weren't really his. You got that privilege -- and I assume some other steer had Andy's balls sewed in his ball sack two weeks ago for someone else. Waste not, want not.

I left him alone for a while for the yeast to swell the breading up really big and for his body heat to slowly turn the dough into a stringy, chewy filling. Cookie-dough ice-cream may be delicious, but there's nothing to compare to blood-doughy live cock!

When I came back, I told him I always eat hot dogs on the Fourth and Labor Day and other big holidays, and his looked absolutely delicious. That's when I bit down on that hard piece of meat and the full meaning of being a steer dawned on him -- why you sent him over. He started to scream and throw his hips side to side. I slapped his face and he stopped struggling and clenched his jaw and determined he would stiff it out.

After a few more hard bites, breaking the dog's skin so the tasty blood-dough oozed out over it, sort of like eclair filling. I placed a bun on his chest and slowly sliced the hot dog off as he whimpered and clenched his fists and sweat like he was in the middle of a hard work out. I popped the hot dog into the bun and slowly licked it then ate it in front of his crying eyes, having to grind my front teeth back and forth to cut through the skin.

The other girls and I got that extra sharp carpet knife out, you know, the one with the hooked blade, and ripped his belly open, right along the zip from where the hot dog had been all the way to the bottom of the rib cage.

He clenched his fists tight and squeezed tears out of his eyes, clenching his jaw tight as we pulled out all his innards except his heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys -- that's the way we told you about that keeps 'em alive for a while while they're being roasted. Roasting alive makes the meat better -- the pulsing blood keeps the meat tender, juicy, and tasty.

Soon as we had him gutted, and he was just hanging by his arms because he was too weak to stand. The girls and I dropped him into the wheelbarrow and rolled him over to the grill and shoved the meat thermometer into his cute butt meat, deep in but not to the bone -- as far in as we could shove it. Then we flopped him up onto the table next to the grill and threaded that large spit up his ass, through his chest and out his mouth -- being careful not to puncture the lungs or heart, of course.

Then we lifted the spit and dropped it in place over the already glowing coals. I nearly burned my hands -- I keep swearing I'm going to get a gas grate for this grill! Maybe before Thanksgiving!

We kept misting his head with ice water while he was cooking and he was conscious for a good fifteen to twenty minutes of the three hours it took to cook him.

All in all, it was a holiday to be remembered. One of your best steers yet. Much thanks!