LVIII. The Guy Who Made Me Try Crystal Meth (The ParTy Series: Part III)

“Every time I feel good, I think it’ll last forever. But it doesn’t”

– Rue Bennett, Euphoria

To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t excited to write this chapter at all. Drug abuse has been an ongoing issue within the LGBTQ+ community, and I’ve witnessed how it destroys the lives of people I care about. My hope is that, by sharing my experience with you, I can be of service to those of you who are wrestling with similar issues. As per usual, I will do my best to keep my story as authentic as possible. That said, there will be some Squirttale-esque flare mixed into the narrative for additional entertainment values. So I apologize in advance if I come across as glamorizing drug abuse as it’s genuinely not my intention. Please keep in mind that I’m by no means advocating reckless drug use. And if you are currently struggling with substance abuse, this chapter might not be right for you, as you might find some of my contents triggering. So for once, I’m giving you permission to skip the chapter if you choose to do so.

P.S. Do yourself a favor by reading chapter L for a quick recap of my previous story with this chapter’s muse!

Before my misbehavior in this chapter, my experience with street drugs was close to none. I mostly stick to consuming alcohol excessively only because it’s a much more convenient option. Other than that, I had only tried a micro-dose of edible chocolate and smoked a few puffs of marijuana. (Weed doesn’t even count as a schedule-1 drug in some countries, which shows how limited my street drug involvement was). My 420 experiences did not significantly impact me because, during those times, I mostly ended up curled in bed with McDonald’s fries and chocolate milk on my nightstand. It’s pretty much like sober me on a regular Tuesday night, lol. And because I’m forever a dumb bitch, I naively used these experiences as a benchmark to measure the risk I was going to face before diving head-first into the world of methamphetamine. Does anyone else find the way my brain works endearing? 

My readers responding to my rhetorical questions

An insatiable need for validation and an unfortunate life event was the perfect combination to kickstart my drug abuse journey. The beginning of what I thought was a regular, uneventful Friday did not go pleasantly when I was involved in a fender bender on the jam-packed I-10. I’ll spare you the details on how a truck driver with a blow-up doll on his passenger seat hit my car from behind. Basically, it wasn’t the best morning of my life. So naturally, I turned to an assortment of boys to make me feel better. The collectively exhaustive list included my first gay crush, a rice queen (who will appear on a later chapter), and my fellow 4AM hookup enthusiast. The latter option did not only give me a compassionate and empathetic response, but he also offered to come over and get me Thai food for dinner. Because I’m a cheap date, a Pad Thai and words of affirmation were all it took to secure a date with me. But out of nowhere, he ambushed me by following up his offer with this:

“Hey, you don’t mind if I smoke Tina at your place?”

A law-abiding citizen in the right state of mind would have clearly responded with a resounding no. Unfortunately, I had neither the ethical value nor common sense needed to do so as I was blinded by love. I thought, “I’ve done drugs before, and it’s not that bad. What’s the worst thing that could happen anyway? I mean… with a name as harmless as Tina, how dangerous could it possibly be? It’s not like it’s one of those injection things, so it must not be *that* risky.”

Looking back, my level of naivety was super off the chart.

After hours of me whining on the phone about the life-altering incident to a few unfortunate souls, my date showed up at my door with the promised Pad Thai and green curry. My fellow Tegan and Sara fan looked as charming as ever in his black slim-fit tee and a pair of dark blue jeans. He certainly looked better without them, but the casual street look was definitely a nice change. I directed him to sit at the dinner table while warming up the foods and filling him up on my catastrophic morning. I did, however, notice that he’s slightly more upbeat and chatty than usual. My date didn’t eat a lot; he told me he’s full after a few bites of shrimp and six spoons of green curry. But at that moment, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed he’s too nervous to eat or do anything when I was around because, obviously, he’s super infatuated by me.

An astronomical level of delusion

Suddenly, my date reached into the front-right pocket of his jeans, pulled out a mini black pouch, and placed it on the dinner table. Feeling like he was being judged, my 4AM sex enthusiast hesitantly asked me,

“You sure don’t mind if I smoke here?” 

