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I started to feel panicked, again for horror sex lifestyle
#1
I awoke with a start. Well in all actuality, came to, after what would've been to a normal man, a deadly night of consuming alcohol and drugs. The pain in my chest and abdomen was overwhelming, and nearly brought tears to my eyes. I looked over with befogged eyes to the table next to the chair that had been my stopping point in the previous night's partying, attempting to locate a bottle that may have a swallow left in it. I had to have a drink in order to get the pain in my stomach to a bearable level. My hand shook as I reached out to a nearly empty vodka bottle, and as I grasped it and began to bring it to my lips, I clumsily knocked it onto the table, spilling my promise of remedy. As the bottle tipped and clunked onto the wood, another painful shot went through my abdomen. Shit, I had to find another bottle! I stood slowly, grabbing my aching belly with one hand, while using the other to steady myself on the arm of the chair.

I made my way to the bedroom, half-bent over like a Neanderthal, taking small slow steps. Stepping through the doorway, I saw my lover sprawled out on the bed, with a rig sticking out of his arm. A small trail of dried blood went from his arm to the sheet. I came closer to him, and saw that he was breathing. Immediately my thoughts turned once again to locating a bottle. Before I got the chance to scan the room thoroughly, another lightning bolt of pain shot through me, and I grabbed my middle and headed for the toilet. It was pretty common in these days of heavy drinking to be cursed with diarrhea (sometimes explosive) upon waking. I tugged my boxers down and sat hurriedly on the pot. The pain I was experiencing this particular time was almost convincing enough to think about slowing down on the booze.

My stomach cramped again, and shit was violently expelled out my ass. This was incomparable to my usual mornings. I couldn't remember it ever hurting so bad! I continued to shit liquid and realized I was becoming quite nauseous. My mouth began salivating and I recognized that as a sign I'd be immediately sick. I pulled the trash bucket over between my feet and readied myself to vomit. This feeling was reminding me of the times I'd been hung over and blamed my malady on a Chinese restaurant. This was like food poisoning. Shit was still spewing out of my butt, and as I began to throw up, I became very alarmed. At first, I threw up quite a lot of bright-red blood. This made me fearful. It couldn't be good. I continued to wretch and shit, and I noticed that it was becoming more and more painful the more I shit. Usually that would relieve some of my discomfort. Not today. I began to feel some serious pulling in my abdomen, but was too busy puking up more blood to lift my leg and see what was coming out of my ass.

Suddenly I felt I was choking on my vomit, as if I was puking up an apple I'd swallowed whole. I gagged and then violently passed a large purple object up my throat and out of my mouth. If I could've spoken at that point, I surely would've said "What the fuck!" I couldn't fathom how the hell that thing made its way up my throat, nor could I imagine what it was. But I had little time to contemplate it before the next heave came, and this time I thought I'd choke for sure. After a couple of breathless convulses, I produced a fleshy balloon-like thing. Deflated balloon-like thing. Immediately followed by another. My pain was immense; all the while shit still seemingly gushing out my rectum. I felt as though my guts were being ripped out. After the second deflated balloon, I was relieved of the retching for a moment, and I was able to raise one of my cheeks off the toilet seat and see what the hell was going on down there.

The whole bowl was filled with bloody pieces, and I noted a long tube being discharged from my ass. There was already a good amount of said tube in the toilet, and suddenly it dawned on me. But before I got any further into this impossible thought, I began to heave again. This time feeling a ripping sensation in my midsection, followed by another impossibly large object pushing its way up my throat. Again I was unable to breathe, and I did my best to puke it out. I successfully expelled what I was beginning to believe an organ. As I sat on the commode in a bleary state of shock, my ass still on fire, I realized that the vomiting convulsions had subsided.

After a moment of holding my head in my hands, letting the last of whatever it was slide out my sore ass, I looked around the bathroom. It was completely covered in my blood, and my innards. It looked as though someone had been violently disemboweled. I supposed they had in reality. I looked to the mess in front of me on and in and around the small trash bucket, and started to identify the rubbery sac as being a stomach, the pair of deflated balloons things being lungs, and the purple apple thing as a heart. My heart. How could this be?

What kind of bizarre drug/alcohol induced trip was I on? I very much felt my body, the outer part anyhow, still sitting on the toilet. I touched my leg with a quivering fingertip, and found, yes, I still felt my body. As I took in this disgustingly fantastic scenario, I felt my urge to shit fade. Finally my body was still. I'm sure if I would've had lungs in my chest, I'd have been hyperventilating. But, seeing as how I no longer did, and that I was staring at them on the floor at my feet, I sat completely still. I began to make my legs work to lift me upright, and grasped the sink as I stood slowly. As I rose I looked in the toilet, and recognized my intestines, large and small, a liver, and several other organs a person without a medical background would have a hard time identifying. I shook my head, trying to rattle my brain back to reality. It didn't work.

I was still standing in the bathroom, staring at my guts covering the floor and walls. Out of the corner of my already disbelieving eye, I thought I saw a movement. I turned my head towards the shower stall, and watched as something began to "grow" up and out of the drain. I stood motionless, completely terrified. A green slimy form oozed out of the drain, and began to take shape right before me. Eyes and a flat head and a wide line of a mouth materialized. It looked like a frog. Only it was quickly becoming the size of a large dog. I involuntarily opened my mouth and whispered," What the fuck planet are you from..."

Well, apparently I hadn't puked up my larynx or vocal chords, I actually heard myself speak. The frog-thing moved away from the drain as it pulled its toes from its back leg free from it. Then it stared at the drain, and I watched as the process of what I'd just witnessed repeat itself. The drain gave birth again, to a second frog-thing. When it was completely out, the two sat side by side in the small shower stall for a moment, and then advanced. Their long snaky tongues slithered out of their froggy lips, and they began licking up the blood and entrails from the floor, wall, etc.

This was enough motivation for me. I moved more quickly that seemed possible, jetting out through the door and slamming it behind me, and, like you might see a cartoon character do, leaned all my weight against the outside of the door, as I panted and panicked. Well, I suppose I wasn't truly panting, since I no longer possessed the necessary organs in which to pant, but it seemed I went through the outer physical motions of panting. I'm sure if I'd had been a cartoon at this particular time, one with inner organs, that you would've seen the outline of my huge heart-shaped heart pounding out a foot in front of my chest. I began to think of something heavy to push in front of the door, to keep the mammoth amphibians in there. I quietly knelt down by the door and cautiously peeked in through the old-time keyhole. The giant frogs seemed quite content, cleaning up my bathroom mess hungrily, and very thoroughly, I might add. I might add that, but I will refrain. They cleaned the bathroom quickly; lapping with long froggy tongues, winding their tongues around large pieces of what was once me and pulling them into their huge mouths. I was jolted by a noise behind me. It was my strung-out lover, doing his best to make his way to the bathroom without stumbling. He was naked except for a t-shirt. I watched him shuffle down the hallway, with both hands sliding down the wall steadying him. He looked at me, also nude except for my t-shirt, which was red and dripping with my blood, as I crouched on the floor by the bathroom door.

"Whaat are yaa doin' duude? Whoaaa, what's withh the bloodd? Arre yoou ok?"

He nearly whispered these words, and, still being quite high, he sounded a little cartoon-y himself. The rig from the night before still hung from his arm.

"Whaaat's in theree? Is someoonee in theree", he whispered even softer.

I reached out to him as he crouched down beside me, and pulled the needle out of his vein.

"Ouuch dude, oh thankkks, I mustaa forggot thaat."

"You won't believe this freaky shit."

I moved to one side and motioned for him to look through the keyhole. He got his eye positioned at it, and sat there starting for a moment.

"What is it? I donn't see anythiing.." he whispered.

"You can't be that wasted, dude. You don't see them?"

"See whoo?"

I pushed him out of the way and put my own eye back to the hole. There was nothing there, except all the things that inhabited the bathroom before my experience had begun. No frogs. No blood. No entrails. Could I have imagined all this? I looked down to my shirt, and sure enough, it was still blood-soaked. I turned around and sat with my back to the door, gripping my head in my hands, not understanding the train of events that had unfolded, and apparently, folded back up again. The gore-eating frogs must've gone back down the drain, I thought.

"Maan, I really neeed ta gett inn therrre, I neeeedta get sickk."

Part of me, probably my brain, for I was pretty sure that hadn't come out of me along with everything else, was afraid to let him go in there.

