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To the memories we will all cherish one day. I met Phil for the third time today, two weeks after our last catch-up. Again, it was at his place. We kiss and cuddle when I step out of the car, and again once the door closes in his apartment. We lay there on the sofa, catching up on what’s been happening in our lives, even though we’ve been texting each other daily. It feels nice to have him in my arms. After a while, we get up, and he suggests we smoke some weed. We planned this ahead of time—it’s my first time—so we do. I don’t feel anything at first. Then it hits me. We go to the bedroom. Clothes off. Skin to skin. He sits on my cock and rides it like a pro, but there are voices in my head that get in the way of my enjoyment. I have a confession to make. I don’t usually top. I’m mainly a bottom, but I have topped before in past relationships. I remember, back then, I had a lot of trouble getting hard—performance anxiety—but I overcame it because I loved him. I wanted to make love to him. I’ve topped other guys before while cruising too, rarely, and I managed to get hard by thinking they’re nothing more than just a body. A body to use. A body to get off. But Phil—he’s different. I’ve set a ceiling on my emotions to protect my heart, so I can’t fuck him like he’s the love of my life. At the same time, he’s more than just a body I can use and throw away. So my head is stuck. In a space I can’t define. The effect of the weed makes it worse. And sure enough, I get soft mid-fuck. We stop. Cuddle. Kiss. And in the back of my mind, I’m disappointed with myself. I really wanted to finish inside him. To make him mine. And it didn’t happen. I end up making a series of bad decisions after that. Just to see how far I can push my body. Turns out—not very far. I mix white wine with pear cider. I smoke more. My body shuts down and Phil has to carry me to bed. We fall asleep in each other’s arms until the morning, where we just lay there and talk about life. I ask him how he feels if I start dating other people. He’s cool with it. After all, he was the one who set the boundaries—friends with benefits—and it’s not fair if that holds me back from being with someone else. He asks me how I’d feel if he starts dating someone new. I tell him I’d be happy for him. As long as he calls me if that guy doesn’t treat him right, and I’ll personally beat that guy up for him. Sweet, Phil says. I confess that I like him. He asks me what I like about him. I tell him: I like that you’re beautiful. Beautiful on the outside, yes. But more so on the inside. I love the way you think. Your philosophy on life. The way you move through the world. And any guy who dates you next—whether it’s me or anyone else—he needs to know this side of you. The beautiful side. And he needs to appreciate it. He has to. Then Phil gets shy. Smiles in that way only a few people get to see. That vulnerable side. And I know I did good. I know I said something that stuck with him. So there it is. I lay all my cards on the table. I’ve confessed how I feel. I let him know that once he’s done healing, if the universe aligns and we both happen to be single, I’m happy to give us another shot. I feel like I’ve set up all the dominoes in a beautiful way. Now it’s up to him if he wants to knock them down and start an adventure with me. Or maybe not. In the meantime, we live our own lives. Our lives don’t pause for each other. They keep moving. We won’t text each other daily anymore. We don’t have to. The foundation we’ve built is strong. Solid enough that it doesn’t need constant reinforcement. We won’t see each other as often. That’s okay too. I hold him tight in my arms. I give him a hundred kisses. Because I don’t know how many more times we’ll get to do this. If we both find someone else, then the cuddles, the kisses, the hand-holding, his head on my chest—someday it’ll fade. Someday it will all just be a distant memory. And it’s sad to think like that. But that is life, isn’t it? I drive home. I think this is the closure we both needed. A breather from each other. I think I’ll see him again in a couple of weeks, just to see where life takes us. I think we’ll be different people by then. A lot can happen in a few weeks. We’ll have new stories. New experiences. New outlooks on life. Let’s see where this wild road takes us, yeah?

When the party ended it was still dark. More accurately, I should say it was dark again. The host ordered Gibron to slam another load of tina in my vein and they shoved me out the front door, poured my ass into the back seat of a vehicle, and we sped off. They drove around for a while before the door opened and I was pushed out into the gutter of some street in the city. I was totally high, totally disoriented, and didn't care who or where I was. I was exhausted, feeling sick to my stomach from all the drugs, and just wanted to sleep. I passed out right where they left me. I woke up sometime later when some homeless guy was checking me to see if I was dead. He gave me some water and when I asked him what day it was, I realized that 48 hours had passed since I had ventured out to find the dance club. I still had my wallet and ID, and plenty of cash to pay for a cab. The homeless guy helped me find a cab and I gave him my excess cash as a thank you for helping me out. As I lay in the back of the cab on the way to my hotel, I realized that my life had been changed forever by that experience. For one thing, I no longer feel fear in the presence of danger. Instead, adrenaline makes my dick hard and makes me wanna fuck. I also discovered my purpose in life. I exist to bring pleasure to dominant men and their cocks, to submissively take any and all cum loads as often as possible. I get off being force-chemmed and raped, gangbanged, and made to service one or more guy's darkest needs. That's why I travel to big cities like Berlin, Amsterdam, LA, New York, Houston, Miami and such, hang out in the darkest seediest areas, clubs, parks, and bars I can find, looking for straight or gay guys who get off on power and control who will fuck me up and use me as their sex-whore cum-dump for a few nights. Do you want to get force-chemmed and whored out? That's the way you do it. Put yourself out there, submit yourself to the dark side, and see where it takes you. Just make sure you are ready for the consequences, because once you start, you're committed to the end. There is no safe word. There is no turning back. You're at THEIR mercy, until THEY decide THEY have had enough. You are THEIR fuck-toy for THEIR pleasure and nothing more. You don’t matter and you may not make it out alive. But for a danger junkie, that's the whole idea. It’s the danger, the unknown, and the total loss of control that beckons us and draws us in. Embrace your dark side and hang on for the ride, faggot.