Untitled by Anonymous – Alexander Kattke

How do you begin what is essentially a “why I did it” suicide note to anonymous people who will read and hit Control + F just to get to the reason why you did it? I don’t know. I’d rather not tell this to my friends, who I’m not really close with, or my family so as not to upset them further. I’d rather not be noticed but I feel what I have to say is interesting enough. 

I am a worker bee like any other. Office worker. Customer Service. Not a manager but I was close to being one. I am a man like any other. Average but not unattractive enough to not score some desperation fucks from Tinder. There was a daily mantra playing in my head sang by a bevy of porn star cheerleaders encouraging me to the end goal: You will build and you will achieve. It was no Bhagavad-Gita but it served my purposes. My goal in life was simple enough: have a nice house in a nicer area. Get laid and maybe get married. 

I am twenty five years old and I think I am on the right path. I have no girlfriend at the moment and that was fine. I have a small dog that my landlord let me keep because of my fake smiles and fake hellos and goodbyes. I am not depressed or I wasn’t depressed until recent. Do you give a shit about my race or religion or political views? 

After an exhausting day of enduring a horde of angry and uninformed customers I decided to relax with some internet porn. Nothing too weird. I’m not into that. Angela White. Gianna Michaels. Vanessa Del Rio. A random cam girl. Each one in a separate browser window in varying positions. I had a decent orgasm, ignoring the attention of my dog who wanted to be petted -I’ll have you know that I petted him many times before and afterwards- and I had a good night of sleep. 

I woke up the next day with a slight itch on my dick. I pull down my boxers and inspect the itchy spot. It was red but didn’t look bad. I chalk it up to scratching it in my sleep or shaving too closely the day before. I get dressed and go to work again. It was a fairly easy day. Had a team meeting that ate up an hour with some free food. Made a decent joke during the meeting confusing Patrick Batemen with Batman where two people got the reference. But towards the end of the day I noticed that my dick was hurting. It wasn’t agonizing pain but it felt like it was expanding slightly by the hour. The mantra plays out again and I finish the work day. 

At home I take off my boxers and examine my dick. The redness is now a dark blue in a circle. “Oh shit.” I thought but the mantra plays again; I should look this up before going into the hospital. A search for “dark blue spot on my dick” turns up rows of click bait and malware-riddled porn sites. One name in particular amused me “Fresh amplify your phallus product!” I refine the phrase to “dark blue spot on skin hurting” and there I came upon what would later be the cause of my demise: a Brown Recluse spider bite. That particular bastard has a necrotic venom that causes the flesh to rot like old sufferers of Leprosy or victims of acid attacks. 

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!” Kept repeating in my head. The mantra subsided and now replaced by an image of me dying before the cheerleaders as they are overwhelmed with attacking spiders upon their breasts. I immediately went to the hospital.

I was preparing what to say at the check in station, prepared to bull rush my way through sufferers of other ailments with the excuse “But it’s my dick!” Yet I luck out and it was deserted in the lobby. An Indian doctor examines me and inspects my dick. He looks worried and I give him my take on it. Explaining how it happened and what I think the bite was from. He asks me if I’ve seen spiders in the apartment and I say that I have but haven’t been bitten before. He prescribes me some antibiotic cream and tells me to comeback if it gets worse.

One month later.

The bite spread. Almost my entire cock shaft has turned a deep purple and red and scaly with an ever-expanding scab. Another Indian doctor examines it at the hospital; he says nothing and leaves the room. Twenty minutes later he and a white doctor come in to talk to me. They say that its spread and it will need to be amputated. I ask how soon and they say ASAP. 

The look on their faces seemed to say they expected me to cry. I sank back in my seat, looking off past them, saying nothing for minutes. When they began to slightly move I blurt out “Let me think about it.” Then got dressed and left.

Back at home, the small apartment, I pet my dog and put an order in for a shotgun. I decided on a double barrel since I could pull both triggers at once and be assured of a quick destruction. I can’t live without my cock. I refuse to live without it.  The thought of surviving without it crossed my mind but there’d be no fun in life. I did a search online for people in a similar situation, stumbling across many blogs from depraved faggots who willingly cut it off. With each site illustrating a step by step on how to amputate your cock and balls as the eunuchs looked into the camera with a retarded smile. Some had it amputated in the pursuit of being a perfect power bottom. I rolled my eyes when I read about others discovering a new and better pleasure. 

