This may not be most people's cup of tea (get it? haha!) but just thought I'd write something for those who are enticed by the stories on here to try it, the only problem is most of the stories here have just "a lil" embellishment, and they never really tell you what happens after that first, sexy time you read about on here. Digging from real lived experience, hope you enjoy. Don't turn out like me.
Buyer beware.
You've been partying on and off for the last two years now, taking long breaks in-between where you crash and tell yourself never again, yet the hook has been permanently embedded in your cheek like a fish on a river. These lapses in-between you're just stuck in a waiting period for good ole fisherman Tina to reel you back in.
Why did we start in the first place? Who knows. Could it have been my repressed homosexuality from upbringing and inability to be open about who I am? Or societal pressure to present as straight because society says gay = bad? Or maybe from my complete lack of self esteem from unresolved, buried trauma and that growing, creeping desire to destroy my life is finally reaching it's peak. It doesn't really matter, because smoking meth is easier than going to therapy. No cap.
Enough time has passed since you broke down and cried in your bathtub for letting it consume your life, and you have all but forgotten that abyssal hole, and start thinking about how it wasn't really that bad the last time. You're back on track for that sexy relapse, baby. You start on the usual hunt, scanning for keywords and terms on the usual sites - get a message, but they don't mention parTy in the message or in their profile? Skip. Not worth my time. I don't care who you are, only what you can provide my dopamine starved brain. You spend a few days sending messages to everyone who will trip you down that rabbit hole, but because they're all doing meth, it's hard to connect.
Eventually, you hit the jackpot, and drive over to a strangers place, after only exchanging a few words and confirming that special celebration is about to happen. Questions on interests? Or HIV status? Face pic? Nah, miss me with that shit. His torso is clearly a human, so I couldn't care less. He opens the door, and the pictures from his profile you can tell are 10 years old. No worries, just showing you a reflection of the mirror of your life, pre and post Tina.
You take your clothes off and sit on the couch, where bareback porn is already playing on the adjacent screen. His apartment is new, yet the same as every other time. He tells you to help yourself to the pipe while he measures out the G, and you don't even consider saying no. Why be content with doing just one drug? You're already doing meth, stupid. Take more drugs to lower your inhibitions further is clearly the right call here. You take that first inhale and the sparks fly in your brain - almost as good as the first time, but not quite. It'll never be as good, but you won't stop chasing it anyway. After you take a few hits back to back to catch up, he sits down and hands you the Gatorade. You both down it, and start rubbing your flaccid cocks to the porn on screen, while making small talk. A few more hits before the G kicks in, and you've finally reached blastoff.
Your inhibitions replaced by pure lust, not for the guy, just what he provides. You roll around in bed like animals, sucking each other's soft cocks and making out, until the G wears off and you both decide to take a break. Sexual frustration begins. You return to the couch, and start passing the pipe back and forth. You lost count of how many hits you've done, but you're keeping up with him. He is clearly and intentionally trying to get you extremely high, and while that realization hits, you push that thought down and keep grabbing the pipe every time it's offered. Good job, buddy. Once you've reached that peak tweaker status, your host prepares the second dose of G. But now because you're both incredibly high, you both can't stop yapping, causing the second dose of G to take 45 minutes to prepare. Your hand glued to your soft cock you've been trying to rub back to life like that time you found Aunt Donna dead already for 12 hours. Spoilers, unlike her stiff rigor mortis corpse, you will not be getting hard tonight.
After word vomiting your entire life story to a stranger and hearing his, all of which you've already forgotten, you finally down the G again, and a second round of piggy sex ensues. But alas, no fucking still, because a wet noodle against a gaping hole just doesn't do anything for either of you. It's just mostly body contact and rimming your strangers asshole while he moans, the T making you eat it up like it's the last meal alive. Did he even shower? Who knows, you're not considering this at all. Why would you? You're getting your fix, gotta give him something. Sexual frustration returns. Time for break 3, and as your doing a new marathon of sucking clouds in and out, your new friend starts probing you on your interests, fetishes and kinks. He is holding back, but testing the waters. He eventually nonchalantly brings up some questionable topics, and you feign interest and change the subject to what can only be the 40th bareback video he has playing on his screen, ad naseum. You realize this is why he was so generous with the T on round 2, to lower your inhibitions and hope to receive curiousness back, but despite this, your brain is flooded with dopamine so you hardly react. You imagine if you weren't exhaling on cloud 9, a sober you would get up and leave. But you stay, because you needed this. You needed these clouds. You needed this little break from reality.
So what, you think, I don't really care what he is into anyway. To each their own. Far be it from me, a meth addict, to kink shame anyone. Again, it's all about what he can provide, not the substance of his character. As you nod your head to whatever he is rambling about now after you changed topics, you get a brief lapse of clarity, asking how you got here. Brief though, as your eyes dart back to the porn playing. You're both extremely horny yet unable to satisfy each other, just endless rubbing on your flaccid cocks while watching porn and more pointless conversation. You stretch it out and think, did mine get smaller too? Oh well, who cares. I don't, I'm in that zone, hell yeah. Some time passes, and unfortunately, by changing the topic and not indulging in his questionable interests he brought up, your host inevitably calls it, says he needs to get up early and kicks you out. You finally look at a clock, only 12 hours have passed. Only.
Before you are able to actually exit, it takes another 30 minutes to get to the door. He's telling you about some other hookups odd behavior. You don't care about any of the words coming out of his mouth, but you're polite, so you nod and wait til he finishes to leave. As you get in your car, you realize sweat is pouring off you, and you check the mirror to see your glassy eyes with huge dilated pupils. It's totally fine, you tell yourself. If you get pulled over on the way home, no way will they suspect your high. I'm playing this cool. Real cool.
As you drive home, your mind races between three thoughts only: of wanting to rub your shrunken dick again while you drive but resisting so you don't crash your car, finding another vessel for your unquenchable lust, and wondering if I continue down this path will you end up enjoying the things he brought up, a corrupted trick of the mind that happens while you flood it with dopamine and expose it to these things. You get home, and the middle idea takes over. As you go back online to search for your next empty hookup, you'll find your host on the same site you found him on, online and looking for more. You do the same. On and off through various hookups over the course of the night and new day, any and all men you can find willing to fill that gaping hole in your soul that Tina made bigger, you also see your old host still logged in as well. Two peas in a pod. After about 36 hours, it's finally wearing off, and you are able to fall asleep. The cycle is complete. Timer reset and ticking down for the next relapse.
The end (for now.)