It felt like the Man Above was giving me the last chance to back the fuck off from a risky situation. But instead, I kissed my ticket to heaven goodbye and gave my date a semi-enthusiastic consent. I’m not gonna lie: I was frightened as fuck. However, my ignorance and curiosity got the best of me because I had no one to give me firsthand knowledge of the subject matter. Thus, the only thing I could do was to watch my boy pour crystal-like substances into a glass pipe while my mouth was still full of noodles and green curry. (P.S. Yes, I know I’m not supposed to mix the two dishes together, but I couldn’t give two shits because I’m a bad bitch. Sue me!) Without any warning, he pulled out a lighter, placed the mouthpiece part of the pipe between his lips, and started heating up the bottom part of the glass bowl. Vapor started to form, and my boy inhaled that shit like a champ. He repeated that process four more times, and like a toddler watching a circus for the first time, I was utterly bewitched.

I think the most common misconception about drugs for first-time users is that they drastically alter both your physical appearance and mental state. In reality, that’s not the case. After my date finished the sinful ceremony, I didn’t notice any significant behavioral change in him. For whatever reason, I was expecting for him to undergo a werewolf-like transformation and go absolutely berserk. It’s either that or a wild hallucination where he wanted to jump off my balcony; blame me for watching too much Teen Wolf! Instead, he appeared utterly present in the moment, more lively, and more touchy-feely with me to a certain extent. Let’s just say the drug made it seem like he’s having a pleasant time being my company for the night

And suddenly, the most moronic chain of logic hit my brain at full force. I thought, “hmm… maybe I should try it too, it doesn’t seem as dangerous as I thought it would be! Besides, this is probably my only opportunity to try it with someone who has a decent amount of knowledge about the drug and cares about me. I deserve to go wild, especially after that tragic morning!”

It’s definitely the latter, your honor

Convincing my “drug dealer” to share some of his sacred possession wasn’t hard at all. He did, however, express some concerns that this drug might have the potential to ruin my life, which, I guess, was the right thing for him to do. I managed to assure my boy that this would be a one-time thing and told him to give me a beginner’s portion. (Spoiler alert: sad to say, this is not going to be a one-time thing). With my boyish charm and impeccable persuasion skill, my date half-heartedly took out his glass pipe from the black pouch and began the preparation process. He guided my inexperienced ass by placing the mouthpiece between my uncontaminated lips and heating up the thingy for me. Some might call it irresponsible, but I thought it was romantically kawaii. Because I was a cheap Asian and didn’t want to appear ungrateful, I inhaled that vapor like a pro to ensure I didn’t leave a waste.

And suddenly, I felt an intense euphoric rush.
I was on top of the world.
I felt invincible.

I had never felt a sudden surge of happiness like this before. My pupils were dilated, my energy soared up to the sky, and my surrounding appeared more vibrant. I had never felt more comfortable in my own body. It almost felt like I had the energy, confidence, and enthusiasm to match a SoulCycle instructor’s vibe. As I was busy trying to process this overwhelming sensation, I quickly glanced at my boy to find him observing my movement in a concerned yet ravenous nature. And all of a sudden, I felt incredibly horny. I had always thought my 4AM hookup enthusiast was handsome, but at that moment, he looked especially ravishing. When I looked at him, there was this tingling feeling underneath my skin and an uncontrollable urge to touch his naked body. I could not think of anything else as I was craving for the dreamy man standing in front of me

Having sex while being high on meth was beyond blissful. A potent magnetic force continually pulled my lips upward for my boy to devour with his. A mere caress on my bare chest from my dream boy was enough to give me a sensory overload. All I wanted at that moment was to feel him, to touch him, and to breathe the air he breathed. Nothing else mattered to us as we laid our naked bodies entwined in each other’s arms. My body was moving with no inhibition to the point that I couldn’t even recognize the wild sex demon staring back at me in the mirror. I was a courageous ship captain, taking full control when I rode the raging ocean waves underneath me. I took every inch of him with great ease; it’s almost like my muscles were clinging to his shaft for their dear lives with zero resistance. I lost any sense of time and space, as all I cared about at that moment was to relish in the pleasure of his every thrust.

Sorry for making you read a minute worth of garbage

I was so deep into my euphoric state that I didn’t notice my flaccid disco stick. (Spoiler alert: apparently crystal dick is a real thing, and I had no idea about it before this incident). My inability to maintain an erection was baffling as I found myself deeply aroused by the handsome naked man with his penis inside of me. In fact, the sex, in general, felt like an enigma. I couldn’t exactly remember how many different positions we did or how long he parked his car in my back garage. I also couldn’t remember how hard he fucked me that night. There was no pain, fatigue, nor sorrow. I was living in a nirvana full of sexual appetite and sensual gratification, and we were two wild animals seeking pleasure in each other. In a way, I felt disconnected from reality and was having an out-of-body experience. I was extremely spaced-out, so much so that I couldn’t remember if he shot his load inside of me or not.