As tempting as it was to go into work and gloriously denounce everyone I went the anticlimactic route and called in and said I quit. I called my one good parent and told them how much I love them. The thought of calling the other parent bounced around my mind, rolling atop the petrified corpses of the cheerleaders. There was a thought of driving over and confronting them. Preferably with the shotgun where I could make them feel my suffering for once. Revenge fantasies played out on my mind; I am riding a bulldozer, guns blazing, driving over the dead objects of my obsession headlong into battle. 

I chose not to go through with it. Not out of good Christian values but I realized that if I did go through with the fantasy that it would be reported and they would report my affliction. I’d be the top star of the click bait sites, a new star of vlogs on daily stupidity, becoming meme-material. No thanks. My demise will hopefully hurt them more than my wrath. And my reason shall remain a mystery. That’s the lie I choose to believe in.

The hardest thing to do was put my dog up for adoption. I went to a kennel, and for a want of brevity and privacy explained that I had terminal cancer. Paying for my dog’s stay for over a year and emphatically pleading that they find him a good owner. I realize that they could just pocket my deposit and kill him anyway but it’s a chance I have to take. I didn’t want him to starve to death in my apartment and loot my corpse for nourishment. 

That night I jerked off and some blood was in my cum. I cried later. 

One last pursuit is what I wanted. I wanted to get laid one more time. As I begin looking up escort sites while arranging money for my funeral, I soon realize that unless the escort has a website dedicated to her that it could be a setup. I down a prescription pain killer and make some phone calls. 

I realized that in my current condition that it would be difficult to get one as my sickness spreads. The whores would think I have AIDS or some newfound STD. They’d expect my cock to shoot an acidic sperm. I think I could hide it somehow, perhaps settling on giving a high-class escort some head? Who cares about wrapping it up at this point? I settle on one, an Asian girl with nice breasts. I set up our meeting that night and I thought I was speaking to her but I think I was speaking to her madam, or maybe mother? Should the man with a decaying cock care about sex trafficking? After an hour the girl appeared at my door. Her English was broken and she claimed she was Japanese. We make arrangements for what she’ll do, I present the cash and she calls someone on her phone and confirms the deal. She undresses and I turn off the lights but she insists that they remain on. I agree and turn my back to her, undoing my pants and slipping a white condom over my dick then march over to her. She begins licking it in a very over the top way like she was going in for a porn audition. “Oh baby res!” She blurts out in fake passion. I hold her by the hair and try to fuck her mouth but she motions that she only wants to lick it.

After a minute she stops, she notices the color at the base of my shaft and carefully peels off the condom. I couldn’t stop her in time and I was also partly embarrassed. She starts screaming in a language I can’t recognize and flees but not before trying to take the money that I had to wrestle from her. My erect dick swinging and touching her leg as we struggled. She noticed it touching her and relented in horror. She runs out of my apartment while desperately trying to dress. 

A new mantra appeared, emblazoned on a tombstone: “If at first you don’t succeed.” 

I brainstorm for a bit then go back to browsing escort sites. This time I go to a store selling condoms and get the specialty kind that are multi-colored. Secondly, I look for escorts wearing glasses. 

This time I make arrangements with a forty year old blonde named Tiffany. I ask her if the glasses she wears on her site are just for show. She laughs and tells me that she needs them. “Perfect” I say. She jokingly asks if I look like Quasimodo and I half-lie to her. After another hour she finds my apartment and enters. I am exceptionally nice to the mature whore. “Can you really not see anything without the glasses?” She looks pissed off at me now and wonders why I keep asking. I explain that I have a glasses fetish, making a joke about girls with glasses and comparing them to fake breasts. She doesn’t laugh but she relaxes and takes my money. I take off her glasses and set them on my nightstand. 

Just as before, I turn my back to her but this time slip on a colored condom. She begins to suck me off and as it’s been so long I quickly come. I pet her hair and turn my back again, I get this impression that she suspects I might be a serial killer. I slip on another condom and enter her. I fuck her as hard as humanly possibly where my balls soon began to hurt after slapping against her ass. She asks me to take it easy and I oblige. After twenty minutes I feel my cum rising. She doesn’t state if she came as well but I wouldn’t care if she did. In the heat of the moment I pull out and take off the condom. I shoot on her face as she coos “Yes! Yes!” There’s an equal mix of blood and semen dividing her face that she doesn’t notice. And before she could I take a tissue and clean her off. “What a gentlemen!” She teases as I erase my graffiti. 

She left and then I started writing. After posting this I’ll kiss the shotgun and say goodbye.