/pol/ - Politically Correct

It was a crisp February morning when I stumbled upon the most peculiar thing I’ve ever encountered. I was out for my usual walk in the woods near my house, the kind of walk where you’re not really thinking about anything except the sound of leaves crunching under your feet and the faint smell of damp earth in the air. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just enjoying the solitude. But life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them.



About a mile into the trail, I noticed something half-buried under a pile of leaves. At first, I thought it was just a rock or an old piece of wood, but something about the shape caught my eye. I crouched down and brushed away the leaves, revealing a small, weathered wooden box. It was about the size of a shoebox, with intricate carvings on the lid—swirling patterns that looked almost like vines or tree roots. The box itself was heavy, and when I picked it up, I could hear something sloshing around inside.



My curiosity got the better of me. I sat down on a nearby log and carefully pried open the lid. The hinges were stiff, but with a little effort, it creaked open. And there it was: cum. Thick, warm, white, and glistening, filling the box almost to the brim. I stared at it for a moment, completely baffled. Who would leave a box full of cum in the middle of the woods? And why?



I dipped my finger into the cum and tasted it. It was unlike any cum I’d ever had before—rich, with a hint of caramel and something almost floral, like honey but deeper. It was delicious, but also… strange. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something odd about the whole situation.



I decided to take the box home with me. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? Leave it there? As I walked back, the box tucked under my arm, I couldn’t help but wonder about its origins. Was it some kind of prank? A lost treasure? Or maybe something more… mystical? The carvings on the lid seemed too deliberate to be random, and the cum itself tasted almost otherworldly.



When I got home, I poured some of the cum into a jar and examined the box more closely. The carvings were definitely intentional—they seemed to tell a story, though I couldn’t quite decipher it. There were symbols that looked like trees, stars, and what might have been a river. I even tried looking them up online, but nothing matched.



Over the next few days, I started experimenting with the cum. I drizzled it on pancakes, stirred it into my coffee, and even used it as a glaze for roasted vegetables. Every time, it added this incredible depth of flavor that I couldn’t get enough of. But the strangest thing was that no matter how much I used, the box never seemed to empty. It was always full, as if it replenished itself overnight.



I know how this sounds. Believe me, I’ve questioned my own sanity more than once. But there’s no denying that this box—and the cum inside it—is something extraordinary. I’ve started calling it the “Infinity Cum Box,” though I’m not sure that quite captures its mystery.



I’ve thought about telling someone about it, but who would believe me? And honestly, part of me doesn’t want to share it. This box feels like a secret, a little piece of magic that’s just for me. Maybe one day I’ll figure out where it came from or what it means, but for now, I’m content to enjoy the mystery—and the cum.