His Own Medicine

My room-mate was such a slob, but I had to live with his mess, too. #Spermatophagia

It’s not that big a deal, I mostly bitch about cleaning up after him, but there’s one thing that I found particularly disgusting.

He came home, and went right to the bathroom (2 bedroom, 1 bath apartment.) I was just searing some patties for Sliders in the kitchenette, but he knows I’m taking Culinary Arts, and Restaurant Management.

He jokes about me taking “Home-ec,” especially when I point out that his mother doesn’t live here, and even if she did, that wouldn’t be me. He came out a few minutes later, but he didn’t flush the toilet, or wash his hands.

Sure enough, he didn’t wash the sink out, either. He just put his feet up on the couch, and turned on the TV with a satisfied look on his face. “Huh!” I was just about to warm up some buns, but I covered the patties, and went in there to wipe his mess out of the sink.

There wasn’t enough there to really cover, even the top of the slider bun, which isn’t too much of a surprise, considering how much he jacks off all over the place. Everyone does it, I do it too, but the least he could do is use the toilet paper, it’s right there. A napkin, or run the water for 5 seconds to wash it down.

“Huh, you want special sauce with that? Uh! HUH!” I put the toilet seat down, and flushed. Washed my hands, and rinsed the rest of the residue down the drain. Drying my hands on my apron, I pulled the lid off the protein, and dropped one on the bun. Smashed down the crown with a twist to spread the special sauce around, and even grabbed a beer for him.

To wash it down, for once. “Smells good, what’s cooking?”

“We’re learning Aioli, but I’m not sure I got it, quite right, tell me what you think.” I made 2 of them for me, but made sure he got the secret ingredient.

“That beer for me?”

“Sure, I’ll go get another one.” I didn’t bother hiding my grin on the way back when I headded back to the fridge. I didn’t look back until he let out a satisfied belch, and held his beer on his knee.

“How do you like it?” The taste of your own medicine.

“Not bad.” he shrugged, and picked up the remote. “What’s your secret?”

Let’s just say I made it with love.

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