"Commme on maan, I'm gonnna get siiick..", and with that he began to vomit on the floor in front of where I sat. After a moment, I was quite glad to see nothing abnormal with his puking. At least it didn't seem contagious. He wretched for a few minutes, and then composed himself as well as any good junkie can.

"Sorrry mann, I realllly feltt like I wass gonna pukke my gutts up. Thatt wasn'tt soo bad..."

I looked at the puddle of barf and listened to his words of "puke my guts up". He had no fucking idea. My mind began to scan over the bizarre scene in the bathroom, my guts literally coming out my mouth and ass, huge frogs appearing and eating my guts...me still being obviously alive. I hadta be, he was sitting here talking to me. I felt woozy. This was all way beyond my comprehension. Again my mind turned to finding another drink. This time just to evaluate things in a calmer manner.

"Is there any booze left?"

"I dunnno mann, whaaat the fuuckk happenedd to yaa? Whoo's bloodd is thatt onn your shirtt?"

I knew I couldn't begin to answer him until I found a drink. I put my hands on his shoulders and used him as a means of steadying myself as I finally attempted rising to my feet. As I pushed up, I seemed to notice that I felt incredibly lighter than I had getting up from my chair when this bizarre day began. As I stood, he stood with me. He stepped over the puddle of vomit and walked slowly to the kitchen with me. I stared at my feet as we walked, taking very small weak steps. I really was lighter. Well no shit, I thought. I was probably 50 pounds lighter than I had been, considering the blood loss as well as all my other shit. We got to the kitchen and there I saw my savior, a nearly full fifth. I stepped to the counter on which it sat, and leaned up against it as I uncapped the bottle. I didn't take any time to think about this action possibly bringing about more adverse effects, I just knew I needed this. I tipped the bottle up and took in a mouthful, and then swallowed, already feeling mental relief. The second I swallowed, I became a bit concerned about where that swallow was en route to. Before I actually had time to ponder this, I felt wetness on my bare inner thighs and heard a soft splattering sound.

"I gueess it'ss only fairr that yooou pisss on thee floor, since I puked onn itt, huh?"

A pause.

"That's not piss, man. That's the drink I just took. Smell it."

He stooped down and touched the puddle on the floor. He brought his wet fingertip to his face and, upon this close inspection, realized that it was straight vodka.

"Duude, I thinkk maybee you're drinkin' too muchh...thiss is, likke, straight boozee."

"That's what I'm tellin' you, man. The shit went straight through me."

I started to feel panicked, again. I wanted to relate the story of this bizarre morning to him, but without a drink I felt like I couldn't. How the fuck was I supposed to be able to absorb any alcohol into my system? I was truly afraid, just like I had been with the appearance of the bathroom frogs, but more so. A normal person would've probably been more concerned over their lack of organs, and the fact that they were still apparently alive. But not me. All I could be concerned with at this point was the fact I couldn't get drunk.

"Dude", I said, "I know you've got a fix. You gotta fix me up man, I've gotta relax."

I could tell he was coming around a bit more as his speech seemed a little better. He nodded, and started back down the hallway towards the bedroom, carefully stepping over the vomit. I sank down into a rickety metal chair at the kitchen table, which was also metal and rickety. The ripped vinyl of the seat was cold and scratchy on my bare ass. I held the bottle in my hand and attempted once more to take a swig from it before he got back into the room. I tipped it up and took a swallow. I looked down, and almost instantly saw it trickle out of my dickhole, and felt it run out of my ass as well. I was beginning to realize how hollow I actually was. My boy returned, spoon, rig, and dope in hand, and sat next to me at the table. He knew that I very rarely fixed, this was an uncommon occurrence. I lay my trembling arm out on the table, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. Suddenly I began to feel as though I were on the verge of a breakdown. My whole body began to shake and I let go of the river of tears; I could hold back no more. He put the dope down and grabbed me hard, hugging me tightly to him.

"Shhh...Its okk, its okk...I'm gonna make yoou feel better, it'll all be betterr in just a minute...shhhh..."

He cradled my head in his hands and kissed me, trying his best to comfort me. I don't know if he was just too out of it to inquire about what was going on, or if he knew that I was obviously not in any shape to discuss it. Either way, I was relieved that he wasn't trying to get any particulars at this point. He held me for a few more moments, and then pushed my back against the back of the squeaking chair and took the spoon and dope out. I paid little attention to him doing the cook-up; I had seen that more times than I could add up. But my head did turn when I saw him fill the syringe and flick it with a finger, getting the air bubble out of it. I lay my arm in front of him, and he began smacking the inside of my forearm, trying to get a blue vein to rise up. Nothing. He smacked harder. Nada. He reached down and unplugged an extension cord from the outlet near us, and wrapped it around my arm. Smack, smack, smack. Nope. The realization of no heart=no blood flow=flat veins was creeping into my head

.

"Dude, you're blown out. Where the fuckk are yourr veins? You been fixin' in secret, or what?"

He knew I hadn't. I grabbed the needle from him and said, "Fuck it!" I rammed it randomly into the fleshy part of my arm and pushed the plunger down. I waited. My mind raced as I tried to patiently wait for the warm melty numbness to come. I thought I pretty much still had a nervous system, in fact I knew I had, I'd never been more nervous than I was. Well, except maybe the time I got pulled over by a K-9 unit with an ounce of crack in my underwear. That was pretty nerve-racking. I waited. I thought I felt a tiny warm buzzing beginning to spread out into my body. But it was really nothing. I wasn't getting off at all. My lover sat and stared, and said, "Man, you know you won't get off if you don't hit a vein. I can't believe you wasted that shit!" Then he paused and said, "Oh, man, I'm sorry...I know you just got in a hurry. It's ok..."

"No the fuck it's not!" I yelled.

"You have no idea how not ok it is. Things are really fucked up and weird and I can't get off! Fuck!! What am I gonna do?"

I really began to freak out. The reality was setting in. He grabbed me again and held me hard by my shoulders.

"What the fuck is going on? Explain to me what is going on please."

I took him by the shoulders as well, and pushed him down into the chair. I felt like I was blowing a fuse as I tried to find effective and believable words to describe my morning. I mean, how does one tell a story of what I had experienced and be believed. I would not have believed me. I could hardly believe my now very unreal memory of what I thought had happened. Suddenly I was very unsure of myself. But then my eyes averted to the small pool of vodka on the floor. I took a deep, purposeless breath and began. My mouth began to form words telling of the morning. Before I had gotten very far at all, a look came over his face, a look of complete disbelief, and he stood quickly and turned towards the counter to grab his lighter, to make a fix.

"No, you need to listen to me", I said with all the authority I could muster, "Don't get fucked up right now. I need you to understand what I'm telling you. This is difficult enough without the interference of drugs. Just listen to me first." My words turned from authoritative to pleading. The look he was giving me was one I was unfamiliar with, coming from him anyway. I'd seen it before from people full of disgust. From people who knew they were being conned. I had to convince him this wasn't the case. He still did not speak, just stared with that look.

"Just sit down and listen to me. This is what happened, ok? I have no fucking reason to make up some stupid fucked-up sci-fi story and try to get you to believe me, ok? I am not so far gone that I imagined this, ok? This is what happened, and you need to believe me."

He sat, he listened, he was even able to wipe that look from his usually-beautiful face. I got ahead of myself, stumbled over my words, and had much difficulty in not being overly confused myself. But finally I finished my story, and once again, took another useless deep breath. I sat, looking at him as he attempted to put it all together, and felt very fearful that he'd just throw up his arms, saying, "Whatever, you fuckin' nut, I'm outta here"..But he didn't.

He then took a deep breath as well, and said, "Ok, you've told me. Now I need to get high."

I didn't stop him. I watched as he proceeded to cook it up and load the rig, and inject the beautiful poison into his arm. At once a look of bliss came over his face, and his hand that had done the work dropped to his side, once again, without removing the syringe. I reached over and gently plucked it from his arm, and he tilted his head and said, with sleepy eyes, "Thanks, baabe..."

After the initial rush of the drug to his brain, he sat up a bit and I watched as he seemed to try to process my story. I stood, and took his hand, and said "C'mon, let's lay down", and led him back through the hallway to our bed.

