spaceghostscoffee's Profile

Account Details
SteamID64	76561198026003224
SteamID3	[U:1:65737496]
SteamID32	STEAM_0:0:32868748
Country	United States
Signed Up	May 16, 2015
Last Posted	September 17, 2025 at 3:23 PM
Posts	880 (0.2 per day)

Account Details

SteamID64

76561198026003224

SteamID3

[U:1:65737496]

SteamID32

STEAM_0:0:32868748

Country

United States

Signed Up

May 16, 2015

Last Posted

September 17, 2025 at 3:23 PM

Posts

880 (0.2 per day)

Game Settings
In-game Sensitivity	a
Windows Sensitivity	a
Raw Input	1
DPI	a
Resolution	a
Refresh Rate	a

Game Settings

In-game Sensitivity

Windows Sensitivity

Raw Input

DPI

Resolution

Refresh Rate

Hardware Peripherals
Mouse	a
Keyboard	a
Mousepad	a
Headphones	a
Monitor	a

Hardware Peripherals

Mouse

Keyboard

Mousepad

Headphones

Monitor

As I approached the McDonald’s Drive-Thru with the usual sexual anxiety, I drooled at the thought of the warm processed foodstuffs gliding down my hot, wet esophagus, and at the thought of the young, handsome, and burly servicemen inside who would soon grant my every desire for a small price. I was a sucker for a man in uniform, or any man, I suppose. I was deeply hungry in many ways today, but mostly in perverse, sexual ways. “Billions and billions served,” it said on the sign. I wanted to be penetrated in billions and billions of different situations. Most of which involve a penis or two making its summer travel destination a spelunking adventure to my mysterious and well-formed vaginal caverns.

I pulled up to the drive-thru speaker in my off-mahogany 1974 Geo. It’s dying, poorly maintained engine vibrates the entire frame violently, causing nonstop sexual stimulation between my legs as I travel the suburbs in a shroud of sexual bliss and disco era nostalgia.

From the Drive-Thru speaker came a young, shrill, teenage man’s voice: “One moment please.” My eyes rolled into the back of my head in intense pleasure at the sound, his vocal vibrations journeyed through my eardrums and across my neural network like horny pilgrims crossing the Ocean to a new world of young hot dicks.

Oh. How long was “one moment?” I wondered. I felt teased. My already soaked, grey-colored groin area began to grumble impatiently with existential anxiety. How many moments is one? The lady-scientist in me knew that “moment” was not even a proper unit of measurement, so this could go on forever. I remained unfulfilled for what seemed like forever.

“Ok. Sorry about that. What can I get for you today?” the young voice from the speaker finally asked, erotically.

My arm, leg, and pubic hairs shot on end in excitement as if I had walked into a lightning bolt made of fresh, positively charged sky-cum. What can you get for me today? I knew immediately I had been waiting my entire life for a strapping young chap to ask me this, to let me act out my deepest fantasies. What should I do? The obvious choice would be to start masturbating immediately while this moment still existed freshly in my memory with such clarity. I would never get this chance again. I knew not what to do. I began to soil myself gradually.

“Uhh,” I began to mutter, like an in-bred weasel dying of leprosy. Then I remembered I had already written my McDonald’s meal choices on the top of my pale breasts with a black magic marker some weeks earlier because I anticipated that my sexual insatiability would result in an inability to select items from the menu in a timely fashion. I gazed down at them and recalled:

“Ah, it is so. I have chosen hot, golden nuggets. I also choose warm, moist pie. Packaged and prepared by the hands of someone strong and capable,” I asserted.

“Ok you want, 6 piece? Nuggets? And an… apple, pie?” he attempted to confirm, with a mumble through poor stereo quality.

“It would be my utmost and greatest desire.” I said with a whispering and lustful coarseness in my voice like an ovulating Jewish grandmother. I continued:

“And…to wash down this meal, I want only the sweetest liquid a man can give a woman.”

...

“Mountain Dew ok?” asked the voice.

“Yes.” I replied. The metaphor was obvious to all. For what else on a man would be none other than his firm and bountiful mountain? And from such a mighty mountain what could be none other than the sweetest of sweet dews? I couldn’t wait to swallow every drop. If his mountain was Pompeii, then I was an ancient Roman woman, sluttily waiting for him to explode and encase me in his smoldering death cum.

“That’ll be 6.74, pull up to window 2 please.”

“Thank you for your guidance,” I said softly.