by Hector Duarte Jr.
I jerked off to a dead girl. No, not like that. I mean, I used to jerk off to her and she died.
Nineteen years old. God damn right it was way too young. No, she didn’t know I existed. I randomly searched “young cute latinas” one day and this girl’s social media page came up. You know, the one where they put up a bunch of pictures of themselves. It took a bit of digging but she lived in my same city. What are the odds? So, I had a new fantasy: someone who existed and didn’t know I existed. I was on her page every night before bed checking to see if she had posted anything new.
My friend, this is way better than ogling some model in a bikini magazine. How? How? Because they’re real. The girl in the bikini mag wouldn’t give me the time of day if I paid for it. The girl on social media, right around the corner … That’s different. We’re normal people. It’s easy to strike up a conversation with normal people.
So it went for over a year. She didn’t know I was yanking my crank to her at least three times a week. She just kept posting picture after picture. Man, was she sexy. She started working out and it got her to posting even more pics: at the beach or right out of the gym. You had to see her. No more than 110, beautiful black hair down to her waist. I mean, black as night. And her eyes, dude: a beautiful almond shape that ended sharp at the corners. Man, could she use that eyeliner just right. Her name? I called her Gigi.
And just like that, Gigi dies. One day she’s posting pictures with a friend. That night, Mom’s messaging anyone for information, cos she ain’t heard nothing. I felt bad about it but I finished into a sock with help from one of Gigi’s pictures during a family vacation in Brazil. Next night, I log back on to see a little picture of an invitation announcing the viewing and burial. A collage of pictures was wrapped around the text. I’d jerked off to almost all those pictures.
Of course, I couldn’t do it that night or the next few days. I went to her viewing, thinking if I finally saw her maybe it’d make her real again. I couldn’t look in the casket. No way. I got there just in time for a quick prayer. Her dad hugged that thing like he wanted to go in with her. It hasn’t been right since.
You think she knows now what I did? Spirits know everything, right? Wouldn’t that be weird? She has no clue about me this whole time but suddenly gets to heaven, reaches this higher plane of existence and knowledge, just to find out I’ve been whacking it to her.
I feel bad, I guess. Nah, her mom’s not all that good looking. I don’t know, she has an older sister who likes to post a lot of pictures too. Maybe I’ll look into that. Until I find the next Gigi.
Hector Duarte Jr. is a writer out of Miami, Florida. His work has appeared in Flash: The International Short Story Magazine, Sliver of Stone, Foliate Oak, The Flash Fiction Offensive, Shotgun Honey, Near to the Knuckle, Shadows and Light: An Anthology to Benefit Women’s Aid UK, and HorrorSleazeTrash. Hector is an editor at The Flash Fiction Offensive.