We lay together, and he began to stroke my cheek and head with his fingertips, being aware of my obvious fear. But, strange as it may seem, my main concern was still the fact that I was stone-cold sober, and had no clue how I could get high. I told him this. As he responded to my fear, it seemed my story of space frogs eating my guts wasn't quite so unbelievable any more. He tried to comfort my fear and transpose his intoxication to me. I wished it were working. The insanity I felt from the thought of living in reality was more difficult to bear that my lack of organs. I was mad and scared. He held me as I held back tears and watched a large cockroach climb up the wall beside the bed. His arms were warm and strong and comforting, his apparent acceptance of my story was comforting. He held me in his dope-veined arms and rocked gently from side to side. I then noticed his appendage beginning to stiffen. Feeling his dick get hard as it rubbed against my belly almost made me forget, just for a moment. The thought of sex seemed to help my hopeless state. I reached down and took his steely love-gun in my hand and pulled on it ambitiously. I quickly invoked a reaction from him, and he began to move atop me and kiss me feverishly. Pretty good for being strung-out. He was trying hard, and it seemed to be working. My mind had drifted far from the bottle for those minutes.
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#2
We were embracing one another tightly, kissing away the thoughts of the prior hours, escaping into the abyss of our affection. I had distinct awareness of his hard bone, rubbing against my own as he humped me excitedly. I was nearly forgetting the horrid events, I was ready to have him in me and float away to another plain in my mind. Sometimes sex was just as effective as synthetic drugs. He began to ready me for his fat shank with his skilled hand. I was way ahead of him; I pulled him closer and felt as he moved inside of me. Oh, fuck yeah! The familiar quick-shot mix of pleasure and pain took me to another level, another world.

He fucked me strong and fast, with each stroke I escaped more into pleasant comfort. One distinct and undesirable side effect of heroin was the inability to orgasm. We both knew this, so he just fucked away for several more minutes, well aware that he was unable to express his burden, he was just fucking for me. I was able to find solace in this pleasure zone and disconnect from my woes, enjoying him thoroughly, but suddenly awoke to the fact that my cock was about as hard as a wet washcloth. The knowledge of no blood flow quickly ruined my mood. I aggravatedly pushed my lover away, and my gaze settled on the bloody shirt I had strewn upon the floor. The cockroach had found his way over to it, and if magnified, I was sure I'd be able to see his tiny tongue lapping at the shirt. If roaches have tongues. My lover saw the frustration on my face and felt my anger. He tried putting his arms around me once again, as a comforter, his staff still engorged and reaching out to me.

"Man, just stop, ok?" My voice was so angry. I didn't want to take it out on him, Christ, I knew this wasn't about him. But seeing a junkie's dick hard as a rock and ready to assult, while my sober flesh lay limp and dead made me feel like shit.

He ignored my rejection and pulled me to him with strong needle-marked arms. He remained silent, and just held me tightly, tenderly planting kisses on my neck. I lost it, once again. Tears of fears and rage began to stream down my cheeks. I felt more hopelessness than I ever had. This shit was just too fucked up. What was the lesson to be learned from this experience, I wondered. I had a belief that every event was a lesson, and granted, I was a slow learner, continually repeating past mistakes with the lesson proving more painful with each subsequent demonstration. I felt I had reached a point where, yeah, ok, I'm ready to fuckin' learn from this....let's just wake up now, and everything will be back to normal. I will quit drinking, yeah, that's what this is about. I will get sober for real, quit selling dope to kids and get a real job. Hell, I will break it off with my lover, if that's what it takes for things to be ok. If my life is falling apart because I'm committing cardinal sins well fuck, I'll go to church. My mind was once again racing uncontrollably. Wondering, aching to know what I could possibly do to reverse this bullshit. As he flexed his arms around me and stroked my head I began to notice how horribly cold I was. I shivered against him, as my icy tears hit the bare mattress we sat upon, mixing with the grue stains I'd painted on it. Overwhelmed, I began to shut down. Lack of alcohol, normal body function that so many people take for granted with each second their heart beats, the inability to get hard, the feeling of losing my mind were all overloading me, and I slipped into a hard sleep, before I could even wonder to myself if I would wake again.

I did wake, frigid and dazed, trying to recollect the last span of consciousness. I was alone on the bed, with my knees curled to my chest and a holey blanket carefully tucked around me. The light from the window was dim, it looked like early morning or twilight, but I had no idea which. My memory was so hazy and muddled; it was like trying to recall a blackout. You know, when you drink enough to not have any recollection of what happened, or what you did, but were still obviously functioning. I tried remembering how much I'd drank, or what or with who the night (or day) before, but I couldn't.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim room, I noticed voices from the other room. I listened for a moment, and then knew the voices. One of course, my boy, and the other, other two actually, were a couple of guys who get their smoke from us. I began to move from the bed with the thought of putting on clothes and joining them for a couple hits. Then I noticed the shirt on the floor, and memories flooded me right away. I stood, naked, and stared at the shirt lying before me. Then something seemed to snap in my head, and whispered "fuck it", very softly, in my ear. I turned and pulled a pair of jeans and a tank top from the open dresser drawer, pulled them on, and casually strolled out into the direction of the front room. As I walked, I felt strangely light on my feet. Before I had a chance to acknowledge this thought, the whisper came again and once again said, "Fuck it."

I glide-walked down the hallway and passed the drying vomit in front of the open bathroom door. I shuddered, and reached into the bathroom, taking a towel from a hook and dropped it onto the mess in the hall. I looked into the bathroom mirror at my self, my face. Wetting a washcloth I rubbed cold water over my cheeks, eyes and forehead. Refreshing. I rubbed the whetted cloth on my exposed arms and felt fresher, presentable. I commenced to the front room. As I appeared in the doorway of our front room, my boy and his two guests turned to me. The two guys nodded and said, "Hey man, what's happinin'? You in there sleepin' it off again? Here, have a hit off this." The guest that had spoken extended his hand towards me which was wrapped around the neck of a vodka bottle. I knew what would happen, I remembered what had happened in the kitchen, and I wasn't about to look like I pissed myself.

I played it cool and took the bottle, and as I tipped it skywards on my lips I used my tongue to cork the opening, making it appear that I had taken a drink. Oh, the shit tasted so good on my dry dry tongue! How I wanted to drink it down. The taste and smell made a shiver go through my shell of a body. I was in for a long uncomfortable road of not drinking, I thought to myself. I did my best to appear my usual self to our guests, sat next to my lover on the sofa (him wide-eyed staring at me, wondering if I'm alright) feet up on the table pretending to hit the bottle again. Then I passed it over and reached for a cigarette. As I put the filter between my lips, I suddenly wondered what would happen on the inhale/exhale.....I thought for a moment, and decided that any abnormal exit for the smoke was safely clothed, and I lit up. My lover stared at me, watching as I took an immense drag (no lung capacity to limit my intake) and the cherry sizzled down an inch or so. The guests, eyeing the large bag of reefer just purchased, took no notice to the enormous drag I'd taken, and the chimney-like cloud I blew out. My lover just stared, somewhat shocked. I looked at him and managed a small grin, and then playfully punched him in the arm. I guess, even though he saw it coming, it caught him a bit off guard. He flinched and said in his stoned monotone voice, "Heeyy maan, whaat the fuucckk?"

Our guests looked from us to each other, and sensing a possible domestic situation arising, they began to make a move towards the door. We bid our farewells, as well as any good dope dealer does, and they let themselves out. I began apologizing to my boy and he stopped me, laughing. "I waas jussst fuucckin' withh ya, maan...Heyy, I need taa go gett some morre shhit...how arre youuu feelin'?"

I told him that I seemed to be alright, felt ok all things considered. I took another drag off the smoke and wondered if it was coming out of my ass. I was not curious enough to look though. I was actually pretty calm and comfortable. I realized that alcohol withdrawal wasn't bad on someone lacking innards. My obsession with getting a drink had somewhat eased up, but then with the thought of going with my boy to get his shit, I knew how bad I'd want my shit too. He was ready to go, a pocket full of money our acquaintances had given us, and a good buzz on. Going on a dope hunt when you were uncomfortably straight was never fun. So I stood and put a hand out to help him hoist himself up, and we went out the door and proceeded up the street, to the heroin dealer's flat. It was several blocks away, and we passed three convenience-liquor stores on the way. Upon seeing each one as we walked by, my brain ached to feel the instant ease a pint or so would bring. Then, like a flash of lightning, I got a brilliant idea of how I could get off. I thought about it excitedly as we walked on, waiting to share it with my lover after I'd worked all the bugs out of it.

