Professor P's Stories

I saw him walking through the aisles of Key Food, my local supermarket. He wasn't the type of guy I normally go for. For starters he looked grungy, had a rounded belly and wasn't that pretty. But there was something about him. A certain pigginess, if you will.

James was the soccer jock, lgbtq club president, popular, friendly, and at 6'0", 165, blonde hair and blue eyes - gorgeous.  He was the boy everyone wanted. 

I am seated in 34A, the window seat, in the tourist section of a 747, calmly reading a People Magazine. True. I am in slight discomfort, but I can bear it for another few hours until I arrive in New York and deliver my forbidden cargo to my girlfriend Florinda's brother, Jose. I am sitting here calmly reading People Magazine with over a pound of powdered cocaine, tightly wrapped in latex condums stuffed up my ass. I am a drug mule. This is my third trip and I have grown to like the easy money that my transport service provides. I get thousands for each trip. Thousands. Just for stuffing something up my ass and getting on a plane. Easy money. So easy. Of course, it wasn't always easy. It wasn't easy the first time. I didn't think I'd be able to do it, but I persevered and overcame my colonic protestations, and now I am a professional. I had embarked on this enterprise because of Florinda. I was totally enamored with Florinda. Her long dark hair, her flashing dark eye...