Lovesick

by Jon Athan

“Alright, hun, let’s make this quick. It’s five for a handy, ten for a BJ, and twenty for everything else,” Dakota Foley said, her voice monotone. “I don’t take it in the ass, even if you got a small dick, but I swallow for no extra charge. It’s just, you know, a bonus. Some guys like it, some don’t. Whatever, it’s up to you. So, what are you looking for, hun? I don’t got all night.”

In her short career as a prostitute, she had received some strange requests: pee on my face, slap my testicles, chew on my cock, can I call you ‘mother?’ But no one ever asked for her blood.

“I know that you are HIV-positive,”

The funny thing about blood was: It all looked the same. Dakota’s blood was crimson red, like every human on earth, but it hid a dangerous virus that was imperceptible to the human eye.

During his drive home, he listened to Creep by Radiohead and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore.

He didn’t know if he could actually attack a person, but he was desperate. And desperate people were the most dangerous.

their genuine happiness annoyed him. It physically and mentally hurt him to see joy.

“Jesus Christ, Rebecca, I’ve never seen you smile like that. I mean, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you this damn happy. You look… You look stunning. Why…” His voice trembled and his lips quivered. He whispered, “Why are you so happy without me?”

“I’m lovesick, but it’s not that type of sickness. Not like the stories or the books. Love is… It’s… Oh God, it’s really making me sick.”

pleasure through the window. He looked down at himself and gasped. He masturbated subconsciously, using his tears as lubricant. Even after he realized it, he continued to masturbate. He felt as if something else—some unearthly, incorporeal force—had taken control of his right arm.

He pressed the tip of the key against his foreskin again, then he began sawing into his penis. Up-and-down, the cuts of the key tore into his erect penis. He felt a twinge as the key ripped through his foreskin and scraped his glans.

Yet, he kept on sawing into his penis. Blood dripped from the opening of his tight foreskin, like urine after taking a piss. As a matter of fact, warm blood covered most of his mutilated genitals. His penis finally became flaccid. He chuckled as he continued to stroke himself. He used his own tears and blood as lubricant. He found it funny, despite the pain.

Okay?” Mark turned away,

staring

Dakota asked, “Where are we going, hun?” “You tell me.” “Alright, sure. What are you looking for? What are you buying?” “Diseases. I’m looking for someone who might have been to a clinic recently. I need gonorrhea, syphilis, chlamydia, herpes, and all that good stuff.”

“Good. I don’t need her blood. I have something different planned for her.” “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” As the car rolled to a stop at a red light, Mark looked at her and said, “No. I think it’ll be the opposite, actually.”

“I got some time off, but I didn’t tell you because, well, I wanted to surprise you,” Mark continued. “I have a special gift for you. I made some ‘romantic’ plans. Will you come with me? Please?”

“And now you’re angry. Angry and uncomfortable. Well, baby, like I said, I’m taking you away with me. We’re going on a wild but passionate trip. I’m going to show you what love means to me. I’m going to show you how much I really love you. And, by the end of this ‘romantic’ experience, I hope I’ll win your heart back.”

Mark grabbed a steel claw hammer from under his seat. As Rebecca turned to look at him, he swung the hammer at her head. The face of the hammer collided with her left temple. The right side of her face collided with the window. Her head spun, she was dazed, but she stayed conscious. So, Mark struck her again—and again. With the third blow, a small, vertical gash stretched on her left temple. Blood trickled from the wound and rolled down her cheek. “It’s better this way,” Mark whispered.

“There’s a slight possibility that you can break free. The bed frame is old, you might get some of that mythical ‘hysterical strength’ people talk about on the news, but I really don’t think you can get away. This is the end of the road for you. This is your final chapter. But… it’s going to be one long chapter, honey. I have a lot to do to you.”

Mark pressed down on the needle’s plunger and shot a squirt of blood at Rebecca. The infected blood landed on her face, from her chin to her forehead. The blood touched the wound on her temple, dripped into her right eye, streamed across her nose, and even landed in her mouth. HIV-infected blood tasted like all other blood—metallic.

“I tried not to inject any into your bloodstream. I don’t know her blood type. I actually don’t know yours, either. If they didn’t match, we could have caused a deadly hemolytic reaction, like when a blood transfusion goes wrong. But, since I squirted some at you, some of that blood stayed on the needle. And since I used that needle to create a fresh wound—the injection—the likeliness of you contracting HIV…”

Rebecca squirmed and whimpered as he wiped her clean from her anus to her vagina. He threw the wet wipe into the plastic bag, then he slid a fresh potty pad under her ass.

“I’m not going to cut you like that, baby. I don’t believe in genital mutilation. I’m not a savage, you know? I’m just a normal person. Yup, that’s me. Mr. Forgettable…” He put the knife in the backpack. He said, “I had something else planned for you anyway. A ‘friend’ left a mess in the bathroom at work today. I think he wanted you to have this.”

He flipped the bag over. For a split second—a nanosecond that felt like an hour—Rebecca saw diarrhea roll out of the bag like a mudslide. She couldn’t stop it from raining down on her face. She could only watch it fall. Splat!

The penetration wasn’t physically painful, but it broke her heart and shattered her mind. She was being raped by her ex-boyfriend with a disease-ridden sex toy. In the bedroom—in that dungeon—she was broken.

The sexually transmitted diseases, all of them, terrified her. The situation was worsening, but she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She was turning into the Noah’s Ark of STDs.

he rubbed the spine of the blade against her labia. He thought about mutilating her genitals. The clitoris had eight-thousand sensitive nerve endings. It was the center of pleasure—and a potential point of unfathomable pain. He imagined himself snipping it off or lighting it on fire.