As I examined the tentative plan in my mind, my pace picked up a bit, and I felt a sincere smile spread across my dirty face. I held my boy's hand as we headed up the dark street towards the dope man's house. I had determined that since it seemed to get darker instead of lighter, it must be night, not morning, as I had questioned silently earlier. The cool breezy air seemed to cut though the fog in my lover a bit, and he spoke

in a more normal, deliberate manner.

"So, you feel ok, then? You look like you're ok. How'd you drink that, in the living room? Geez, your hand is fuckin' cold. Maybe you just imagined that shit, huh...I know people who really go nuts from alcohol poisoning. I dunno. Do you think it really happened?"

I just didn't feel like debating. I knew what the fuck had happened. He had seen the effects it had on me. For him to question it, well, I guess it still was a very insane incident and hard for anyone to swallow. But I was not in the mood to prove my point or make my truth believable. I told him, yeah I feel pretty good, considering...yeah, I am a little cold...responding to his questioning with not too much feeling. I was really wrapped up in my scheme of getting some liquid relief. There was no doubt of the reality of the earlier events. I knew how hard drugs 'round the clock can make one's perception a bit foggy. I didn't blame him for wondering if my tale were true. But I honestly did feel pretty damn good, and I was so looking forward to feeling the warmth of alcohol. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced it would work.

We began the ascent of the cement stairs leading up to the dopeman's door, and my boy reached out and knocked four times. We stood, waiting, for several minutes before the door cracked open, and the shady man's eye poked out to evaluate his visitors. He saw that it was us, and opened the door fully, welcoming us in as warmly as a dope dealer can. We entered and took our regular seat on his sofa, and he sat across from us, firing up a huge spliff. He took an incredible hit off of it, gagged a bit and puffed his cheeks out doing his best to hold the smoke. He did pretty fair for several seconds, but then could hold it no longer, and with a loud cough it came billowing out of his throat. He gagged and coughed violently for a few seconds before passing it our way. My boy was telling him what he wanted; he had enough cash for two grams of the brown, but asked for the third to be spotted. The dopeman knew where we lived, and he knew we also played the game and didn't have a lot of trouble paying our debts to him. He started to get up out of his chair and go into the backroom to fill our 'script. As he exited, my lover took a hit and went to pass it to me. "What you think that's gonna do for me, man? I ain't gonna get anything from that", I reminded him.

"Oh, yeahh, I'm sorry man", he whispered, with his eyes averted, obviously feeling a bit bad about offering it to me. "Hey," I started, whispering back at him, "Let's make your dude a bet, and get that junk for free."

"Whaddaya talking about," he whispered back.

"Just watch this man, wait till he comes back in here." I almost giggled as I spoke. The dealer returned with an eight of smack, and said that he'd take 200.00 today and could wait two days for the other 125.00. Then I cut in.

"Hey man, what you wanna bet that I could smoke the rest of this doobie down in one toke?"

There was two-thirds of the huge joint left.

"There's no fuckin' way you could smoke that up in one hit. Who you tryin' to fool, fool?"

"I'll bet you that smack that I can", I confidently said.

"Oh, and what do I get out of it when you don't, cause I KNOW you won't, you gotta be a stupid mutha-fucker to think you could do that."

I paused and said, "If I can't you keep the money AND the dope,ok?"

My lover jerked his head around and looked at me with a very alarmed expression. "What the fuck are you doin' man?" He semi-hissed at me, trying to speak quietly, but the possible threat of him not getting his stuff, and the possibility of pissing off his dealer obviously made him quite uncomfortable. I put my arm around him and coolly told him to chill, baby, and then turned back to the dopeman and said, "Well, we got a deal then or what?"

"Fuck, if you wanna be that stupid, I can't see passin' up two hundred for nothin', but your boy there is gonna be hurtin'...why you wanna grow big balls all of a sudden and try to do somethin' you know you can't do, fool? What tha fuck's wrong withya?"

"Are we on then?"

"Yeah, ok. And when you cough your guts up after a five second drag, I get the money and keep the dope, right?"

"Yeah, man. But that ain't gonna happen."

I took the fat joint which hadn't burned down much as we'd been talking, and went to suck it down. As I began to draw from it, I clenched my sphincter as tightly as I could, and just kept tokin' on it, all in one pull, as it sizzled and crackled and ash fell off from the end as it got nearer to the fingers that pinched it. Both of my audience members did not believe their eyes. Well, my boy was not quite as shocked as dopeman, but he was wearing an expression of "Whoa! What the fuck!" on his face. I kept my ass muscles tightly squeezed, making sure to not let up until I was on the exhale, which finally, I was. I must've taken a minute-long toke. I took the now roach of a joint from my lips and blew out the most tremendous cloud of pot smoke you've ever seen. It was such a huge cloud, that it totally hid me from the other two...and I wondered if they could see through the cloud at all. I couldn't.

"What the FUCK! I have never seen such shit in all my life, and let me tell you, I've seen some fuckin' shit now! How the FUCK did you do that?"

I shrugged as the last of the smoke exited my hollow body, and relaxed my ass finally. "I dunno, man, just been practicin', got good lung capacity, y'know?"

"Well, fuck, you got me dude. You won't again though. That's the craziest fuckin' shit I ever seen!"

I was really glad that he didn't seem to be taking his loss too hard. Hell, he probably hadn't had as interesting of entertainment since the contortionist-prostitute-junkie-regular-fuck-of-his got run over by the street cleaner truck. Not that her getting run over was his entertainment. Just had to clarify. So he hands over the eight ball chunk of heroin and shakes his head, and scratches it too, still having difficulty of what he'd witnessed. My boy hadn't said a word. I knew how relieved he was that I hadn't fucked things up though. We said our goodbyes and got up to let ourselves out. Then I stopped and turned and asked the mangey haired smack seller, "Hey, you don't have a drill, do ya?"

"A what? A drill?"

"Yeah, you know, a drill", and I made a 'neeeerrrrrrr' sound trying to demonstrate a drill.

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Would ya mind a lot if I borrowed it from ya, just till tomorrow? I need to fix the, uh, doorknob, it's real loose, ya know?" It was all I could come up with at that moment. He gave me a funny sideways look and said, "Ok, if you say so...don't break it though, fucker. I'll hafta take it out 'cho ass."

He turned away from us and disappeared into another room. My lover looked at me and said, "What the fuck are you talking about? Our doorknob's fine, it's not loose."

"Shhh, chill", I whispered.

"We've got a screwdriver, why you need a drill for the doorknob?"

He was being persistent. "Shut up, man, I'll tell you in a minute", I said with less patience. The dreaded nappy dealer man came back just then with a cordless drill, explaining to me it needed to be charged.

"No prob, thanks a lot man. And thanks for the dope!" I couldn't help but smile as I said that, and he replied with a "Yeah, fuck you too." He knew he'd make his money from us in a day or so.

We turned and left dopeman's pad and began our several-block journey home. We were always a bit nervous upon walking home after a score. A lot can happen between here and there. But I was armed with a drill; I wasn't too concerned this time. We walked on and got closer to the first of the three liquor stores we'd pass, and I quickly made tracks for the door. My boy followed closely. I swung the door open with a new energy, and I must've appeared a little over-zealous or perhaps under the influence of PCP to the clerk. He freaked the fuck out as he saw us enter, me wielding a drill. I saw the concern on his face, but not before I saw him draw the shotgun that was quietly hiding under the counter, waiting for a happening. He pulled that big gun out and if I would've had a bladder, I woulda pissed myself on the spot. I reached to the ceiling with the drill in my hand, and stuttered, "Hey, man, I just wanted to get a fifth of Smirnoff, chill, I got the money to pay ya right here."

"Put that fuckin' thing down before I blow your head off, punk."

The unfortunate thing about this store, and this neighborhood, was that they weren't the greatest. That being said, it wasn't a mystery why the employee line-up changed so frequently. If he'd worked there for longer than the two weeks or however short of time he'd been there, he would've easily recognized us, and drill or not, would've known we were harmless. I put the drill down on the floor, s-l-o-w-l-y....and rose, waiting for the clerk to let me know I was safe to approach the counter. I did, got the bottle, paid, turned towards the door, the drill, and where my boy had frozen, and exited. Fuck, that was an un-nerving few seconds there. My poor lover, I was pretty sure he had pissed himself. He was really a wreck for several minutes after that. Finally being able to breathe normally and calm down, he said, "What'd you get that bottle for? How are you planning to drink it?"

