Morgan
True to his word, Tyson came to the house late that afternoon with a syringe full of a thick white opaque fluid. To be honest, it looked like semen; there was no other way to describe it.
“When I said for you to milk yourself, this was not was I was asking for,” I told him, refusing to take the syringe.
“Stop f*****g around, Mo, do you want it or not? It took me an hour to get this s**t, so a little appreciation would be nice.”
I gave the vile another weary glance; back when we were kids, he may have done something crazy, but we were adults now. He wouldn’t, would he? Nah.
“Thank you, honestly. You doing this means the world to me,” I replied, finally taking it from him.
“You’re welcome. If it works, you’ll start to feel the sickness after about a
