“When you crash into something head-on, the person in the passenger seat is in just as much danger as the motherfucker driving”-Lost Chapter X.
“If you keep fucking him you’re going to get an STD, I mean shit Annie, I wanted you to get out of Elyria...but I don’t want you to get A.I.D.S.”- Anonymous.
“Girl, you could do so much better than that drunk”- Over heard from a conversation at an airport.
Slow Descent
This is how it really happened. Of course since that night I’ve told many alternate stories to gain sympathy, or to deny the whole humorously humiliating incident outright. The way I look at it everyone has one, two, or ten people who they wish could be stricken from their sexual history, that one encounter that had A.I.D.S. spray-painted in black over its entire occurrence. Not only does thinking about it now make me want to run down to the local Planned Parenthood with a hypocondriacal urgency, but my skin itches for steel wool and my mind sputters a disgusted cry for narcotics to “make it all go away”.
I suppose that the date may, or may not have been January First in any which year, on any such planet. Since this was a day to be festive for the coming grief that each new year promises, my close associate Mr. Chris and myself had decided *surprise* to go out and have a drunken drug binge of a night. Of course, this is exactly what we had been doing every 24 hour sun cycle for the last 3 weeks, but as I have said (redundantly) the beginning of the new suffering is a special occasion. Not only are you going out and getting smashed and wasted as you would any other day in any other place, but you are also going out and getting smashed and wasted before anything else remarkably rotten has happened to you in the new year. This day, the new day, is your one and only chance to get another fucked up year off to the most fucked up and retarded start possible. The only question left was, in the morning, who would have the better story...and if I may say so, I had created such a fucked up scene that I haven’t even been able to retell it, deed for psychotic deed, fact for delusive and deranged fact, until now.
Get on with it, I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking. But you must understand this is an extremely touchy subject, it was a very hands on encounter...sort of.
Glimpse into The Future
She had herself spread open like a Thanksgiving turkey waiting to be stuffed, and there is only one right way to fill a turkey...with your whole fist. You’ve got to pound it, you know, put that shit in there with some authority so that gooey goodness sticks.
Thinking About it Makes My Eyes Hurt
I have a hard time recalling such graphic and disturbing images without feeling completely humiliated for the whole human race. That’s a problem with me.
Random Mental Note
They kept telling me that she would make a great story, yeah I thought, I can’t wait to tell everyone back home blow by electric probe how I caught the clap.
Main Theme, Main Vein
Back to the story, right? Well, this whole grimy sexual bizarre started not with Crystal Meth (as advertised in the title) but with Nicotine. Mr. Chris, like many of those who both smoke and drink has a tendency to chain smoke once the drinks start flowing readily down the esophageal river of flesh into the pond-scum covered liver. Now, the dive we were at didn’t allow smoking aside from on the foyer, which is cool because it lets you associate with your fellow blackening lungs (plus, if it so happens you need to bum a cigarette, you know right where to go to find one). Drug dealers also have a tendency to hang out around these “smoking patios”. I suppose a dealer’s rationale is that smokers obviously are doing one (now) highly “taboo” drug, and there is a good possibility that if a person’s willing to sacrifice their only liver, and slicken their only two pink lungs with arsenic laced tar, they might also be willing to snort holes into their brains via various chemical concoctions.
So yeah, I was grooving along to some post-disco dance shit, while some incredibly nauseating light show flickered on a back wall and people on mdma kept bumping into me, minding my own when Mr. Chris tipsily approached.
“Come on, let’s go have a cigarette”-Mr. Chris
“Alright, let’s go”-Me.
Now, since we had been dancing our asses off (very poor dancing on my part, but none the less, it could have been interpreted as dancing) it made sense that we would go find a table to sit down at. We chose a back corner table like any self respecting social deviants on the verge of another drunk would very rightly do. But before we even lit up, friend-of-a-friend syndrome struck and soon we had a third party who introduces himself as Sam, friend of so and so and such and such.
This is when I first noticed her sitting at the table up from ours, watching us like a schizophrenic observing their own mentally delusive phantom creations. Instantly Sam seemed nice enough, and probably the type that got into drag on the side. We’ve all got drinks, and we’ve all got cigarettes, everything is going to plan and then she approaches.
Escalating Horror
Laying on my back, staring at the sealing...a cigarette in my right hand and my left hand two knuckles deep up her loose channel of filth.
Junkie Slut
Maybe she said “Hi, I’m Kathy”, fuck if I know. Honestly, that part is blurry. I just know that one second Mr. Chris, Sam and I are talking about some easily forgettable bullshit and then Mr. Chris has Kathy next to him, Sam’s next to Kathy, and I’m across from Sam acting anti-social and pissed off. It’s highly probable, wait...I’m remembering something. Mr. Chris looked to Sam—
“Do you know her”-Mr. Chris
“No”-Sam
“Oh”-Mr. Chris
And I also have no idea who brought up the drugs. Hold on, yeah I do. She did. Mr. Chris was yapping her ear off, or she was yapping his off while Sam and I observed the human social animal instinct in action.
Noticeably hyped up, thin and strung out looking. What was she on? Crack, coke, crank? I wasn’t sure...
“Do you want to do a line”-Kathy
“Sure”-Mr. Chris
“What kind do you like/want”-Kathy
“What do you mean’-Mr. Chris
(This is where I interjected, because nothing gets on my nerves more than seeing someone confused when there is absolutely nothing to be confused about).
“He’s a tweaker, give him the speed”-Me
>{?Now, whether he wanted the speed or not, didn’t fucking matter to me. I for one, wasn’t going to do any of that shit. I had only done it one time, and it was eight years before this night, and I had no intention of ever doing it again. Personally I hated it, the high was okay but the down was absolutely punishing, and since I was so filled with hate and rage, I figured Mr. Chris deserved some meth.“Do you, you know use, do you want any”-Kathy to Sam
“I experiment”-Sam
“He looks like the type to like experimenting”-Me to Kathy and Mr. Chris who both missed the gay innuendo I was attempting to make.
“Yeah give him some too”-Me to no one
”And what about you”-Kathy to me
“Do you have any smack”-Me
Unfortunately, she said she had some, but never produced. She asked me if I shot up which I said no, because I don’t yet. Sam, having found out I have a “problem” (or as I say, love for) with downers gave me a Vicodin (I had already snorted one earlier in the day).
Why Did I Do It?
Was it a revenge fuck? I ask myself that in hindsight. Possibly. No. Was it. Or wasn’t it. It started off that way.
I had been angry the whole rotten fucking morning. Woke up with a massive hangover coupled with the cocaine blues and Mr. Chris’ bulimic, fascist Italian fuck buddy from ol’ Milan had managed to come back from the land of gondolas and sausage. (I was his fuck buddy from home). As soon as he said (okay fuck that noise, I refuse to give her a name, lets just call her Fuck Boots, oh, how I laugh now) “Fuck Boots is coming over”, I thought “OH NO NOT FUCK BOOTS” and I started having an anxiety attack...first one since I had arrived, and reached for the Vicodin. It was going to be ugly because I had heard from reliable sources she was extraordinarily beautiful, and a frumpy hunchback from the Midwest doesn’t have much on an extraordinarily beautiful “foreigner” (aside from being 130% smarter, not to mention cooler).