"I'm not, I've got another idea," I said, smiling once again. Still not ready to reveal my plan to him, waiting till we could sit down and I could explain to him. We quickly got back home, where upon entering, putting our dope, drink and drill down, we recognized the pertinent need for a dual-shower. He, dripping with piss, and me, rotten from the last 24 hours. We stunk bad. We could both hold out a few minutes while we got cleaned up a bit. Then the thought of entering the shower, where I'd seen aliens appear earlier, made me feel quite nervous. I really wasn't in the mood for a shower. I really wasn't thrilled at the thought of the man I love going into that shower.

"Y'know, let's just wash up at the sink, baby. I'll wash you and you can wash me, ok?"

My suggestion was readily accepted, and on our way into the kitchen, I hit the play button on the CD player as we passed it. Some random techno beat began to play as we stripped in front of the sink. I took the dry crusty dishtowel and wet it, then smeared some liquid dish soap onto my lover's chest. I lathered him up and scrubbed him softly with the towel, making millions of tiny soap bubbles appear on his tracked-up arms, the sparse hairs on his chest and belly collected the suds and he soon was bubble-covered. I washed him up good, and quickly, anxious for my turn so I could get on with my plan. I rinsed him after carefully making sure his tool was nice and clean for me. Hell, at least I could still suck it, I assumed. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried him off. Then I took my turn with him lathering, scrubbing, stopping to play with my flaccid dick, and then rinsing me. We were clean for the first time in a while, and I was ready to get on with it now. I had no doubt that this would work; this was the answer.
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#3
I left him drying in the kitchen and quickly went to get dressed. As I was pulling on some pants he made his way into the bedroom also. He sat beside me on the mattress and began inquiring about my idea.

"So what are you planning to do here, dude?'

I looked over at him, and before I could speak I remembered that the drill needed to be charged. Shit! I told him wait a second and I dashed back into the kitchen where I pulled the adapter out of my jacket pocket, quickly plugging the battery part into the drill and the plug into the outlet. There was a red light on it that was lit up, and a green light that wasn't. My deductive reasoning told me that when the drill was charged, the green light would come on. I had no idea how long it took a drill to charge. I went back and joined my partner, and asked him, "Hey man, how long will it take that thing to charge?"

"I dunno...I never charged a drill before. So now are you gonna let me in on this or what?"

"Ok, ok...now I know this sounds crazy, but I figure that since I no longer have blood circulating, I know I can't get high that way, right?"

"Ok..."

"And I also would tend to think that because I have no internal organs to speak of, and I'm still walking around and talking, I am somewhat immortal or something. But my brain is functioning. Are you following me?"

"Uh, no...I don't think so."

"Alright, listen, we take the drill, and put it to my skull, and press just enough to get through the bone...then we take a rig and fill it with vodka, and you stick it in my brain."

A look of shocked non-comprehension came over him. Compared to the look he'd given me when I related the initial bizarre story to him, this was a look of complete confusion. He began, "Dude, that is the most fucked-up shit I've heard from you. You have really gone over the edge, I think. I think you're 'one too many' was awhile back..."

"So, what you're saying then, is that you don't fuckin' believe what I told you earlier. Well fuck you, cocksucker. If you're just gonna sit there and look at me like I'm crazy, just go get high and I'll see ya later."

I spoke with too much emotion. I didn't give a fuck. I was focused, I was going to get off, and if this was the only possible means, certainly the only one I could come up with, well so be it. My overly sensitive reaction caught him somewhat off guard.

"No, man, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry...but I think you're taking this just a little too far."

"A little too far? Easy for you to say, fucker! You can take a drink without pissing it out right away. You can stick shit in your arm and get off. Put yourself in my shoes for just one fucking minute, ok?"

I was truly beginning to get mad. His lack of faith in me hurt my feelings, and his obvious non-comprehension of the truth that I couldn't get off was pissing me off.

"Just go on and let me do this then."

"No way, you crazy fuck. You really think I'm going to let you put a drill to your head? If you do, you apparently don't need to get any more fucked-up then you already are."

He made a move towards the charging drill, and I jumped in between him and it. God, I did not want to be fighting. This was ruining everything. I grabbed the drill and squeezed the trigger. It had gotten a bit of a charge, but not enough to work right. The bit turned slow-motion like, and made a low growling sound as it attempted to work. I cursed the tool under my 'breath' and tried to determine how to best deal with my overly-protective lover.

"Listen man," I began, "there is no way this will hurt me. Whether or not you've reached a point of possessing the ability to understand the shit I told you, about what happened in the bathroom, is not my problem. I was there, sober, very awake and aware. Believe me. You were in a heroin-induced semi-coma. I'm sorry you missed all the excitement. But you have already seen the demonstration of my lack of guts; you know that I have no fucking heartbeat. Remember when your head was on my chest? Think you just imagined that? So just fuckin' trust me and let me do this, alright?"

There was a long uncomfortable silence. I said my bit; I felt no need to carry on anymore. And I sure didn't want to have to fuck him up. After a few moments of struggling with it, he spoke and said, "Ok, man. If that's what you gotta do. But I am not going to be the one to put a drill bit in your head. So do not involve me."

I was relieved. But I also knew I had to coerce him, I needed his help. I pulled the trigger again. It still wasn't charged. I set down the drill and stepped forward to him, and took him in my arms. He was rigid, but allowed me to hold him. "Hey, why don't you just go get dressed, ok? You're gonna freeze."

He nodded and turned to head back into the bedroom, to put on some clothes. I sat back down at the table and my eyes landed on the gorgeous bottle in front of me. I reached for it, and my fingertips came into contact with its smooth slender neck. It was cold in my grasp. I cracked the seal around the cap and heard it give way with a snapping sound. I set it back onto the table, uncapped, and looked at it for another moment. My hand slid over the bottle in a slow up and down motion, close to the way I'd stroke my own shank lazily after finding relief via intoxication. I felt love. This bottle and a thousand just like it were so close to where my heart used to be. I raised it to my mouth and tasted it on my tongue. Even though the wonderful burn was there, I knew I'd just be sitting in a puddle if I were to take a swig. I held the opening to my tongue for several seconds, enjoying the burn, longing to partake and just drink it down. But I was at a point where alcohol intoxication by any means would suffice; even if that meant missing the true joy I thought I felt when I consumed it orally.

I remembered hearing that a liquor enema would fuck you up majorly. I wondered why I'd never tried that. Then I thought of the story I'd heard about the guy bathing in vodka. Literally, lying in a bathtub with huge amounts of vodka added to the water. Supposedly he got alcohol poisoning and died. Seems that the absorption of that massive quantity through his skin killed him. To me, that was just a fuckin' waste of good drink. Maybe I might have tried a milder version of that, if I had money coming out my ass. But as it were, I couldn't fathom wasting all that booze in a bathtub. I then began to try to recollect what I'd seen once on the Discovery Channel about the pleasure centers of the brain, the D2 dopamine receptors that were only observed in people of the alcoholic variety. Where were they, what part of my brain were they in? I could not recall. I realized that, when the time came, I had no way of knowing if I were injecting the booze into the right part of my head. I really didn't want to have to make any more holes in my head than necessary. My boy entered the room again and I was once again distracted from my thoughts.

"I'm gonna get off now", he said, matter-of-factly, "So, if you need me I'll be in the front room."

I just told him ok, surprising him some by not protesting or asking him to wait. He watched for a minute as I held that bottle in my hand, and for that moment, I knew he felt for me. He then turned and left the room.

Sitting there alone with my glass-covered lover, waiting for the drill to charge, was getting to me. I got up and joined my boy in the other room, arriving just in time to see the look of "AAAHhhhhh" cross his pretty face. After his narcotic orgasm, he began to melt into the armchair in which he sat. When he was experiencing that initial rush, it was like he'd become a part of the piece of furniture he was sitting on. His glossy eyes half-smiled up at me, and I smiled back as the sounds of the CD he'd chosen drifted into my ears. I took the empty syringe from him and examined it. Shit, I thought, this is so tiny. I wondered if it was going to have to inject over and over and over, or if maybe just a couple boots would do it, being it was going straight into my brain and all. By pass any middleman. Straight vodka into my organ of intellect and reflex. I looked up at the clock, wondering still about the charging process. Looking over at my lover, already beginning to drool out the side of his mouth. I wished I could use sleep as a time machine, but I was just too excited. No sleep for me. No sleep until it wasn't even sleep, but loss of consciousness from alcohol. This was what I wanted.

