Fine Young Can of Balls

Remember "The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy." Well, sometimes fiction is the nucleus for fabulous fact.

In the Hitchiker's Guide, we dined at the Restaurant-at-the-End-of-the-Universe. The meats met you at your table. They were genetically engineered to WANT to be you dinner; they even told you so before they were sent off to be butchered and cooked.

No guilt. Everyone happy. Both the carnivores and the consumed.

Now then, men are not yet genetically engineered so they all want to be your meat, but by natural selection many men are naturally un-natural in this way. By luck of special DNA, they, like the meat at the end of the universe, WANT to be your dinner.

"Eat my balls, please."

This is the slogan for my real-life Restaurant-at-the-Beginning-of-the-Universe. From around the world, young men who know what they want, or more accurately what they no longer want, have gathered at this erotic gastric emporium.

By the thousands.

These numbers should be no surprise for those who know that websites like eunuch.org get more than 10 hits per minute from the world-wide wannabe ball-less, the multitudes of the need-to-be ball-less. And when they have definitively determined that their gonads must go, they want it to be the most perfectly sensual experience of their lives.

A precision excision. With an appreciative and sensitive audience for their ultimate deliverance.

So then, my restaurant is a service to mankind. Sure I started it to make a buck in a kinky environment that fits my own naturally un-natural composition. But after wealth, one wants meaning.

I won't say where we are, other than where we are it is perfectly legal and perfectly accepted to be mentally and physically where we are. I'm not trying to be clandestine. It's just that we are already fully booked and fully stocked well into the second decade of this new millenium.

So you won't get in or get it off for dinner, unless you are already reserved, but lunch is catch-as-catch-in-the-can. It's not quite the same supreme erotic experience of our dinner adventure, but lunch is still a perfect time for a business meating of the minds.

In another letter, I'll describe the dinner fare -- actually a book would be needed to accurately and completely describe the erotic gourmet atmosphere of the tableside broiling and de-balling of your succulent young stud, but let's do lunch.

Our specialty is the "bag lunch," and we accept BYOBB (bring your own bag of balls). You can eat yourself. You can eat some young hunk from our menu. You can even eat your business associate, if male of course. But we are not sexist, and women diners are always welcome. Although their own DNA hasn't honored them with a nice set of balls, they too can still appreciate a power lunch munch on a nice set of balls.

This would be the scene, for example, should you be a sales-woman trying to close a deal with a powerful, young, and open-minded male CEO:

You arrange to meet at the bar a little before noon. You wear an easily opened blouse and an easily opened skirt. You won't be fucking the CEO into the sale, you just want to enjoy reaching his heart-for-business through his stomach just as much as he will.

The bar is unique. You hope he hasn't been there before so the experience for him will still have its most mystical of mystical effects.

"Booth or bar?" The bare-breasted waitress offers the choice, and of course you recommend the bar, and you are delighted that your guest admits he has never been here before -- he offers that he will take and do whatever you suggest. Hmmm...

Escorted down a candle-lit, but otherwise dark, corridor you enter a grand room. It has a long bar with at least 50 stools, but you can't see the bartender.

The bartender is obscured by the large menus. Life-size menus. The menus actually are alive. They are gorgeous men dressed in tuxedos, but pant-less tuxedos. And they sit on the bar facing the stools, with their legs straddling the stools.

Being early for lunch you have your choice of seating. Oh, what a choice.

Each of these guys has a beautiful, huge set of fully-waxed gonads marinating in wine-filled depressions along the bar. The cocks are also beautiful and huge. And oh, so hard.

Hard because each of the young men desperately wants you to, "please eat my balls." The erotic exposure and their hope of bar-side castration and consumption has given them all hard-ons that may never go soft again.

Your CEO customer has had a lot of practice trying not to seem surprised, so he casually (but with subtle precision) picks a stool for you and one for him. He's also had a lot of practice sizing up the genuine article, so the his choice of cocks before you are certainly the prime of the prime of this catch of the day.

Captivated by your restaurant choice and quickly wanting to get business out of the way, the CEO borrows a gold pen from one of the tuxedo big-cock guys and signs your sale offer right away. Your deal is done, and the CEO wants to celebrate. Lunch will be on him.

Both your man-meal and his man-meal look scruptuous. The swelled scrotums are so smooth. Yours has been basking in vin blanc and his in vin rouge. You'll have to trade bites.

When you tell your men menus that you'll take just what you see, they are delighted. They signal the bartender and the waitress returns to compliment your selection and to inform you that the chef has already started your meal.

Throwing a few switches in the kitchen, the chef has started the gas flames below each stainless steel wine-filled depression that has been marinating your beautiful balls all morning -- actually "his" beautiful balls that will soon be "yours."

The waitress indicates that you and your guest would be much more comfortable as your table setting heats up if you were both to dis-robe. You were ready for this and your skirt and blouse are handed to the bare-breasted waitress a second after she made the offer. Your guest, following your lead, is nude himself in no time.

Everyone, diners and those to be dined up, are happy with the newly-nude bodies now on display. Both you and the young CEO are workout freaks and the bartender jokes that he knows where he can find a couple more "six-packs" should he run out of beer.

As your bag lunches boil away, the ball donors feel no pain. This is such a happy moment for them, the pain is felt only as intense pleasure. The boiling-ball boys ask if you want an "apetizer." You decline but recommend that your CEO guest have at least two. His quick wink signals that he knows what to do.

The CEO needed no encouragement and he is very thankful for your mouth-watering suggestion. He quickly sucks the great cocks above each of the boiling balls du jour. After two apetizing apetizers, he apologizes that his mouth is still dripping cum as he raises his wine glass to toast your executed deal. You laugh, and with a little boldness that some might find improper business behavior, you kiss the cum from his cheek.

"This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship," you are thinking. Funny, he is thinking exactly the same thing. You both really ARE at the restaurant at the beginning of your new universe.

When the balls are ready, the chef arrives with two china plates with beautifully prepared beds of wild rice. He has the two lunches stand as he places a plate below their sac-done -to-order, then deftly slices the sac with his sharpest cleaver. The perfectly-done dangling testes are sliced high up on their cords and the chef is handed a red hot cleaver to then cut the sac completely and leave a perfect sanitary seal under the still hard cock.

The scrotums are quickly placed in another marinade, a shot glass with the after-dinner liquour of your choice. You slowly enjoy you sensual plate of tasty testicles, finish off the bed of semen-flavored rice, and then drink the shot glass scrotums -- right down the hatch.

Although you are satiated, your guest and new business partner seems to still be hungry. He instructs the bartender that he be "buying the whole round."

The chef is signalled and the other 48 nude guys have their own beautiful balls quickly on the boil. As the CEO sucks off each "apetizer," the chef gets set to prepare more plates. The CEO, however, says he would like these particular delicacies for the road.

Happy to comply, the chef severs each happy scrotum and deposits delicious testicle after delicious testicle into a very ornate, and obviously antique and very expensive, container.

You have the waitress call for the company limo. When it is parked right at the door, you and your guest rush naked into the back seat. You again kiss the extra cum off his cheeks and then taste it from his tongue. The beautiful relationship is cumsumated.

Placed in honor on the front passenger seat is the CEO's midnight snack, his newly acquired, and first of many, Fine Young Can of Balls.