Hot Right Now [Previously Unseen]
Fun fact about this post: It’s been sat in my drafts for over two years. I didn’t know whether or not I wanted to publish something that featured a Class A drug so heavily and positively. But we’re all adults here, right? I did it, lived it, wrote about it … now I’m sharing it.
Consider this your second content warning: this post goes into great detail about an NSFW night on MDMA (ecstasy), talking about it in a positive way.
As a side note: I’ve been clean from all Class A drugs for 5 years, and alcohol for 4 years.
– Hot Right Now –
“We should go to the club now! I’m not ready for this party to be over,” The Lapdog’s sister drunkenly suggested. And because we were all drunk too, we agreed.
So off we went, a group of six of us, dressed in wedding suits and bridesmaids dresses, to a well-known club around the corner. Just as we got to the queue to get inside, The Lapdog pulled me to one side, behind a brick wall, and beckoned for me to sit on a small ledge next to him.
“They won’t let me in if they search me and find this. Will you finish it off with me?” he said, showing me a little bag containing what looked like little bits of rock salt.
“What is that?” I asked. “Is that … crack?”
“No, of course it’s not crack,” he replied, chuckling a little. “It’s Mandy.”
“What’s Mandy?”
“It’s what everyone’s taking these days instead of pills,” he offered as an explanation. “Wait here while I run to the garage over the road and grab you a drink to swallow it down with. You’ll love it, I promise you.”
And because I was drunk and stupid and horny and he told me he’d already taken some and it would make our sex that night great, I said: “Okay!”
Two minutes later, I took a few of the crystal rocks from his outstretched hand, shoved them in my mouth, and washed them down with a big swig of Diet Coke. When I passed him the bottle back, he threw the rest of the rocks in, gave it a good shake until most of them had been dissolved, drank half and then offered me the remainder.
“Quick, quick, we need to finish it off. They’ll wonder where we are otherwise,” he said.
“They’ll just think we’re fucking again,” I laughed back.
Ten minutes later, IDs flashed, entrance fees paid and hands stamped, we were in the club and at the bar.
“How long does it take to kick in?” I shouted above the music as we waited for the first of many drinks. In response, The Lapdog just shrugged.
Folks, it took barely fifteen minutes.
I want to tell you that you shouldn’t do drugs because drugs are bad — and they ARE bad — but that night, my first time on MDMA, was out of this world. Colours were brighter and bolder than they’d ever been before, and the strobe lights of the club were so mesmerising to watch that I probably could’ve just sat and watched them all night. The beat of the music pulsated through me, forcing my limbs to move and sway in time, the thud-thud-thudding of the base drumming through my body until it eventually got to my fingers and made the tips of them tingle. It was impossible to stand still. I felt so happy, so bouncy, so euphoric, I couldn’t stand still.
“Dance with me?” The Lapdog asked, grabbing my hand without waiting for a response and dragging me away from the bar and to the middle of the crowded dance floor. I was surprised; he never wanted to dance when we went out drinking before. ‘We Found Love’ by Rihanna pounded from the speakers as we got closer and closer to each other, our bodies melting together as we kissed and groped not-so-secretly. Those other club-goers barely existed for us in that moment. It was just me and him, delirious and dizzy and drunk and high, passionately devouring each other as though we were the only two people in the room.
“Get a fucking room, lovebirds!” one of his friends hollered as he bounded towards us with two bottles of Smirnoff Ice in each hand. “The last person to down the bottle buys the next round!”
I lost. I was the slowest person to down an entire bottle of Smirnoff Ice, so I had to buy the next round. Not that I minded much; I was so enraptured by the drug, the company I was in, and the good time I was having that I’d probably have bought all of the rounds without complaining a drop. MDMA makes me generously splash the cash, apparently.
For a while, we – the wedding party – danced together, a jumping frenzy of suits and dresses, drinks flying everywhere as we flung ourselves around with reckless abandon. ‘Hot Right Now’ by Rita Ora started playing and the entire club erupted. Arms were thrust into the air, people were screaming the lyrics at the very top of their lungs, it was insane … or maybe it was just us? Everyone was drunk, but we – The Lapdog and I – we had our little secret. Our Mandy secret.
“I need to fuck you now. Please let’s go,” he begged me halfway through the night, though he needn’t have asked quite so desperately. I was just as frantic to get into bed with him and tear off our dressed-up clothes that were now ruined with cigarette burns and vodka stains. I’d wanted to wrap my naked self around him from the moment the drug first kicked in.
We barely made it back to our hotel room before we started unbuttoning and unzipping each other’s clothes, falling over each other as we kissed our way into his room and tried to shut the door behind us.
Bang. We fell into the sideboard.
