chemsex fiction is a fiction. I'd be really hard-pressed to make any of my stuff up.

[rawbottom1963]

I do not fear excessively. I am not a full-time hedonist. I have been willing to experiment, a lot.

***The Fantasy Chemtrail***

I took perv sex straight up, last March, with a guy who is notorious in New York. I know that, because everytime I drop his name, I get some reaction: "Oh, her." "I've been there."

I had no idea how popular the edge of the precipice has become.

So I was on a website, something very piggy, with lots of would-be fisters. I am not one of those, but I like the ambience.

My perv was there, hunting, as he often does. And he IM'd me: Do you accept xxxxxxx's request to chat? Hmmmm. Quick check to the profile: he parties. I am in recovery. I get really messed up for 2 weeks after partying. What'll I do?

And I am chatting. I knew this guy from years ago, more than he would ever remember me. I knew what might happen.

Embarrassed, I reveal that I am poor - so I cannot party. The topic already passed by...

"I did not ask you if you wanted to buy anything."

And I was faced with what seemed a life-altering decision. I was being invited to a private sex party, with slamming, and maybe reconstituted cum. Fresh from the frozen section of the ice-box.

I emptied my bowels. Nothing is a better colon cleanser than the thought of doing something really dangerous.

That's why I don't bother with enemas. And this guy was into unclean, natural guys. I was in.

I had to do something. Flowers would be trite. Wine might make us puke. So I bought some porn, expensive stuff, across the street. I spent about 100 dollars, on credit. I do not carry cash. My recovery is fragile...

I walk the 3 short blocks, and the two long ones. My tummy's in a panic. Another trip to the john upon arrival. That, because on the table were two ladylike syringes, filled very far with a clear liquid.

Damn well might be bleach. I was gonna risk it, since he was, too.

He slammed me first, because I really don't know how; but I am not at all squeamish. The blood rushing into the barrel is a thrill: as is the cough. I feel it now - months later. [i cough.]

Then, he was having a time doing himself. The hazard of a regular user: veins don't wanna co-operate. But he found one, in his hand. That seemed rough.

No matter. I was zinging, and I crept to my satchel, next to my clothes, dropped carelessly on purpose on the floor. I wore my camouflage pants to look fatter for later. After the party was over...

I just had to get lube on my dick. I knew it was going to be a long session: I was glad to be high. No more worries about friends let-down, blah, blah.

He as an evil fuck. But I can get into the fantasy. I am crazy, really, crazy (I take pills for that), but I know evil is a fantasy. Even as I tweak and jerk and REALLY get into the porn (which usually bores me silly), I knew God was there... I'd have to deal with spirit, in any case.

He was a good, obnoxious kisser. Chem-mouth is really fun, when it is two. Odious when one.

He did not share my penchant for jerking CONSTANTLY. Of course, my dick was only 1/2 hard for most of the night. But it felt good that way.

We did the usual sex. He didn't really like my bush on his ass. Too bad. I love to rim a guy deeply, when I am "horned up" as they say on the web. You know, dip that tongue in for the juice, and suck - lick like a dog.

I did enough that my beard stank, and I made him kiss me. It was his stink. He thought that was hot. Pig done good.

I failed, when I asked for a dildo. He had a great dick, but really wasn't into fucking. Or fucking me. I think he would have liked another man to fuck us both. In any case, I became dsitracted: I needed to get this gigantic black dildo inside me. All the way to the ballsy base. I had to show that I could take ANYTHING. I like to believe I can. And I got very close.

Something told me not to push the limit to red blood. I mean, it was well over 12". Quite enough. Who can match that?

Well, my dildoing turned him off: because I failed to be focused on him. And he was right. I really would have been happy enough alone in his apartment, with the porn, and his dildo. But I did love to watch him walk around: what a great ass. A handsome man of some years. I like that.

We did play, and for a good 12 hours. And then, he changed. Lots of guys do. They shift gears. I don't. I stay horny for days.

I was thrown out at 3pm. In Midtown. With the biggest bug-eyes you ever saw. I was greatful that it was a stiff-wind day. I made for a pier, to sit out the daylight.

My intended pier was closed. I had to walk past tourists, and other normal people. My paranoia was outrageous. I expected a cop to pick me up for intoxication at any time. And I thought about Rikers: the back of a pen. A dirty toilet. My ass being fucked by a dozen rough, straight men who cover me up because the cell is overcrowed. The pen fantasy.

