Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“John Paul is a very popular name among religious people like me,” Amy says sassily before smirking. “Not.”
I roll my eyes because my friend is a piece of work, but in the best way possible. Amy is my friend from McDonald’s. Yes, we’re both stuck in dead-end jobs but life is more tolerable when we’re on shift together. Sometimes she works the griddle while I take orders, and then we’ll switch things up. Then she’ll work the drive-in window while I clean, and then she’ll do the bathrooms while I count the cash in the register. Our biggest gripe is that there’s no way for us to earn tips at McDonald’s. They have kiosks where customers order on-line now, but they haven’t programmed the kiosks to prompt customers to add extra at the end of the order. It totally sucks because when you make minimum wage, tips are a life-and-death situation. But McDonald’s hasn’t gotten there yet, and we have no idea how to force corporate to re-program their kiosks. Even self-serve airport kiosks ask for tips these days! So why not us?
But I don’t want to think about that right now because yesterday afternoon was the best day of my life. Carl and I stayed in the employee room and fucked for at least an hour. I came multiple times on his two cocks, and then he whisked me back to his trailer and made me come a few more times. I only limped back home in the wee hours of the morn, with the sun barely peeking out over the horizon. Yes, it was a walk of shame but fortunately, no one was around to witness it. So they didn’t see how my hair was messed up; my clothes torn; and the wet smears of male seed on my thighs. Carl filled me so full in both holes that I’ve been dripping for hours, I swear.
But it was totally worth it because I’ve never been with a man with his type of anatomy. How did he come by it? Is it a genetic mutation? Does he have brothers who also have this particular trait? A father? A grandfather? I’d love to know more, and I make a mental note to ask Carl over dinner. I’m cooking up some baked chicken and carrots tonight, and the lumberjack’s going to come over after his shift to indulge, in both his appetite and in bed.
Meanwhile, Amy stares at me again.
“There’s something different about you, Chloe,” she hums thoughtfully. “I know! It was anal, wasn’t it? You got drilled in the ass last night by one of your lover-boys, and that’s why you’re mooning about today.”
“No!” I squeal. “Oh my god, you’re so dirty, Ames. Who even talks like that?”
“Dirty girls do, who else?” she asks in a smug tone. “But seriously, Chloe. What’s going on? I can tell that something’s happened. Oh my god,” she says, her voice hushed and eyes wide. “Your parents are coming back. You’re going to have to vacate the bedroom and sleep on the sofa once more.”
I roll my eyes.
“No, Trekko and Bezimba are still in Neglati, as far as I know. With no intention of coming back to the United States. Ever.”
“Ever?” Amy asks, her nose scrunching. “That’s weird.”
I merely shrug.
“Last I heard, they’re searching for the new messiah. He’s allegedly already here on Earth. They just have to locate him.”
Amy looks confused.
“What was the religion called again?”
“Apotheosis.”
“And Bezimba and Trekko founded the religion, right?”
I shake my head.
“Not exactly. They have a shaman who’s the real founder, but they were two of his earliest devotees, so I guess he gave them “founder” status. Whatever that means. Anyways, Bezimba and Trekko are on a holy quest to discover the messiah.”
“Good luck to them,” Amy murmurs. “Wow. I mean, I always thought Jesus was the messiah.”
“He is, for Christian folks. But not for Apotheosis devotees.”
“Let me guess,” Amy says in a wry tone. “This shaman guy is going to declare himself to be the messiah in the near future. Plus, his followers should sign their paychecks over to him.”
I shoot her a look.
“That’s what I’m afraid of too. My parents are obviously involved in something cult-y and weird, and it’s not going to end well. I just know it.”
“Is there anything you can do?” Amy asks. “Seriously, like call the police, or get Interpol to investigate?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I mean, Bezimba and Trekko are adults. They made their choices, and there’s not much anyone can do if they decide to sign their paychecks over to Shaman Roku. Besides, if they’ve been indoctrinated into a cult, they’re going to need more than the intervention of law enforcement. They’re going to need psychiatrists, counselors, social workers, and probably the local priest too.”
“Wow,” Amy says in a wondering tone. “Just wow.”