Somehow the time did pass. Somehow, I sat there, sort of hearing the music playing, dominated by my thoughts that sucked me into a timeless vacuum. My boy stirred next to me, and it snapped me from my meditative state. I looked at the clock and was amazed that an hour and a half had passed like nothing. I knew the drill must be ready by now. I hoped. I reached over to him and gently shook his shoulder. "Hey man, you ready to come give me a hand here?"

"Uhh..whaat.oh yeahh...ookk, yeahh..help mee upp.." He reached his arm out to me and I pulled him up out of the chair. He swayed a bit for a moment, and then steadied himself. I led him by the hand back into the kitchen, going straight to the drill to check its energy level. The light on the battery was green. Green, saying to me, "Let's go, fucker." My lover was not as fucked up as he is much of the time, but enough to be calm. Not enough to have a very shaky hand. I instructed him on how we should go about this, that he should sit next to me, hold the drill steady, and go in above my ear, behind my temple. I prayed that this was a good entrance. Without any words, he took the power tool from me, touched my head with it lightly, and pulled the trigger. As I felt a stinging pressure and a sharpness from the metal bit, I continued focusing on the bottle on the table. I did not experience pain. Both of us remained silent during the procedure. I heard grinding and cracking sounds, very loudly, right next to my ear. Then I heard an even louder crack...and my boy jumped back quickly withdrawing the drill. He held it pointed at the ceiling, and shouted, "Oh fuck dude! Did that hurt? Did you feel that?" He wore a very alarmed expression on his face.

"No, it didn't hurt, not really. What dude? What'd you do?"

I reached to my head and felt for the hole. I felt around and then came to an opening big enough to put my finger into. Apparently a piece of bone chipped off in the drilling process. Results of a dull bit? I was pretty shocked myself. But I still felt no pain. My poor lover just stared with a horrified expression. Finally he spoke.

"Dude, that's a really big hole. I can, like, see your brain."

I probed into the hole in my head gently, and felt the sensation of wet cold matter on my fingertip. I had no feeling of my brain being touched though. It seemed numb. I removed my finger, and my boy came closer and began to study me. He put his eye up to my head and peered in. He was fascinated. I noticed he was breathing somewhat heavier. He was getting turned on...looking down at the tent he was pitching, it was more than apparent. His stiffening cock reached out to me and rubbed against my hip as he continued to silently look into my head. Then he did a most surprising thing. He put his mouth on my cheek, kissing my face, and moving right up to the hole with his tongue.

Before I knew it he was licking the small exposed part of my brain, and grabbing his hard dick. This was the strangest encounter in my recent memory. He was now so excited he could no longer exhibit any semblance of control. I went along with this. I knew that my excitement would equal his rapidly. I knew that my excitement was so much more than physical. We went down on the floor right there, and his instant state of sober arousal made me want him badly. He was on top of me, grinding into where once an equally hard dick would've been, still with his tongue jammed into the hole in my head. It was like he just got a shot of - something - I don't know what. His animalistic desire overwhelmed. During this hot humping session on the kitchen floor, the worst of all things happened. His excited foot kicked the table, the table where my beloved bottle sat, and I opened my eyes just in time to see my beautiful liquid salvation fall to the floor and smash into a hundred shimmering pieces. All I could manage was a loud, "Mother fucker!"

With my lover writhing around on top of me, his tongue still probing through the hole he'd drilled into my skull, the tip of it feverishly lapping at my..I don't know...brain juice or something...the thought that, yes, the vodka was now a puddle amidst broken glass, but I could still suck it up in a needle. Many times over. My rising mental passion disappeared and was quickly replaced by the urgency of containing and using the spilled liquor.

"Hey, man...lemmie up..lemmie do this real quick so I can get off, then I'll get you off."

He did not budge. He was sucked onto me like a leech. It almost seemed he didn't hear me speak at all. I began an attempt to move out from under him, but as I moved he clenched me hard in his grasp and held me tightly. Something definitely did not seem right. I tried to push him up by his shoulders, but couldn't easily budge him. He let out a strange irritated grunting sound and continued licking my exposed organ.

"Man, come on! I said let me up! I need to do this, now!" I spoke to him as sternly as I could, and gave him a hard shove while doing my best to roll out from under his twitching body. I was able to break the connection between his tongue and my head, and as I did I looked him in the eyes and saw nothing but two vacant insane looking caves. His black glare, although only momentarily, scared the living shit out of me. After just a quick look into my eyes his lids closed over the hollow looking orbs that were his eyes, and he took advantage of my shocked state and re-attached himself to my head.

What the fuck is this? I thought. What is going on here? In my fear I began to struggle much more effectively with him, and I wrenched myself from his hold. I twisted away and got to my feet in a hurry. He rose and looked me in the face with those empty looking eyes of his, and I watched as saliva began to drip from his bottom lip. He looked like a fucking zombie. Like a fucking brain-eating zombie from the movies. Oh, shit, I thought to myself upon the arrival of that last thought. Now, any other time I would not have been open to the possibility that my precious junkie dick-sucking lover could become a brain eating zombie in a matter of minutes, right before my eyes. But taking into consideration the events of the last few days, it seemed conceivable. Yes, that was definitely it. My darling was now a zombie, drooling and wanting more brain juice, or whatever, naked with a huge throbbing zombie boner. Man, how else can shit go wrong? I told myself not to ask that, and I darted out of the kitchen, away from the pool of vodka that called to me, with my zombie right on my heels.

Now, movie zombies are always slow and clumsy, on account of the fact that they are dead, and many have been deceased for a long time. But in actuality, a zombie like my lover was just as quick, quicker even, actually, than his regular self. He was hot on getting his tongue back in my head. I dashed down the length of the hall and into the bedroom, and quickly slammed the door behind me. I immediately heard him on the other side of the thin wood, twisting the doorknob, but I held it firmly. I looked to the window as a means of escape, but then I heard a faint whisper that seemed to come from my own head, "You can't go outside with that hole in your head. People will see you and want to take you to the hospital or asylum...you have to wear a hat." I scanned the surface of the room for a hat, on the advice of this inner voice, but saw none. My zombie's relentless pounding on and shaking of the door made me pause again in my desperation to escape the premise. I thought, well shit. I can't go outside, I have no hat. And what will it really hurt if he just wants to jam his tongue into my head-hole again? It was making him quite happy, and I must admit, it felt kinda nice to me too...Then I began wondering if brain juice was like some sort of instantly addictive substance. Maybe one that turned you into some sort of a primitive likeness of what you presently were. Hmm. The growling and clawing on the other side of the door shook me from my moment of Zen, and I stepped away from the door and let him open it.

He expected to need a lot more force than was necessary, and when the door flew open he nearly landed on his face. He saw me, standing there and somewhat calmly facing him, and it seemed to take him by surprise. For a minute he was unsure of the next move he should make. I said to him in a somewhat relaxed tone, "Come on then, if that's what you need, buddy, come and get it."

I stepped backwards and sat down on the bed, then laid back and stretched out. I noticed his erection had disappeared. What a bummer. He advanced and without a word, aside from an obvious grunt signifying pleasure, he topped me and his tongue found its way back into the wet cavern in my skull. Just like in the kitchen, with every second he became more passionate about what he was doing. His tongue worked itself around in the hole, going as deeply as it could. I felt his dick begin to stiffen again, and he humped me hard, grinding his engorged member into my pelvic bone. I put my arms around him as he sucked and humped me, making it known that I was a willing participant. I hardly noticed, or even remembered at that point, that I was unable to get hard. I was so turned on, that I just kept thinking about having him inside me as he fed on my brain juice.

I said, "Hey man...lemmie get my pants off. I want you up in me baby." He seemed to realize I wasn't going anywhere, and he broke his brain-kiss and rose up off me enough to let me remove my pants. I guess he wanted to fuck as well. I put my legs in the air with my knees bent to my shoulders and made myself accessible to him. He surprised me by actually tonguing my hole...I guess the desperation to get all he could - as fast as he could - from my head, subsided somewhat with the knowledge that I wasn't resisting at all. His drool was thick and abundant. The way it was stringing down from his mouth reminded me of a hungry Komodo dragon. He slobbered all over my ass, tongue fucking me for a quick moment, and then returned to his initial position atop me. He slid in easily. At least for me it was.

