You showed up at my friend’s door, ruggedly handsome, rather direct.  I had to make you mine.

We smoked some meth and the heat began to rise. I stole you away from my friend.  You would be all mine. Together we left hot sex was the plan.  We stopped at a drug store.  You met a man, eight ball was now in your greedy hand. We drove back to your place. You told me you are a nurse as you sexily removed your shirt.  A muscled body glistening with sweat blinds my eyes with lust. You continue to undress. I hotly watch afraid to do the same.  You come over and pull off my shirt.  You rub your torso against mine.  My member begins to gorge. Unbuckling my belt you thrust your tongue down my throat. We become hedonistic.  I like it. I want to be your bitch.

We don’t have a pipe so we improvise using tinfoil.  You place the meth on the tinfoil and place a lighter under it. Smoke begins to saunter forth.  We take turns inhaling the devil’s smoke.  Our bodies begin to float and sear with unbearable desire. Lost in electric sexual waves we begin to grope and engulf each other’s souls.

I pick you up and slam you against the wall, my tongue devouring every inch of your soul.  The fire inside has ignited my sex drive.  I pick you up again and throw you down to the bed.  I jump on top of you and make you my bitch.

You turn the tide. I will be your bitch. Now you’re the one barking commands. I do whatever you demand.  I want to make you a happy man.  You attach a dog leash to my prince Albert and the beast inside grows an inch longer. You lead me around the house like a dog waiting for a bone. You drop the leash and turn to find a rope.  I want to fuck you. I want to make you my man slave. I look in the mirror and see my reflection, the attached dog leash limp swaying back and forth across my legs. I want to see you again but I am consumed with too much shame for who I am. So with you looking away, I give a yank on my lover’s charade.  A gushing red river flows as my shaft tears open. The prince Albert jewelry falls to the floor.

You panic. Blood makes you uneasy.  You place my bleeding body in your white porcelain bathtub.  I watch with disbelief as the blood, filling the tub begins to coat my legs with my own blood.  The bottom of the tub is no longer white. My blood is the new coat of paint. I take a deep breath when I think this could be the end.

You want to call emergency.  I tell you no.  I tell you it will stop. You fall for my deceit and I convince you to get the tinfoil so we can shotgun our way out of this scene. Let’s get high until the sun rises above the skyline.    We inhale until there is no more, my blood keeping score.  I serenely smile as I think my life will soon be over in a blink.   I relax. I take it easy.  I enjoy this warm bloodbath.

I stare into your eyes. Don’t you see I am the happiest man alive? I just want to die.  Can’t you see this is what I selfishly need?

The blood finally stops.  The tub now crusted red. Our heads are coming out of the sky. The reality of what has been soon appeared like a whisper never heard down a long corridor.  I could have died you say through tears. You insist on taking me to the emergency.

The doctor tells me skin tissue has died.  He tells me in surgery he will need to need to cut off the dead part of me.   I scream. I cry.  I realize my penis will be mutilated. I become terrified. In sobbing tears, I tell you my story of crimson red at the hands of a family man that drove me from man to man. You hold my hand and tell me I will be fine.  I would rather have died.