Yes

It was the breathing that caused her heart to clench. Still wrapped in a blanket of darkness, it made the slow, raspy inhale and exhale of her assaulter feel sickeningly close. She flinched every time, waiting for the nightmare to begin again.

It never came, but that didn’t stop the warm, gooey feeling from oozing out of her violated holes. She was crying; warm, wet tears spreading down her face and onto the carpet.

She lay there like that, for minutes… hours… who knows how long, until her throat stopped hurting, and her breathing calmed down.

Finally, rational thought began to bubble to the surface: why hadn’t the monster looming above her – still rasping above her - taken advantage yet?

She cracked open her eyes, crusty with sleep.

For one thing, the zombie’s skin had changed color: now it was a dark cherry crimson, almost like it’s skin had been carefully and meticulously peeled off to reveal the flesh beneath, or all the blood had come up to the surface. She had failed to notice it as well, but the bite on it’s arm was accompanied by others here or there, all over it’s body – now dark scars that would pepper it’s skin forever.

…She averted her eyes from it’s dangling manhood – though she was relieved to note that it was relatively flaccid at the moment.

Getting up made her feel better. Slowly shuffling by the creature and grabbing some paper towels from her kitchenette even more so. Still, she couldn’t help but catch herself… enjoying, the musky taste and cloying scent of the creature’s splooge in her mouth. Despite everything, the taste almost made her want more.

Almost.

She stomped up to the creature, and it turned to regard her. Should she kill it? Staring into those dead, cloudy eyes, something told her it would end poorly if she tried.

The anger faded away as quickly as it had flared.

“Y-you know…” She croaked, voice a little hoarse. “At least you’re… pretty handsome, for a zombie.”

It was true: he had a lean, muscular body and chiseled features that had probably served him well in life. John hesitated when she realized she was reaching up to his face, but dared to follow through with the movement.

“You took my virginity… and didn’t even kiss me.” She whispered; his lips were smooth and soft.

…What was she doing? If anyone walked in on her right now, they’d think she was crazy.

_Focus, John, focus! You should be doing something, not futzing around! It’s the fucking apocalypse! _

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Ok, let’s get started.

If every zombie apocalypse movie ever had taught her anything, it was that survival was a game of resources. What did she need right now? Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs vaguely formed in her mind, and she decided to start with that.

Food and water: even as she realized just how hungry she was she threw something quick into the microwave.

She’d need bags, pockets and pouches – as many of them as she could get. Scrounging around her dormitory, she managed to collect her school backpack, a fanny pack from when she went on her daily runs, and a pair of cargo pants - not very sexy, but she could make it work.

Into many of these receptacles she stuffed foodstuff that would last long: jerky, granola bars, canned goods, etc. Then she moved on to Hierarchy Level 2: safety and security.

What would be a good weapon against the undead? She cursed herself for never feeling interested enough to click on those zombie apocalypse weapon build videos on the internet. Would these zombies be **** to headshots? Maybe she could surf the web one last time before everything went to hell…

Ultimately realizing that she had neither the time nor the resources to craft the ultimate zombie-slaying weapon right now, she opted for her old aluminum baseball bat – a memento from her yesteryears that had been collecting dust in her closet. The leather handle and solid weight filled her with a sense of relief.

Maslow’s Hierarchy got fuzzier and fuzzier in her head, though, as she tried to recall. The only one she could remember at this point was “community”, or something like that…

Community! Were there any other survivors out there? What about her family – her sister, and her parents!?

She’d spent enough time getting ready; now it was time to move. Stepping out of her tiny closet, her new outfit gave her a “skater boy” vibe – or more precisely, skater girl. Big, baggy cargo pants askew on her hips - whale tail peeking out - a black crop top that showed off her slim belly, leather jacket around her shoulders for protection, backpack and fanny pack tucked behind her, and a fucking baseball bat for smashing skulls.

…She glanced down at the two dark spots on the carpet, a darkness twisting in her gut.

“…John is dead: he doesn’t exist anymore.” She announced, raising her head and looking forward to the future. “Now I am Jane.”

She slapped the red thing still standing around gormlessly on the ass, reveling in the satisfying clap that echoed through her dorm.

“Come on, boyfriend, let’s go rescue my sister!”

"Boyfriend", of course, did not so much as flinch, but as if in response, his throbbing cock finally began to rise, engorging with blood.

“…Fuck.”