pizza’s gone bad or something. Instead it comes out in the lab analysis that there arefive different people’s sperm on the pizza. This is how I picture it getting there: The guys at the delivery service are annoyed by the phone calls. Since the complaints are being made by girls, the delivery guys have rape fantasies. The usual. They talk about it, come up with a plan, and all whip out their cocks to jerk off on a pizza. The pizza baker sees all the other guys’ cocks. And not just in their normal state. Fully erect. Being jerked off and coming. That’s why I’m envious of men. I’d like to see the pussies of my friends and schoolmates. And the cocks of my friends and schoolmates. Especially when they’re all coming. But you hardly ever have the chance. And I don’t dare ask.
I only get to see the cocks of men I’m fucking and the pussies of women I pay.
I want to see more in life.
That’s why I love to break into the public pool and go drunken skinny-dipping after a night out clubbing.
The whole trespassing thing is a little problematic. But at least you get to see a few cocks and pussies.
Anyway. I’m always extra mean whenever I order pizza. And I complain even when it doesn’t take long. I’d love to eat a pizza with sperm from five different guys on it.
It would be like having sex with five strange men at the same time. Okay, maybe not exactly sex. But it would be like having five strange men blow their loads in my mouth at the same time. That would be something for thememory vault, right? To be able to say you’d done that: well done.
I can’t even walk. So there’s no way I can pick up the pizza. Shit. Now I’m leaking. No way. I’ll have to ask someone to pick it up for me. There’s no way the receptionist is going to walk around passing out pizzas. Robin will have to do it. The emergency buzzer. Is that wrong? Oh, well.
A different nurse comes in. His name tag says Peter. It makes me smile. I like the name Peter. I was with one once. I called him Piss Peter. He was really good at going down on me. He would do it for hours. He had quite a unique technique.
He would clamp the dewlaps between his teeth and his tongue and then rub his tongue over them. Back and forth. Or with his tongue flattened out and a lot of spit he’d lick from my asshole up to my snail tail and back down. Pressing hard against all the folds.
Both techniques were very good. I usually came multiple times. Once so hard that I pissed in his face. He was mad because he thought I had done it on purpose. It was a little humiliating—the way he was kneeling there and then that happened.
I patted him dry and apologized. I thought he should be proud. Nobody else had ever accomplished that. To make me come so hard that I lose control of my bladder. And I wasn’t drunk or anything.
After a while he realized how impressive it was. I learned that day from Piss Peter that it burns when you get piss in your eye. How else could I have ever found that out?
“Where’s Robin?”
“Shift change. I’m the night shift.”
Is it already that late? Do the days in a hospital go by that fast? Apparently. I’m losing my mind. Fine. It’s not so bad here, Helen. Time flies when you amuse yourself with your own thoughts.
“How can I help you?”
“I wanted to ask Robin a favor. I’m a little uncomfortable asking you. We don’t know each other.”
“What was the favor?”
“I ordered a pizza. It’s going to be delivered downstairs soon and I can’t go get it. I need someone who can walk and is willing to bring it up here.”
Maybe a nurse like this isn’t interested in real nourishment, and this plan will fall flat.
“Aren’t you supposed to eat high-fiber foods after the operation? Granola, whole-grain breads?”
Shit.
“Yes. I am. Doesn’t pizza have any fiber?”
Super idea. Play dumb.
“No. It’s actually counterproductive.”
Counterproductive—against production. Everybody here thinks only about bowel
I only get to see the cocks of men I’m fucking and the pussies of women I pay.
I want to see more in life.
That’s why I love to break into the public pool and go drunken skinny-dipping after a night out clubbing.
The whole trespassing thing is a little problematic. But at least you get to see a few cocks and pussies.
Anyway. I’m always extra mean whenever I order pizza. And I complain even when it doesn’t take long. I’d love to eat a pizza with sperm from five different guys on it.
It would be like having sex with five strange men at the same time. Okay, maybe not exactly sex. But it would be like having five strange men blow their loads in my mouth at the same time. That would be something for thememory vault, right? To be able to say you’d done that: well done.
I can’t even walk. So there’s no way I can pick up the pizza. Shit. Now I’m leaking. No way. I’ll have to ask someone to pick it up for me. There’s no way the receptionist is going to walk around passing out pizzas. Robin will have to do it. The emergency buzzer. Is that wrong? Oh, well.
A different nurse comes in. His name tag says Peter. It makes me smile. I like the name Peter. I was with one once. I called him Piss Peter. He was really good at going down on me. He would do it for hours. He had quite a unique technique.
He would clamp the dewlaps between his teeth and his tongue and then rub his tongue over them. Back and forth. Or with his tongue flattened out and a lot of spit he’d lick from my asshole up to my snail tail and back down. Pressing hard against all the folds.
Both techniques were very good. I usually came multiple times. Once so hard that I pissed in his face. He was mad because he thought I had done it on purpose. It was a little humiliating—the way he was kneeling there and then that happened.
I patted him dry and apologized. I thought he should be proud. Nobody else had ever accomplished that. To make me come so hard that I lose control of my bladder. And I wasn’t drunk or anything.
After a while he realized how impressive it was. I learned that day from Piss Peter that it burns when you get piss in your eye. How else could I have ever found that out?
“Where’s Robin?”
“Shift change. I’m the night shift.”
Is it already that late? Do the days in a hospital go by that fast? Apparently. I’m losing my mind. Fine. It’s not so bad here, Helen. Time flies when you amuse yourself with your own thoughts.
“How can I help you?”
“I wanted to ask Robin a favor. I’m a little uncomfortable asking you. We don’t know each other.”
“What was the favor?”
“I ordered a pizza. It’s going to be delivered downstairs soon and I can’t go get it. I need someone who can walk and is willing to bring it up here.”
Maybe a nurse like this isn’t interested in real nourishment, and this plan will fall flat.
“Aren’t you supposed to eat high-fiber foods after the operation? Granola, whole-grain breads?”
Shit.
“Yes. I am. Doesn’t pizza have any fiber?”
Super idea. Play dumb.
“No. It’s actually counterproductive.”
Counterproductive—against production. Everybody here thinks only about bowel
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