CW: it’s just sort of gross
They were making out on his couch when Rich said, “I gotta tell you something, baby: I have crabs.”
“Fuck!” Larissa pulled back. “I’m not hooking up with a guy with VD!”
“VD?! I didn’t say that. Gross. I said crabs. Look.”
He pulled his sweatpants out; they were full of tiny blue crabs. Swarming, industrious. There was a raw crater where his penis used to be. The crabs scuttled around and over each other, the clacking of their tiny claws like a rustling applause. Some were embedded in his meat, just their back legs visible, scrambling to go deeper.
“See? It’s not a disease. It’s just crabs.” He leaned in, opening wide to kiss her again; she saw movement down his throat. Little claws snapping. A furtive bustle.
She jerked back, scrambled up, fumbled for her purse.
“I knew you’d be a prude about this!” he shouted after her. “I could tell!”