Content Warning: Discussing recreational drug use.
Guess what I was doing two years ago today, ladies & gentlemen …
Remember The Lapdog? Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve already explained our relationship in rather too much detail over the course of this blog. You can read all about him, from start to finish, right here.
Well, two years ago today, I was at a wedding with The Lapdog. It was his brother’s wedding and an amazing night. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that particular night before.
Let me tell you the full story.
We weren’t together that night, but we were most definitely fucking. That night, especially, we FUCKED. We went back to the hotel before we even got to the wedding reception and I dropped to my knees in the bathroom as I was touching up my makeup, giving him a little sneak preview into what might happen later on that night. If you’re interested, you can find that explicit tale here: I Miss My Twenties.
At the end of the night, when everything was getting ready to shut down, a few of us decided that we weren’t ready to stop drinking and partying the night away yet. We discussed things from a moment, before choosing a club relatively close to where we were to finish things off. It would only be a few minutes walking, so, in full attire, the group of us went, bridesmaids still rocking their full gowns and all the best men still proudly wearing their suits.
Before we got to the club, The Lapdog pulled me to one side.
“Do you want to do something crazy?”
“Crazy like what?”
He handed me a package: a little bag filled with crystals.
“It’s MDMA, remember I talked about it a while back? You just swallow it. I’m going to. It’ll be an amazing night, I promise.”
And it was. The entire night was a colourful, loud, beautiful mess, enhanced by the mix of alcohol and recreational drugs. I could feel the beat of the music deep down in my soul, and I couldn’t help but rush over to the dancefloor, dragging him along with me. With all of the other people around us there we no choice but for us to squeeze together tightly, swaying and grinding to the music as though there was no one else around. No one else around paid attention to us, anyway; they were all engrossed in their own one-night fantasies. It was the kind of club you were to for that night kind of night. The bouncers didn’t care too much what you got up to, as long as you didn’t start a fight or take one of the glass bottles outside.
“You guys should totally get a room. Just say ‘I love you’ already!”
It was obvious to everyone what was happening, how close we were getting. We must have looked like long-time lovers, smiling and laughing and kissing and dancing. We were, in some ways. When we went out together, even as friends, we’d never have eyes for anyone else. Even when we went out with the intentions of meeting someone else, somehow, we always managed right back in each other’s arms. It was magnetic. Powerful. Unavoidable.
I wonder if The Lapdog remembers what we were doing two years ago today? I wonder if he remembers the sex we had that night? I wonder if he’s having the same kind of sex with his girlfriend now? Because I’m not having that kind of sex with Jock … and I wish I was. He’s older than me, totally done with the drug thing, and I am too … but sometimes, just sometimes, I want to have this massive blowout where I go crazy and take drugs and get drunk and have kinky-freaky sex until I can’t walk.
It’s just like most things in life: you always want what you can’t have. When I’m with a man like My Mr. Grey, with all the kinky-fuckery I can ask for and then some, all I want is a normal relationship with a normal man. I got that, I’ve got Jock now. But now I’ve got that – a normal relationship – all I want is that obscene, explicit kinky-fuckery that he doesn’t want. Or doesn’t seem to want.