Ever since prom, I’ve liked being fucked by unprotected dongs. Well, sure enough, I got crabs. I had a crab on my cunt so big you could have boiled it and added some season and spice and had yourself a hell of a meal.

I contracted those crabs from the prom king. He fucked me in the limo after he accepted his award. He told me he wanted to fill my slot with unprotected cock, that way he could give me his crabs. I thought he was goofing around, but he was dead serious and loving every minute of it. Within a week, crabs had infested my cunt. Every inch of my fuck-bucket was covered with those nasty little venereal vermin entitled "crabs". Sometimes they would bite my clit and it would feel great, but most of the time it was horrible and made me feel inferior.

I didn't know how to get rid of them, and I didn’t have health insurance so I lived with them for ten years and three days. I tried sitting in tomato juice, but I heard later that was for getting rid of skunk stench, so I figured if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. I named every single crab that had moved onto the surface of my snatch. As far as I could feel there were twenty: Raymond, Lupe, Bobby, Ernest, Dixie, Lawrence, Shirley, Steve, Alejandro, and Neche.

Eventually, after I saved up some cash, I turned my attention to a doctor, who helped me kill the crabs. At the time, I was happy to be free from their constant biting, but then became suicidal because I had killed my friends that had been by my side for ten years. Even when I would go out for a weekend of unprotected fucking, they wouldn’t leave me. They believed in me. Not one of the peters that pulverized my pussy during the ten years of my crab infestation contracted them. They stuck by my poontang through thick and thin, and I fell deeply in love with them and they loved me. At night, I'd command them to bite my clitoris while I fucked my urine hole with a home pregnancy test. They wouldn’t stop biting until all the tartar sauce had evacuated my twitty twat. They were my lovers and I destroyed their sweet hearts.

Volleyball took away the depression of the crab killing, and that is the real reason that I’m forever grateful for the game. I was this close to bringing the curtain down. So you want to know what the word crab means to me? It means love of a lifetime. I hope, before I die, that another crab-carrying cock will dose me up good with a good helping of crabs so I can know one more time what it feels like to be believed in.