Dying For Sex (8 page)

“Come to the couch,” she said, taking him by
the hand. “I made your favorite marijuana brownies and I filled the
bong so you can get high while I suck your delicious cock. I
recorded the game -- just hit play to start it. I’ve got lasagna in
the oven. After sex, I want to give you a full body massage.”

“Wow! Every day this week you’ve had
something planned. Someone give me a crown because I must be a
king.”

“Damn straight! You are my king.”

“I’m the King of Mara!” he boasted, laughing.
“Not that I’m complaining, but is there anything you should be
telling me?”

Damn! She apparently didn’t fish out his dick
fast enough. Men are so much easier to control with their dicks
hard. For the first time, she resented his mind reading. He must
have sensed something because the vib he gave off changed
completely.

“Mara, please tell me what you should have
told me a few days ago.” The fucker knew! “Your mother doesn’t know
anything, and Dr. Blake’s office told me he no longer treats you. I
need to know what’s going on.”

“It’s been six months since they found any
trace of my cancer,” she said.

“That’s wonderful!” He pulled her into his
arms. “I may not lose you, after all.”

“It should have come back by now,” she told
him. “That treatment in Geneva may have snuffed it out.”

“Again: that’s wonderful. Now we can try a
normal life. But why would you keep this from me?”

He watched her debate herself, and she grew
irritated that he surfed her vibs so well. Finally, she broke and
fetched a red bottle with the poison symbol on it.

“When it’s your time, I plan on going with
you.”

She said it with such finality that he
laughed. “What the fuck are you talking about? When it’s my time
for what?”

“I may live for years, but I cannot go on
without you. So when you go, I go. I bought these pills from one of
those self-help suicide sites for the terminally ill. I’ll be there
for as long as you need me, but if you decide to end the pain, then
we’ll end it together. Probably naked.”

“Mara, wait. Are you saying you’d rather die
than live without me?”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it, Michael.
I’ve given this a lot of thought and you won’t change my mind.”

“But I’ve told you a million times, I’m not
sick. I am not dying. I do not have an incurable disease.”

She didn’t believe him. “But you go to the
doctor every few months. Somebody comes to the house every other
week to take a blood sample.”

“If I get what killed my father, I need to
know as soon as possible. That’s why I’m on a special diet, why I
take those pills, and why I go for preventative treatments to boost
my immune system. I get tested every three months because I’m
paranoid. My dad didn’t get cancer until he was twice my age, but
he didn’t catch it in time. I’d probably survive it if I caught it
early, so I get tested a lot, just to be safe.”

He could tell that she still didn’t believe
him, so he took out his phone and called his treating physician,
who also treated his father. Michael explained the situation,
passed over the phone, and watched his wife’s face as his doctor
assured her that Michael did not have an incurable disease. He
assumed she would be happy, but she looked ready to drop dead.

“But I thought we were going to die
together,” she explained.

“We are. Just not for a while.” He could see
cracks in her armor as the news sunk in. “That new Swiss treatment
cured you? I know we have to wait a year or two before we know for
sure, but I never believed all that shit they said about their
success rate. I never expected that million bucks to save your
life. I would have been happy with another month or two.”

“Million bucks?” This was new. “But the
treatment is free.”

“I had to motivate the hospital to open up
another slot. Despite government subsidies, they have massive costs
that, unlike here, they don’t pass on to the patients.”

“You paid them a million dollars? And never
told me?”

“And make you feel guilty? But that would
defeat the purpose because you cannot enjoy what little life you
would have left if you felt guilty. I didn’t want death to dominate
your life like it did my parents. That’s why I had you go on
shopping trips, took you to sports games, and toured the world’s
tourism sites.”

“That’s why you took that job!” She covered
her mouth. “I bankrupted you!”

He laughed it off. “Not at all. The house and
cars are still paid off, I have no debt, other than medical bills,
and I’ll probably make a lot of money working for this hedge fund
guy I went to Harvard with.”

“Just how much have you spent on me?”

“On you, nothing. But what I spent on us was
worth every penny. I needed to get a real job anyways, since I no
longer have enough funds to invest for myself.”

“You blew your fortune on me,” she said,
feeling terribly guilty. “I always assumed you were just spending
your inheritance because you were dying, too.”

“Hey, easy now. I’m not poor. I’ll make six
figures this year, and twice that next year when I get my first
bonus. Don’t you worry about money. Besides, we have enough footage
to shoot a reality show. Maybe you could write a book on how you
beat leukemia, then go on Oprah. You’re a dynamic public speaker --
I saw you make entire audiences weep. You could make big bucks just
giving speeches. Or maybe try modeling. Or porn. Really, Mara, you
should figure out how you want to spend the rest of your life.”

“I want to spend it with you. And I don’t
want to have sex with anyone else anymore. Only you can have me
from now on.”

“Thank God!” Michael looked so relieved. “I
almost murdered everyone in your last orgy when you passed out
covered in cum.”

Mara fell into his arms and wept
uncontrollably. For once, she didn’t want to have sex. Or even get
high. Michael, ever practical, watched the game she recorded to
give her time to collect herself. Her emotions spent the last year
on a roller coaster. She didn’t know how to live a normal life.

She would rather die than live without him,
and he would rather spend his last penny if it meant a little more
time together.

“I’m pregnant,” his wife told him.

“I hope the baby isn’t black,” her white
husband replied, hoping that didn’t sound racist.

“You’d stay with me not knowing if the baby
is yours?”

“I swore to stay with you til death do us
part. I even put it in writing. And an abortion doesn’t feel right,
given your near death experience.”

“You haven’t had a bad idea yet. I love you
so much, Michael.”

“I love you too much, Mara.”

The End

A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

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