I felt very little resistance to his cock invading me. I did hope that he was feeling it more intensely than I. He pushed all the way in and then laid back down on me, settling his mouth into place over my head-hole, and proceeded to fuck and suck me. After just a few minutes, I realized that this was the hottest sex I ever remembered having. With him, or anyone. My lack of erectile capabilities seemed to not detract from the scene whatsoever. Fuck, this felt great! I moved my body in rhythm with his, and he seemed more responsive. Not quite as focused on my head, but still obviously into it. He was giving it to me really good. I thought, fuck, I always thought he was sexy as a junkie, but he's even hotter as a zombie! He got to the point where he was totally into the act of fucking, seeming to forget about my brain juice. I supposed he'd gotten his fix of it. He pumped away and was nearing an orgasm. It was hard for me to recollect the last time he's actually orgasmed, he would usually just fuck till he was tired, or till I'd had enough. The normal daily amount of narcotics made orgasm nearly impossible, and after a few vain attempts, he'd just stop trying. But I could see this time was different.
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#4
He drove in into me harder, and at the moment he began to grunt with pleasure, I felt the sensation of my own rocks getting off. I was well aware that I wasn't hard in the least, but I seemed to come anyway. It sure felt like coming! We enjoyed our simultaneous climax, and when completed he relaxed on top of me, breathing heavy. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, and thought, damn, fuckin' zombie sex rocks! For this period of time all thoughts of being under the influence evaded me...it must have been forty five minutes since I'd last thought of my broken bottle. But, as always, my thinking returned to the vodka. Well, I thought, this is a good time. He seems content; maybe I can get away now and do my thing. Once again everything else was forgotten.

I gently began to push zombie-boy off of my heaving chest, while saying, "Hey man...just gimmie a minute here, so I can go do this thing, okay?" He dislodged his tongue from my head and made eye contact with me and looked surprisingly like his normal strung-out self. He spoke and said, "Yeah man, I need a fix too."

He sounded so normal. No reminiscence of zombie-ism. Part of me was disappointed. But I had hopes that later he'd get a taste of my head again and all would be well and wildly erotic. I wondered if he had a recollection of our sex. I prompted him by commenting about how great he was. He agreed and said, "Yeah man. That was really good. I felt like an animal...I don't remember being that horny in a while."

I was glad he remembered. We got up from the mattress and both started for the kitchen once again. I felt a draft on my bare brain as we walked through the house. It was a strange sensation. At this point strange was becoming the norm. Not much that I could think of would've been all that shocking to me. But I was excited, very anxious. I just knew in that this method, intra-brain injection of liquor, would produce the desired effect. I mean, how couldn't it? It would. That's all there was to it. It had to. I grabbed the rig off the kitchen table and bent down to the pool of vodka which was beginning to evaporate somewhat. I stuck the needle into the liquid which sat a fraction of an inch off the linoleum, and pulled the plunger back. I watched the syringe fill and I was ready. Out of habit, or out of my boy's habit, I should say, I flicked the rig a couple times to get the air out, and as I caught myself doing this I chuckled out loud. Like it mattered if there were air bubbles. My lover watched on, patiently waiting for me to go first, and then he would take his turn with the needle. I looked to him with eyes asking for assistance. He stepped over to my side and took the rig from me. Without a word, he pricked my exposed brain with the needle and pushed the plunger down. I was on pins and needles, so to speak, just barely able to contain my enthusiasm. I waited. As the small amount of vodka was injected directly into my brain, I was aware of a very cold sensation at the point of entry. I waited a moment.

"Gimmie another hit man."

He obliged me and bent to fill the syringe again. Once more, he stuck me. I felt the same coldness, but nothing else. Well, I thought to myself, how much of this shit did I need to drink to get an effect? I can't expect 5cc to get it for me, now can I? I told him, "Dude, I wish you had bigger rigs. This might take awhile." After the second, he waited for me to request a third.

"Yeah man, hit me again."

We repeated this procedure multiple times. I lost count quickly. The pool was dissipating rapidly, and I began to feel some concern. Fuck, I thought, how am I gonna get off? Maybe it's just the wrong part of my brain. Yeah, that must be it. I then told my boy these thoughts.

"So...you want another hole in your head, is what you're saying? Dude, this is just fucked. Maybe it's easy for me to say, but you should just give it up."

His insensitivity hurt me. As I watched him go to the counter and retrieve his spoon, and begin to cook himself up a nice fix, I got really pissed off.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you, you mother fucking junkie! You say that shit so calmly while you go and get ready to get off. That is bullshit man..matter of fact, fuck it...we should suffer together!"

With saying that, I got up quickly and grabbed the spoon from him, which already had a small chunk of brown tar on it. His eyes met mine with a pleading look that immediately had a physical effect upon me like being sliced with a blade. I shook off my anger and knew that I had no good reason to deprive him. He saw me soften and stepped towards me with an outreached hand, gesturing for the spoon to be returned. I handed it back, looking to the floor and shaking my head in dismay. I was disgusted with myself. I was truly beginning to realize the extent of my sickness, my addiction. But the desire to feel a chemical was so strong, so overwhelming, I went right from a lucid thought of my actual state of helplessness into the thought of drilling another hole through my skull.

Tears formed in my eye sockets, somehow, and began running down my face. I looked on as he expertly gave himself a nice boot of heroin and the look of beautiful relief came over him. Fuck, seeing that pained me even more. My mental obsession with trying to figure out a way to get high was taking over completely. I was truly a slave to my addiction. I could do nothing but sob with my head in my hands. The helplessness I experienced was what seemed to be the first tangible feeling ever without drugs, without sex, without anything to remove me mentally from the reality that seemed to surround me. I hated it. I could not fathom my 'life' continuing in this way. As I cried, my boy approached and attempted to comfort me in his tracked-up arms. He knelt before me and wrapped his arms around my body as I sat doubled over and crying in the metal kitchen chair. He nestled his head against mine and I heard his breath, his sighs. I knew he hated seeing me so miserable. But I also knew that he had to do what he had to do to maintain. I began to think that it was possible that he was as upset for me as I was. I felt a tear trickle onto my bare leg, and then another, as his clutch tightened around me.

I could not do this. Somehow the tears stopped and I sat upright, and with that fierce determination of before, I reached over to the drill on the table. He picked up his head from my lap as I moved, and saw the drill in my hand.

"Mann, I knoow how baad youu wanntt too get hiigh..butt you knooww thaat woon'tt worrk."

His stoned eyes pleaded up at me to stop.

"Besiidss, all thee vodkaaa iss gonne, maan."

I looked to the busted glass on the linoleum, and he was right, there was not any wetness left on the floor to speak of. What we hadn't tried to use had evaporated into the musty air. A part of me was so driven to just go get another bottle and try again, with a new hole. But that was my mind. My body, what was left of my body, disagreed. A physical weakness I had not yet felt had was beginning to come over me. The combination of grief and stress helped me to draw the conclusion that sleep might be helpful. I looked at him and said, "Fuck it, man. I'm gonna go lay down. I can't deal with this shit any more right now."

He rose from his knees and let me get up, and as I began to make my way towards the back room where our mattress was, I heard him shuffling behind me. I went to the edge of our bed and sat, with my head in my hands once again, before I made a move to lie back. He sat beside me, and through all the narcotic influence that surrounded him, I sensed his genuine compassion for me. We lay down together, and he held me, stroking my head, reassuring me that he loved me. Sleep came over me quickly like a cloud covering the sun. I was void of dreaming.

When my eyes opened, it was dark outside the sheet-clad window. The last few days had been so mixed up for me. Even when I was in my normal routine of carrying on and drinking around the clock, I still had some idea of what day it was, or what time of the day it was. The streetlight outside shone through and cast a yellowish light on my lover's face. He was sleeping very soundly, breathing slow and shallowly. I looked at him as he slept, the lines on his face telltale signs of a hard life, and an abused body. His hair was long and uncombed, as usual. The smell of oil from his scalp wafted into my nostrils. Yeah, my boy was pretty much a poster child for a slogan that might say something like "This is what you'll look like if you become a heroin addict."

