"You've ruined my life, you worthless CUNT; I'll have this forever, there's no cure, and now I can't even go get another woman because you've fucking ruined me!"
At this point, I was intermingling my direct attacks with heavy doses of guilt. I had definitely found my stride.
"YOU kept accusing me of cheating, YOU called me four thousand times a FUCKING DAY and it's all because YOU were fucking around on ME!! You can't go two consecutive days without some form of male attention, I went off to school and you FUCKED on me, and now you've given me HERPES YOU FUCKING SLUT!"
I had become convinced, after weeks of a very painful rash on my cock and balls, that I was in the midst of a rampaging initial herpes outbreak. Far from getting better, it had only gotten worse as the days went on, suppurating red bumps that burst and itched horribly. At the very least, I had an STD of some terrifying magnitude, and the only person I had had sex with was my girlfriend, safely ensconced back in Farmington, Missouri.
I lived at the time in St. Charles, Missouri, over a hundred miles away, on the campus of Lindenwood University. I usually went home on the weekends to see her.
"What do you have to say for yourself, you fucking HARLOT?!?! (I had just had my first exposure to the Canterbury Tales)"
Across the miles, I heard a meekly whimpered "...but I didn't do anyth"
"SLUT! WHORE! DIRTY BITCH!" I thundered, cutting her off mid-word and causing her to devolve into crying moans again.
"Holy SHIT! Clark's in there KILLING some girl!" I heard from the hallway. I jerked open the door, stuck my head out and screamed "I have HERPES AND THIS WHORE GAVE IT TO ME!" as I slammed the door again to the bathroom, locking myself in. People were gathering outside, curious as to why I was in there with a phone, screaming so loud the entire house heard it.
"Clark's got HERPES!" I heard people yelling just outside. I tuned them out, turning toward the phone again, my mindless rage causing my entire body to contort AROUND the phone obscenely, trying to jam my entire body into the little mouth-holes so I could scream at her with my entire body.
"You slut! You lying, cheating whore! I cannot BELIEVE what a fucking idiot I am to trust your idiotic WHORE ASS!! You fucking hick slut, I've probably got herpes, the clap, and some fucking SHEEP SYPHILLIS from some farmboy you fucked in a cornfield!"
At that, I heard laughter in the hall.
I was losing it, shooting volley after volley of insult at her, getting nothing back to react to other than her crying, (I took this to be a tacit admission of her guilt), and rapidly descending to absolute frothing insanity. I had never been this mad at a girl, and never have been since. I was 22 years old, and positive my life was completely over. I would have to have THAT conversation with every girl from now on; tons of women would flee from me in horror, my cock a decrepit, scarred nozzle that shot pure poison.
People were knocking on the door of the bathroom, someone complaining that they needed to take a shit. I continued ignoring them as I heaped more and more abuse on her.
"What do you have to say for yourself, you cheating psycho?"
She responded by redoubling her crying. This was all I needed.
"It's OVER, you slut! We are THROUGH, go see a fucking doctor to get your fucking diseased HOLE checked out, and be prepared to tell everyone ELSE you fuck that you have the fucking PLAGUE in your ROTTEN PUSSY!!
In lieu of hanging up, I threw the phone across the room, shattering it against the toilet.
"HEY!!! Was that the phone?" from the hallway. I stalked out of the bathroom, being given a fairly wide berth as I made my way to my room. I picked up the other phone and called the first doctor I could find in the phone book.
"That's not herpes. If it was herpes, it would look like this, have this, etc etc. What it sounds like YOU have is either syphilis or gonorrhea." the nurse at the doctor's office told me. Great. I had no insurance, no money, and my cock was inorexably progressing through a disease process where it would finally just FALL OFF, blackened and withered like a dried pepper, no doubt causing me as much pain and embarrassment as was humanly possible as it went along this path.
While I felt bad about my one and only episode of actually abusing a woman verbally, weeks passed and I never heard back from my "girlfriend". I knew in my heart that this meant I had been right, and she had cheated on me. I was so bitter, thinking of how hard my adjustment had been moving to the city from Farmington, and how many times I had missed her. I wondered how many times I had been missing her as she got deep-dicked by Billy-Bob Two-Teeth on a tractor. I bought over the counter remedies by the armload, dabbing them on my poor, torn cock that I couldn't seem to stop scratching while I slept.
One day, I woke up, and the rash was gone. Just like that. I again became convinced that what I had was herpes, since I saw my symptoms as an outbreak, and then a remission. I knew the outbreaks would happen again.
A month later, it was back, raw, painful, and itchy as ever. I resigned myself to a cloistered life of never getting laid again.
It took me three more "outbreaks" to realize that what I had was a raging allergy to Tide laundry detergent. When one of my roommate's turns came around to buy the detergent for the house, he always bought Tide. Every time I washed my clothes in it, within a day I had another of my "herpes" outbreaks. Switching brands cured me permanently.
I never called her and told her about it.