With a flash, that's how it happened. One minute, a sober, law abiding citizen of these United States, the next, a nearly artistic expression of the concept of excess. Sitting here watching a girl in an online video sucking off a guy who's so hung it looks like his cock carries the last, best hope of an entire civilization. The Centaurs, perhaps. This gentleman could very well be the last surviving member of some physically superior, but somehow mentally deficient race. Amply endowed for physical procreation, they lost out to the Sapiens Sapiens only because they couldn't keep a coherent thought in their head.
Like me, now. Abused, like this poor girl's vagina. Taken apart and ravaged by a merciless, self-inflicted, night-long procession of weed, cocaine, beer, and some combination of alkyl nitrites. Time has dilated. This young lady on my screen has clearly been getting systematically destroyed by this man's member for at least a fortnight, yet the little time scroll only indicates an elapsed time of 11 minutes and 42 seconds. Hardly enough time for this much damage to have been done. And worse, oh god worse, is the fact that there appear to be 43 minutes and change left of this horror. I can only assume one thing: anal.
Back to the drugs. They were legion and I took them all on. Impossible to win this particular battle, but I felt it might be... informative. And oh, it was. Lessons have been learned. Where to start? At the beginning, then...
Cocaine is a boring drug when you are alone. There are brief moments (anal achieved, by the way) of bio mechanical thrill, but they are fleeting and increasingly difficult to recreate. More time, by far, is spent in often futile masturbation, consumption of free internet porn, internal debate about whether or not further cocaine consumption would help the situation or just send the whole thing right over the edge into sweating, ceiling-staring regret, wishing to blazes that alcohol actually did anything close to "taking the edge off", and constantly checking your texts, your messages, your email, just to see if anyone has reached out to you.
Much better, to be sure, to engage in social activities with like minds whilst enjoying your cocaine. Said cocaine to be doled out in small, reasonable installments. Surely, company would force some sort of order onto your consumption. A better plan was never hatched. But where to find these people? At this hour? With yourself in this condition? Certainly there are bars open at this hour, but frankly you're not certain you could maintain any sort of composure were you to be exposed to more than two human beings in a go.
The Internet! The Internet, of course, can solve this conundrum. All that needs be done is reach out through the wires to others, fresh others, capable of sympathizing. Capable of engaging - in the proper way. Capable of recognizing in you some humanity, and of not seeing the jabbering junkie you imagine yourself to have become. Surely, someone out there can help you. You can connect on some level with another person.
Just an update, they're venturing into toy/cock double penetrations now. And with still just a little less than half an hour left to go in the clip. I can no longer anticipate what their next coital move will be. No matter. I must get on with writing this screed. I will choose to hope for leather. Or perhaps for a cheerleading squad to burst down the door and engage in a Sapphic pillow fight / tickle fest the likes of which might bring mighty Mount Olympus crumbling down.
Right. The drugs. And... the Internet. Ah yes, I recall my drift now. The search for contact. So into the depths of Craigslist I dove. Only thing for it. The Personals. But to whom to reach out? In which section? To Strictly Platonic, perhaps. But surely those people who are only looking for platonic friendship aren't awake at this hour. It would be like shouting into an empty ballroom. Rants & Raves? Go fuck yourself. I've been in there. It's no place for the drug-addled. You could find yourself swimming around in some neo-fascist's self-confirming, but ultimately faulty, whirlpool of logic. No. Better to stay closer to shore. Casual Encounters it must be.
And Casual Encounters it was. Hours of waiting for an interesting post from someone who was reasonably close and who was looking for something I might have to offer. I offered drugs. And music. And a relaxing environment. But mainly the drugs. Surprisingly few nibbles. Perhaps I came on too strong. I don't recall the exact text now, but my own ad must have been something wonderfully subtle like, "Ski for Blow". It seemed better to wait for someone else to post an ad I felt I could respond to.
More waiting. More drugs. More re-reading and refreshing, hoping something had changed, that something new had come up so that you could skim through it and dismiss it for nearly any reason...