Still feeling the jitters all over my naked body, my dealer and I spent the next thirty minutes after sex lying in bed, talking our feelings out. We were rambling nonsense, and I can’t remember exactly what we were talking about. Still, I remember, at one point, we were having a heated discussion about the law of physics, followed by an intense argument about adopting a chihuahua. Just like how I’m writing this paragraph, my conversations with my boy made zero sense. However, just like Donald Trump at the presidential debate, I just could not shut up. We just kept on talking and talking and talking.

The lunacy did not stop there. After my boy had left my apartment, I suddenly felt paranoid. For whatever reason, I was anxious that a cop might bust my door down at any given moment. All my negative thoughts surfaced all at once, and the urge to ramble did not wither away. Also, in a bizarre turn of events, I had a strong desire to Marie Kondo the shit out of my apartment. Doing my dishes suddenly became an enjoyable experience. Because I was afraid something might happen to me, I decided to FaceTime my best friends, making them a dumpster of my word vomit. I made one of them stay on the call until 6AM because I was frightened by lonesomeness and my own anxious thoughts. On the phone, I was brutally honest with my opinions about my friend’s boy problem and saying shit sober me would never say. It got to the point where I was delicately attacking her character. Basically, I was an uninhibited mess. But I couldn’t help it – I couldn’t bring myself to sleep, and my brain wouldn’t stop working.

My friend listening to my nonsensical rambling

The sun had risen, and I still couldn’t bring myself falling into slumber. My friends and I were supposed to go on a weekend road trip to Vegas in less than an hour, yet I was still a hot mess. I offered my service as the designated driver as I felt awake and energetic enough to do so. (I know, right? I was such a good friend). Basically, I was running around Vegas the whole day with no sleep. I lost my appetite throughout the day and was content enough to go through the day with a few bread and tenderloin steak slices. Although I felt tremendously exhausted, I still couldn’t rest my brain to take a quick nap. Even during the evening of my friend’s birthday party, I tried my hardest to keep my eyes open on the dance floor. Smiling became an exhausting thing to do; I, a self-proclaimed queen of the dance floor, couldn’t perform the simplest form of fierce choreography. Little did I know I was experiencing “the crash,” and it was a thousand times worse than an alcohol hangover. My lack of research was coming back to bite me in the ass big time.

Flash forward to the day after my Vegas weekend trip, I was lying in bed at home, still feeling fatigued as fuck. I only managed to get a total of 4 hours of sleep in the last 72 hours. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was mortified. I clearly lost some weights, and basically, I looked like an anorexic model minus the beauty. Still, I thought it was a good idea to reminisce the wild, intimate night with my drug dealer and pleasured myself to that memory filled with passion. (Maybe the drug really turned me into a deranged lady?)

Now, you might be wondering, “why do we need to listen to an old, boring story about self-indulgence?” 

Because what I thought would be a typical, quick, afternoon masturbation session quickly turned into a horror story the moment I reached orgasm. As I gained my composure back after I emitted a certain kind of body liquid out of my ding dong, I looked down to observe the mess I created. And that’s when I was mortified.

The color of my semen was reddish-brown.
I repeat, the color my fucking semen was fucking brown.

I still do not know how it happened. Whether it was from an internal bleeding, the drug, or the vigorous sex I had with the 4AM hookup enthusiast, the abnormal color was enough to give me a panic attack. But I thought, “what the fuck do I do now? I can’t go to the doctor and admit that I just did meth!” So I didn’t do anything and pray to God that it will heal naturally. Fortunately, the discoloration only lasted for a week, but it was enough to traumatize the shit out of me(Yes, I know it was stupid of me to continue choking my chicken without doing extensive research, but I was doing it in the name of science!) 

Where is Judge Judy when I needed her the most?

I hope my story gives you an idea of the ups and, mostly, the downs of reckless drug abuse. However, I understand that I’m not your parent, and most of you are grown adults who are free to make your own life decisionsI mean… who am I to judge your choices… look at mine! Fortunately, I managed to get away with it without significant physical or emotional damage to myself and my loved ones. Drug abuse can have severe short-term and long-term impacts, not just to you but also to the people you care about. That said, I hope you fully understand the risk you’re taking should you ever decide to partake in such unsafe activities. And more importantly, for the love of all holy spirits, please do your own research beforehand, and make sure you have someone to look after you should things go south. Because no one else deserves to go through life and witness their semen color turn brown. 

To be continued…

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