The Bug Collector

by Wrath James White

“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.

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.

I 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.

It gave new meaning to the colorful colloquialism “bumping uglies.”

So 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.

“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.”

It was like watching the worst horror movie and the most graphic porn flick combined into one insane cinematic experience.