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“Bug Catching”: A fetish involving the act of collecting as many STDs/STIs as possible. —Urban Dictionary
My fetish had destroyed my health and ruined my life. I was a victim of my own paraphilia.
aerodynamic. The homeless woman I borrowed the blanket from had been a surprisingly good fuck and had no doubt provided a few more bugs for my collection, probably no more than chlamydia and crabs, but beggars can’t be choosy. The best lays are always the crazy ones.
seeing my face, she thought he’d returned from the grave to lick the custard-like discharge from her rancid geriatric vagina.
found a wasted bucket of half-eaten fried chicken and used the congealed chicken grease, my saliva, and whatever rot leaked from her vagina to ease my intrusion into her gaping, well-traveled anus.
much blood and pus seeped from my countenance it felt as if my face had liquefied and was oozing its way down my neck, which wasn’t far from the truth.
was sick. She was rotting from the inside out. “I’m a bug catcher. My goal was never to spread diseases but to acquire them. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You must have had a disease or infection I wanted.” Her angry face
coughing a few times to clear my throat. “No, not that kind of bug catcher. A bug catcher, in the slang vernacular, is someone with a paraphilia, a fetish for sexually transmitted infections, deliberately allowing themselves to be infected. Contracting HIV is the ultimate goal of bug catching. It’s the piece de resistance, the grand prize. The problem for most bug catchers is that the journey toward the grand prize is littered with many other STDs. But that wasn’t a problem for me,” I said, beaming proudly. “I wanted them too. I wanted every sexually transmitted infection known and unknown to
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It was like watching the worst horror movie and the most graphic porn flick combined into one insane cinematic experience.
“I ain’t no slut. I’m a whore. There’s a difference. I suck dick because that’s how I pay my bills. I ain’t doin’ it because I like the taste, or because I like having a gallon of cum sloshing around in my belly every night, or to catch some motherfucker’s funky-ass disease!”
“I tried to stop. I even went to meetings for sex and love addicts, but that just gave me a new hunting ground.”
“You’re a bug catcher,” Pastor John said. “A what?” “A bug catcher. Someone who deliberately gets themselves infected with HIV. We had one in here a year and half or two years ago. He wound up dying of AIDS.” “Bug catcher,” I whispered, turning the words over on my tongue and rolling them around in my mouth to examine them from all sides. I liked it. It suited me.
“Your suffering will be legendary, even in hell.”
“No? Suffer The Flesh? What Happens in the Darkness? In the End, Only Darkness? Poisoning Eros?
