Breaktime With Becca
Friday, September 30th, 2011I spent my lunch break in the women’s locker room at the factory, buried balls-deep in Becca Ferguson, the nineteen-year-old press operator who wanted me. I didn’t want Becca. She was flat-chested and kind of dumb, no real ambition but to get married and start cranking out babies like a puppy mill. Still, she wanted [...]
