Hot Seed Pumping Down My Throat
Hot seed pumping down my throat was making it hard to breathe as I hadn’t mastered the art of deep throating. I’m 22 years old. I’ve been living on my own for almost a year now. The only work I could find was being a sugar baby to old greedy farts who found it entertaining to use young bodies for their own pleasure with no hint of remorse or shame.
In my youth, I was known by everyone as the bookworm. I read at home, at school, even walked and read at the same time when I was forced to go shopping with mom. It was my way of escaping reality. When I started middle school, I challenged myself to read as many books in the school library as I could before I graduated eighth grade. I looked up the entire list of books on the library website so I could read them in alphabetical order. I started alphabetically by the author’s last name. Upon reaching the book “the Postcard” as I opened it up to read the summary, dollar bills spilled out of the book. I picked up all the dollar bills off the floor and counted $17. My first thought wasn’t even to keep the money, but to turn it in to the librarian. She thanked me for being honest and turning the money in. She said she would check to see who checked the book out last and ask them if they left money in the book. I thought to myself that would be stupid because a child would automatically say “yes”, even if it wasn’t there money. Nonetheless, I just said “you’re welcome” and headed to class.