As I stared at him in his sleep, I really thought about how much he meant to me, and how much I actually did love him. I never knew too much about the whole love thing, but in comparison to any other relationships I'd been involved in, intimate or otherwise, this was the closest I'd come to experiencing love. And for a short moment I felt gratitude. Then without warning, my thoughts took a turn towards bad.

I had a vivid visual of how he'd looked after tonguing my brain...he sure was fucked up all right. Almost to the point of scary. But he also seemed to come out of it alright. I wanted to wake him and to hear about how that high felt. I put my hand on his shoulder and rocked him gently back and forth, speaking somewhat softly to him. It seemed to not do the trick, so I shook him a bit more forcefully. He was out. Gone. There had been times I'd seen him be unconscious for hours after getting high. But I had no way to gauge the time that had passed since we'd come from the kitchen. So, I really had no clue how long he might be out.

I lightly smacked his face a couple times, but still got no response. My thoughts, which were not optimal, turned even worse. I began to think the unthinkable. And once it began, I couldn't stop it. Quickly I became delirious with maniacal thoughts of how to go about experiencing the same high he had earlier. Part of me was in total disbelief of the notions I was having. The other, dark addicted part, wondered why I hadn't thought of it before this point. I then knew, had no doubt, of what I had to do.

I continued to stare at him as he drew each breath slowly, and exhaled at an almost undetectable rate. He looked so beautiful and peaceful. So satisfied in his torpidity. I kissed his sleeping face quickly and got up, and set about putting my thought into motion. I returned to the kitchen and cooked up another spoonful of junk, and loaded the rig. I opened and closed several drawers before locating a pair of needle nose pliers in one, and a short coil of nylon tie-downs. I scanned the counter and saw a knife, and I cut the nylon rope into four shorter sections. Then I picked up the drill, and headed back into the bedroom. Back to my sleeping savior.

He was still as motionless as when I'd left the room. I began to roll him on his side, and then all the way on his belly. He still did not stir. I took his wrists in my hand and began to wrap the rope around them, weaving it back and forth from one to the other, until he was bound tightly. I moved down his body and repeated this procedure with his ankles, the whole while him seemingly unaware of my actions. I pulled him down to the bottom edge of the bare mattress and took another piece of the rope and looped it through the small "handle" of cotton twine that was attached to the mattress. He was now secured, and unable to kick at me if he in fact awoke and objected. The rest of my 'equipment' was laid out on the bed next to us, I wondered if it would be better if I just went ahead and gave him another dose before he did come to. I decided no, I'd wait until he really was in need of it, when he could appreciate it. I positioned myself next to him as he lay so still, and took the drill in my hand. Pointing it at my mark, I squeezed the trigger, pausing as I let the drill run for a moment, to see if the noise woke him at all. It did not. A fleeting thought of "what am I doing?" went through my head, but as I touched the tool to his temple, all thoughts vanished.

As the coldness of the metal made contact with his head, I saw his hand twitch reflexively, but nothing more than a twitch. As I put pressure on the tool, and heard the sound of it grinding on bone, his drugged eyes began to flutter open. I stopped, and heard him say in a whisper of a voice, "Whaaddaaya dooin...."

"Shhhh. Relax, man. It's ok." I put down the drill and took up the loaded rig. He was just beginning to realize he was tied up. But for the most part, he was unaware of what was happening. He tried again to speak.

"Heyy...yooou getttin kinkeyyy oonn mee?"

I smiled down at him as I gripped his arm and squeezed it enough to make a vein appear. Without any words I poked the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger halfway down. Then I drew it back, filling the syringe back up with dope and blood, and then gave him the full dose. I heard him sigh and a barely audible "Oooh yeaaah baaby" came from his mouth. A big smile spread across his face. He was completely still now. I looked down at him for another moment. and then got back to the task at hand that my relentless addiction was forcing me to perform.

Returning the rig to the mattress, and retrieving the drill, I set it against the spot I'd begun to make contact with. In one quick motion, I squeezed the trigger once again and it easily went right through the bone. He made no movement. The big smile was still there. His stillness was not unusual, but something about it, possibly the fact that I was drilling a hole into his head, made me put my fingers to his neck and feel for a pulse. Just as I raised my hand to do so, I felt a warm wetness spreading across the mattress under my knees. I hesitated before placing my fingers to his neck, for I was suddenly afraid that the involuntary release of his bladder meant he was really gone.

I knew beginning this procedure that it was more than likely that this would kill him. I was undecided though, whether it was the heroin or the drill. He was still smiling, very still, without even a small breath. I picked up the needle nose pliers and inserted one point into the tiny hole I'd made, and closed them on his bone. As I snapped a piece of skull away, I imagined my lover being pleased with saving me from going insane. For supplying me with a high I so desperately needed. I ignored any faint feeling of guilt or sadness, and focused on my needs. I snapped off another small piece of bone with the pliers, and another. The opening was now big enough to accommodate my tongue comfortably. I was so fucking ready for relief. Nothing, absolutely nothing else mattered at that moment.

I climbed onto my 'sleeping' lover and lay on his back, while taking his pretty head into my hands as I touched his brain with my tongue. I had not had any thought of this not working until that very second. But upon my tongue contacting his organ, I felt some sort of electrical buzzing begin at the tip of my tongue, and start to travel throughout my mouth, into and down my throat, and spread throughout my whole body. He tasted warm and wet and a bit salty. It almost reminded me of semen. I pushed my tongue far into the hole in the bone and sucked on his head as I continued to feel this wave building over my being. I was certainly feeling it...I was starting to feel somewhat out of control. I suddenly became so excited with this act I was in the process of; I picked up the pliers and snapped off another piece of his skull. I was able then to lick his organ with a lapping type motion, and with each touch of my tongue to his brain, the more intensely I felt this...electric...wildness...

I was beginning to feel disconnected from the scene. I felt as though I was on the verge of a blackout, yet it just didn't quite happen. Sweat was pouring off my flesh, and I was so high and excited I basically lost any control over what my body decided to do. I had to wonder no longer about how he had felt when he'd tasted my brain. I sucked his head with such aggression, and noticed that I was equally aggressive in my rubbing against his dead naked flesh. The flaccidness of my dick mattered not. I humped his body for all it was worth as I continued receiving the juice from his head. The feeling was so fucking great! But it was difficult for me to really focus on my intoxication. The desperation I had to just go on feeding as I involuntarily dry-fucked him was just about all I could be aware of.

This went on. And on. I felt full body orgasm-after-orgasm. I grunted and attempted to speak to my lifeless lover as he supplied me with this incomparable pleasure, but I was beyond the ability to form any actual words. Finally it seemed to come to the ultimate climax. I felt as though my soft penis ejaculated with incredible force, and my whole body was just consumed with that feeling. I sucked his head and came, over and over. Then, suddenly I felt completely drained. I was terrifically exhausted, I could move no more. I lay atop my lover's dead body, motionless. I was still mentally consumed by that wonderful relief he had given to me. Never had I felt that sort of high. Never had I experienced that sort of escape. As I rest myself against his bare back, I felt the cooling pool of ejaculate that was between us. I kissed his face. Still the faint smile was upon it. I was unaware of exactly how long I'd spent getting off, but for that moment I felt satisfied and fulfilled. My thoughts then seemed to drift back into the picture of reality.

I began assessing the scene. I took myself back to the days before, when I had the initial bizarrities begin in my life. I remembered the whole chain of events, every day between now and then, and thought of what led me up to this point. This point of absolutely no control. This point of utter powerlessness. Succumbing to a relentless need to be satisfied. I was beginning to question myself, of how I could have let this happen. I sat up next to the lifeless body of the man who was my partner, and tried to comprehend what I had done. Being driven beyond anything my human will could control, I had performed the unspeakable. But as quickly as these questioning thoughts came, again they left. Left me with thoughts of getting enough energy to do it all again. Right then, I knew I needed nothing more in my life. This could and would be my sustenance. I gazed at my still-bound lover, and as I cut him loose, I was so grateful for his sacrifice to me. He was all I ever needed. That was, unless, his dead brain lost its potency. Then what the hell would I do? A question I didn't even need to ask. The answer was automatic. I prayed that I needn't leave the house anytime soon.

The CD player seemed to be set on random, and I heard a new song begin and smiled to myself as I listened to the words and let myself relax in my selfish bliss.
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