Sex in the Time of Zombies

“Perverts get VD! Perverts get disease! You know what VD feels like, you dirty little boy?”

He’d rapidly shook his head, slinging snot and tears from his face in the same way Bowser flung water after a bath.

“I’ll show you what VD feels like.”

The clack of the clothespin punctuated every word.

“I’ll show you what it does to your dirty worm!”

He must have passed out at some point for he was sprawled across the bed in his boxers.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. In the darkness, everything about the hotel room looked strange and foreign… like some alien landscape he’d been plopped into the middle of after a late night abduction.

“Wha’s that?”

Washington’s voice sounded slurred, even to his own ears, and it took a moment for the world to catch up with him when he sat up. He felt slightly nauseous but stumbled out of bed anyway, banging his shin on the bedside table with a curse.

“Who… what….”

He could hear something. Like a soft rubbing sound, furtive and distant.

He spun in a slow circle, surveying the shadows.

“Wha’s that?”

Nothing. He was entirely alone in the room… but he still heard the sound. Almost like scratching. Only smoother. Slow and rhythmic, like something being drug through sand. Or wood. Yeah, like something that was being pulled across wood.

There was a loud thump and rattle, so unexpected that he jumped slightly as his head snapped toward the source of the sound. It was followed by a moment of silence and then that soft rubbing sound again.

It was the door.

The noise was coming from the door.

Washington weaved across the room, trailing one hand over the wall to keep from tripping over his own feet.

The sound was louder now, more insistent. And definitely coming from the other side of the door.

“Shomeone there?”

At the sound of his voice the sound grew louder, doubling in intensity. For some reason an image of Bowser came to mind: the dog was standing in the kitchen, scratching at the wall as he looked from the door to the family seated at the dinner table.

Washington practically fell against the door and he pressed his palms flat against the cool wood as he leaned forward; with his left eye squinted, his head bobbed back and forth as he attempted to peer through the round peephole.

“M… Molly?”

Through his fish-eye view of the hallway, he could see a distorted, gray raccoon on the other side. It’s paws were sliding over the door and, as he watched, its furry little head lurched forward and thumped off the wood.

“You’re… you’re not Molly. Nope, nope, nope.”

For one, this raccoon had perfect ears. It’s eyes were glossy white with blue irises, not the scarred, black buttons of his little sister’s toy. Nor was it wearing a t-shirt.

“And you’re big, too. Really, really big.”

It all came back to him then: the convention hall with its parade of life-size animals, Leopard Woman in her sexy little leotard, the bottles of vodka, and his journey through memory.

And then he heard his mother’s voice again, so clear that she could have been standing just over his shoulder.

I’ll show you what VD does to your dirty worm….

Washington pressed his face against the door and realized he was crying. The tears were hot and stung his eyes like needles and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, resting the weight of his body squarely on the side of his face.

“I was just a little boy, you mean old bitch… I didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Tears quickly gave way to a rage that exploded within him like a bombing run. His muscles trembled with years of pent-up frustration and he slammed his fist into the solid door.

The sharp crack of knuckles against wood elicited a response from the other side. The raccoon pounded on the door as well, almost as if it were mocking the drunken man on the other side.

“Fuck you, Mama. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

Washington was breathing heavily through his nostrils and his fists were clenched so tightly that his fingernails dug little crescent moons into the palms of his hands.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, bitch!”

He’d show her. After all these years….

He slid his boxers down his legs and stumbled out of them. Somehow, being naked in this hotel room made him feel invincible and powerful. He felt as if he could take on an entire platoon single handedly and he snapped to attention.

“This is not a dirty worm… it’s a fucking penis. There are many like it, but this one is mine, damn it!”

The muscles in his body quivered and jerked and his breathing was so heavy that it almost sounded as if he were wearing a gas mask.

“You wanna see how dirty I can get, Mama? You wanna see all the nasty things I can do to Molly?”

He turned the little lever and the door unlocked with a soft click. Flinging it open, he threw his head back and yelled at the ceiling.

“And God still won’t hate me, you hear? God still won’t fucking hate me!”

The giant raccoon heaved forward and suddenly its soft arms were wrapping around Washington, almost as if it were trying to comfort him with a hug. The fur tickled his naked flesh and sent little shivers tingling along his spine and scalp and a giggle bubbled up from somewhere.

“It’s me and Molly now, Mama. Just me and Molly after all these fucking years.”

Paws slid over his ribs again and again like Molly was petting him.

“And you can’t stop us this time. Not this time.”

The raccoon squirmed against his body, tangling its furry feet within his own, and suddenly Washington was falling. He thudded to the floor with the animal still clinging to him and looked at the ceiling as he stroked its back with one hand. So soft, so nice….

“You watching, Mama? You getting a good long look?”

Washington wedged his other hand between their bodies until he felt something springy and stiff within his own hand. He worked himself slowly and, as the plush fur rubbed against his sensitive skin, he closed his eyes. The raccoon was nuzzling his neck now, the nose hard and cold in sharp contrast to the rest of its body.

“You want me, Molly?” he whispered with closed eyes. “You want me?”

Everything seemed soft and distant and Washington’s head lolled to the side as waves of fatigue crashed over him. With his hand still cupped over his crotch, his breathing steadied slowly and, before he’d even had a chance for release, the gravity of alcohol pulled him back down into its darkness.

He laid perfectly still as the giant animal continued to writhe over his naked body, its padded hands desperately attempting to scratch through his skin.

Perhaps if he wouldn’t have downed that last bottle of Absolut, he would’ve noticed the round patch of mesh on the animal’s throat. Perhaps he would have seen the face floating like a specter in the darkness beyond, the unblinking eyes, and the spiderwebs of blue veins against its waxen flesh. Perhaps it would have made a difference….

But, as it was, Washington simply laid on the floor, safely tucked within the confines of dreams as teeth began to pull and rip at the thin netting that separated it from the too-frail skin of his exposed neck.

He slept and dreamed he was a boy again.

He stood in his childhood bathroom with a cloth bag by his feet and calmly removed each clothespin from it