Member-only story
Fiction
Terrorist
A story about trust
When I worked at Burger World, I made people eat my come.
Every afternoon before my shift, while my parents were off working as middle class slaves and my sister played with dolls or whatever the hell in her room, I masturbated into a coffee cup two or three times. I kept the porn on mute. This delayed my orgasm, because I couldn’t hear the women moaning, but it was necessary to avoid certain embarrassment possibilities, which I won’t go into. My mother was a diabetic, so there was always a stash of syringes in the hallway closet, for her insulin injections. I would take one of the syringes and use it to suck up some of my baby gravy into the tube.
This could be frustrating, because semen is thick, and sometimes more air would suck through the needle than come. Once I had a decent amount, I would take one of the condiment packs that I had not exactly stolen from Burger World, little plastic containers of ketchup and various salad dressing flavors that were sealed with a thin peel-back lid, held only with glue, and I would work the needle under the edge of the seal. Careful not to overload the packet, I would depress the plunger of the syringe, and squeeze it full of my spooge. Once I was satisfied, I would carefully remove the needle and rub the divot where the seal had broken with my thumb until it was…
