Hmm. My script host is down. That can only mean one thing. A hurriedly thrown together, borderline shitpost script that can fit in a single Reddit post:

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This recipe was passed down in my family for at least three generations. I have such fond memories as a child of mom or grandma making it for me, and then as I grew older us making it together. And now it’s become my signature dish. And soon it will be yours too.

But before we get to the recipe, I can’t think about it these days without being reminded of that fateful day just a few months back. My key broke in the lock to my apartment, and I didn’t have the super’s number in my cell phone. It was stuck to the fridge with a magnet, because I always figured I’d only need it when I was in the apartment. Right?

As luck would have it, the cute guy from down the hall walked by with a couple of bags of groceries. He saw me standing there all dejected, and asked if he could help. I asked if he had the super’s number, and like me, he had it in his apartment. So I took one of his bags and walked with him to his apartment. I would have waited outside if it wasn’t someone I had chatted with now and then, although nothing much more than that.

He dug out the number for the super from the renter’s handbook he had, and I called them while he put away the groceries. I could have gone back out into the hallway, but I had been standing for a while, and as I talked to the super, he wasn’t even near the building right now. He said it could be a few hours before he could come back and get the broken key out, then unlock the door for me. Longer, if he had to replace the lock himself or call a locksmith.

I noticed he had brought home a bottle of wine and convinced him to open it. It was intended for cooking I guess, but I’m a firm believer that you shouldn’t cook with any wine you wouldn’t drink, and so apparently was he. It was a decent bottle, so we slowly had a glass or two and bonded in our shared struggle of apartment living, and our love of things like cooking, holiday movies, and handjobs. Well, his love of getting them and mine of giving them at least. It’s not that we specifically discussed handjobs. It’s more that when the conversation turned a little flirtatious and I’d led him kiss me, he seemed to enjoy having my hand wrapped around his cock while I slowly stroked it. It’s not that either of us was drunk. Maybe a little bit tipsy after a couple of glasses. Or maybe I was drunk with how he was reacting so readily to my body language and then my flirting.

He was a gentleman about it too, going down on me before I could get him off. As much as I loved to churn the butter, as I like to call it, I love being eaten out almost as I love eating out. Even though as you already know I am an excellent cook. That’s why you’re listening to this, to get my world-famous recipe. And you’ll get it. Don’t worry, that is coming. Just like I was then, with his tongue buried inside of me and my legs over his shoulders.

That orgasm was just the appetizer though. I wanted the main course. So I dragged him back into his bedroom with the lure of kisses, caresses, and shedding clothes. There were still hours for the super to show up, and this was as good a way to pass the time as any, right?

I let him screw me raw. Yes, this is kind of out of the blue, and it’s really rare for me to let a guy do. But the events of that afternoon had been the perfect medium for setting this all up, and our mutual seduction had been so well done.

Then I was cumming again, and he was cumming for the first time. I had him leave his cock in me for a bit, because you have to leave those juices rest for a while.

Oh, yeah, The recipe. Anyway, after all of this, he was hungry. So I went into the kitchen to make my speciality. Basically, you take two pieces of bread, some cheese, and put butter on the outside. Or mayo works too, really, really well. Then you fry them up in a pan, or as my family calls it, “grilling”. Tomato soup works great with it, but he didn’t have any, but you know what? Ketchup works well for dipping too. Hey, don’t judge me until you try it.

So share this recipe if you like it, or share your own experiences with making it. Oh, and I did get into my apartment a few hours later, although I ended up spending the night in his place. I do still make him the greatest grilled cheese sandwich ever, especially after we have sex, although we also enjoy take out, dining out, or the occasional threesome with the waitress at our favorite restaurant.

Anyway, thanks for your interest in my family’s recipe. Goodbye, and Bon Appétit!