Bang. We bashed the wall as we tried to find the light switch.
Bang. He kicked the bed and I burst into fits of laughter.
We were a mess, both together and individually. Two lumbering lumps with no inhibitions, kissing and bashing and falling over themselves with frenzied ardour. Clothing was literally ripped apart as we yanked it off, shoes thrown in all directions, underwear impatiently forced to the side because they got tangled up as he tried to tug them down. We fucked in various states of undress; in all states of them, in fact: one leg still in his trousers, my dress unzipped and pulled down but only to the waist, our underwear half-off but tangled somewhere in the middle …
There were times he couldn’t stay erect (because that’s what the drug can do to you after a while), but he didn’t let it affect his ability to please me. Instead, he used it as an excuse to get playfully experimental, extracting a second baggy of MDMA crystals from his travel bag after we’d fucked for an hour or so and stopped to get a drink and have a cigarette.
“Let me lick this off you,” he requested.
And because I was drunk and high and stupid and horny, I let him.
“I want you to tell me how it feels, all the way through,” he directed.
And I tried. I really did try. But it was so damn hard to think about words and piecing together full sentences when what he was doing felt so damn good.
“How does it feel when I lick the Mandy off you?” he asked, placing a second crystal on my lower abdomen before kissing the spot and sucking it into his mouth.
“Tingly … like a rainbow,” I replied.
It didn’t make sense out loud, but it made perfect sense in my head. That’s how it felt, what he was doing to me: like a tingly, glowing, neon rainbow. A little bit electric, a bit fizzy, but also a little soothing and comforting and warming. MDMA had made every sensation feel a hundred times more intense than it usually would. Maybe even a thousand times more. I didn’t know what was more addictive: the way I felt on the drug, or how I felt around him on the drug.
“What about this?” he continued, moving lower and lower, dipping his tongue down into my ass before moving up to my clit. “What does this feel like?”
Answering as best I could as I squirmed and writhed beneath him, I simply said: “Heavenly,” because it was the perfect word — and this time, it made perfect sense.
In the giddiness of our high, his lapping at my cunt worked to calm me in a way I didn’t really understand. It was a familiar feeling, being teased and tormented to climax by him, but his touch seemed to ground me and give me something to focus on when everything else around me was hazy and bright and colourful and unfocused.
Not that I really needed to focus on what he was doing; we’d been sleeping together for long enough for me to know I could trust him with my orgasm. Multiple orgasms, in fact. But orgasms weren’t even on the radar that night. I wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t made me come at all. Every other form of body-on-body contact, even just fingertip-to-fingertip, felt so extraordinarily gratifying that it didn’t matter about the big ending, his or mine.
Each touch he planted on my skin felt blissfully electric; a tiny little sizzling jolt passed from him to me. As he made his way around my body, alternating between kisses, licks, and tiny little nips with his teeth, making him focus on making me come couldn’t have been further from my mind. I didn’t want that. I didn’t need to come. How it felt when he kissed my neck, and grasped my thighs, and trailed and scratched and traced his fingertips around the curves of me, was almost orgasmic in itself. His touch was enough. More than enough. There weren’t literal sparks when we made contact with each other, but it felt like there should’ve been. If we’d have been in a movie, there definitely would’ve been.
As we licked and sucked the remainder of his MDMA stash off of one another’s sweaty bodies, swigging from bottles of Budweiser to help get rid of the chemical taste, we fell completely and utterly in love with each other. For one night only, forgetting all other nights and breakups and failures of our ‘whatevership’, we were besotted with each other, physically, emotionally, in every way we could be. I didn’t want to break from his touch, no matter how small that touch was. I had to be connected to him in some way, in every way, but in the tiniest way, at least. When we stopped for a break, my hand would instinctively reach out to touch his leg or hold his hand. When I come back from a bathroom stop, his hand would wander its way across the duvet to come to rest on my thigh. We couldn’t go for longer than five minutes without our lips coming together, magnetically drawn to each other. But wasn’t us: it was the effects of the drug.
He brought me to orgasm just once in more than five hours of playing with each other, using his fingers, lazily, right before we fell asleep; a much-needed release that wasn’t really needed at all. The night, our sex, had been mind-blowing without it. But as the last waves of my climax subsided and we found ourselves in a familiar big spoon-little spoon position, he was presented with the perfect opportunity to try one more time to find his release — and he did find it, erupting deep inside of me, biting into my shoulder and leaving a little bruise that multiple people would ask me about for days to come.
It was such an incredible night that we made a pact never to do the drug and fuck anyone else. It was sacred. Ours. It belonged to us.
And it always will.
I’D LIKE TO PERSONALLY RECOMMEND:
