Content Warning: Discussing recreational drug use.
A video came up on my Facebook post earlier of The Lapdog’s nephew. He’s two years old today. Do you know what that means? That, ladies and gentlemen, means exactly two years ago today, I went to see the new baby in the hospital, still fucked from my MDMA binge the night before. And from all the fucking, obviously.
It started with a quiet night at his, chilling on the bed, watching a film. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves sucking back MDMA like it was going out of fashion, that he just so happened to have in a DVD case on a shelf above his bed. The stuff makes me the friskiest I’ve ever been, but I’m aware of just how irresponsible it is to take recreational drugs. That’s why I don’t do it anymore. I did my partying, learned my lessons, and I grew up.
Don’t do drugs, kids.
Back to the story, I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember being bent over his bed as he pounded me from behind. I also remember sucking his dick … a lot. The sex we had that night was insane, proper out of this world stuff, and for virtually the entire night. I’m pretty sure that was the night he unloaded all over my face in his garage, as we smoked a cigarette together, with his family in the house right next to us. I always loved it when he came on my face. He always loved it when we were a little bit voyeuristic.
See, that’s the thing about him: he’s got somethin’ going on. His pheromones work with my pheromones. Throughout all of our years of “seeing each other”, I’ve never really been that interested in him from a boyfriend perspective. It was always the sex. As a lover, he really flicks my switch. He knows exactly what I like, but I guess that’s one of the benefits of going around in circles for years as we have. One minute, we could be casually sitting in his car, eating junk food, chit-chatting about nothing in particular; but the next, I’ll be sucking his dick as he grasps the steering wheel with one hand and pushes my head down with the other. We go from zero to explicit in the blink of an eye.
It’s just the same when we stop talking and then start talking again: it’s as though we haven’t spent a single moment apart, literally picking up where we left off. It never lasts for long, though. We have nights of drug-taking and insanely-awesome sex, closely followed by arguments that erupt as a result of him wanting more and me … not. The same thing happened at his brother’s wedding, and his sister’s wedding, and then again when her children had a birthday party. We find a way to escape the boringness of family and sobriety, dosing ourselves up before relenting into a night of insane passion. There’d be tears on both sides, and we’d always confessed our undying love to eath other. That’s what drugs like that make you do. That’s what made our situation so much worse. He had false hope because of those drug-fuelled nights, and although I do miss him and there is a part of me that kinda loves him, he’s not the kind of guy I’m looking for. Nor is he the kind of guy I want. I can list too many flaws, not just about him; about US. He’s not the right guy for me.
I sure wish I could fuck him right now, though.