I walked 30 blocks, looking at the pavement, walking as if I had to be somewhere. I sat on a lonely pier, facing the wind, contemplating the Hudson River. I really wanted to contemplate dick, but I could not start jerking there.

No, I had to wait for dusk. And so I did.

I walked crosstown, downtown, in the Financial District, somehow to Grand Street, or somehow making it to the East River. That big park. That is where I would spend the entire night.

Now, when you tweak, you THINK everything wants to fuck you. Everything is a cop. Black is everywhere, shadows. [dilated pupils will do this].

I would walk to an abandoned area, the best being under the Williamsburg Bridge: a construction site. It was off-limits, but the fence-gates were left open. I saw homeless men in every bay. Tons of men.

So I walked through the mud, intrepid slut. All the men disappeared: perhaps I was a fright to see. Maybe my AIDS-look was off-putting. But surely, when I tucked my coat into hands, into my pockets, and stuck my still somewhat shapely ass out - the guys would be so horny - they wouldn't care.

At least that was my real-life experience, when I was a novelty cruiser.

But no. No man approached. The cops, they were down by the water. The did not bother with me. I was scum. I sat down, real butch like. With legs apart, ass always taught: at the ready. I would take any man who wanted a fuck. That's what's really great about chemsex: all dicks are wonderful: all men are stupendous.

And night passed into late-late-night. I walked more. From the bottom to the top of that park. Stopping, gazing, glaring, leaning against posts, ass-out. I took risks: walking into well-closed areas. I wanted men who were filthy. I really wanted to take all my clothes off... would I?

I was cruised by one real man. I mean, fleshy, hot, and he knew I was fucked up. He followed: and then I sort of focused on something else. I lost him to another, darker area in the park.

After 3 AM, I began to flag a notch. I was tweaked, but thirsty, and tired. I still had to walk really far to the subway, or all the way home. I loved subway sex, in the old days, but I knew that it was not going to happen tonight.

I did leave the park, after 3 or 4 re-entries. I visited pocket parks, walked salaciously past tenements, hoping for a bldg. super. Or a cigarette smoker, late in the night. Behind a dumpster, in a basement hole. Hungry ass. Willing mouth. How I craved cum: like ichor - passoinate drink of the gods. Spirit was still with me.

Next, I am on a Broadway train, going home. Embarrassed: 5 AM. A woman looked at me strangely. I felt like a loser. ... I make it past security, looking the other way, & up the elevator. Getting home was now necessary. I kept 1 porn DVD for myself. Took a piss enema, or two, and got high all over again.

That lasted a good 8 hours more. A 1/2 jar of Vaseline would be spent on the self-exploration. Carrots would be sacrificed. My neighbors across the air-shaft, with the red curtains would see my ass for a few minutes. Gleaming light, bright, hairless globes. Hot from a distance.

It was all so chemsexy, that I had a bad crash. I had never been given so many shots in my life. The guy was generous, but each shot was not that strong. I had a gash in my arm, from the last hit. I tried to do it myself: made a mess, a bump. The shot I got in my clit was pretty cool, though, if not stupid & risky.

No worse than the mixing up of the needles: the infection injection scene. When he said it, I saw Hell.

That was negotiated in advance. "I have Hep B/C and HIV."

"mmm." I knew he had as much, and maybe more.

"I am undetectable for all three."

"mmm." Evil shit-eating grin. [a clue]

And then, I did not know, in that moment, whether I would be undetectable for all three viruses any longer. And death occurred to me. And his crazy ass tasted so good. His pig tongue: nasty mouth. Open the door, just a little. My stories of blood-shares and near-rapes, escapades in parks with bums & guys with wedding rings.

All those memories came back to me, as they do still, today. I swore no other man will ever inject an illegal drug into my arm: especially the street shit they cut up, today.

But when I see that guy on a pig website, I sweat. My bowels move. I shake. I force myself to turn off the computer: shut down. Take my bipolar meds.

The wooziness calms the storm: my evil genius is penned up for another evening. But for how long?

[mike43]

Mmmm I like to get with you for some piggie sex

[fisterm8]

no-one wants a fairy when they are 40 ....................LOL