funeral procession for a fly

My son, who dives head first off the sofa, is afraid of house flies.
He squeals like a girl when they land on his crayons, and hides under the table, displaying what can only be described as primal fear.
I think he gets this from me. Im pretty squeamish. So when i saw this display of girlish behavior by my usually tough little guy yesterday, I knew I had to squash it.
So, i found a dead fly on the windowsill (which wouldnt have been RIP in my house had i been here these last 2 weeks) and showed it to him. After i chased him down when he ran screaming, I explained that it was a bug. We used it as a model and drew pictures of it. He asked me why this bug didnt fly and I told him it was a "broken bug". He wouldnt hold it, but he did notice that the fly had eyes and legs, and wings like an airplane.
I knew he had finally bonded with the broken fly when he mad me put it in the flat bed of his green tow truck and took the tiny little corpse for a ride around the house, sirens blaring and lights flashing. It reminded me of some makeshift funeral procession with a naked pallbearer (somewhere, he lost his diaper)
At last I put the fly in the palm of my hand, and urged him to touch it. Boys arent supposed to be afraid of bugs, right? but when he made a move to touch it, his clumsy toddler fingers sqaushed it to the palm of my hand and I SCREAMED. Bug juice is YUCK!! It was a knee-jerk reaction, the product of years of being a "girly-girl"
Well, needless to say, he ran from the room and totally regressed in his therapy.
A few steps forward, followed by a giant leap backward. I cant believe I gave him such a complex!! Anyone got any advice for how a bug-a-phobic is supposed to cure a fellow bug-a-phobic? its like the blind leading the blind over here. I cant have a son who is a wuss when it comes to creepy-crawlies