One afternoon a coworker took me into the office and demonstrated how to use a glass bubble. Seemed easy enough: heat up the glass, melt the drugs, inhale, and repeat. I immediately realized this was way different that what I had done in the past. As in, ‘whoa, this shit will fuck you up quick’ different. I have never liked any drug that was obviously addictive, which this one was. Snorting speed included pain because you were essentially destroying your nasal passages with Drano®. This new delivery method was more insidious and I immediately did not like it. Especially how easily I fell into using it. It traveled home with me, and that was something I was very unhappy about.
The glass soon becomes your best friend, looking for the golden areas that show promise of another high. I spent about a month slipping further into the looking glass before I put the brakes on. Thankfully, I have a stronger dislike of needing something than propensity for addictive behavior. I did not like that I needed to do it more frequently, so I stopped. The coworker who had happily shown me down this hellish path was not as lucky. She soon lost her job due to her own fascination with the glass.
I spent another year working part-time at the head shop, mostly because it was a fun way to spend a day off from my office job. I had also developed a need to pad my resume, and had taken a ‘real’ job with medical benefits. The owner was glad to keep me around for one day a week because I have always had a strong work ethic, and wasn’t stealing from them. I saw the damage and causalities of the glass firsthand, and it kept me on the straight and narrow path. In fact, I have never again touched the stuff, nor would I want to. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that it is all the trucker speed I am on at the moment that spurred this topic. Pseudoephedrine is the only drug that works on my allergies, and I have lovingly called it trucker speed for years. Amphetamines help people like me concentrate. They alleviate the A.D.D. symptoms and the “Squirrel!” moments that often impede our attempts to focus.
And now a word from our sponsor:
Immediately he had launched into his story because there is always a tale to be told. Tweakers like to rifle through garbage. I cannot exactly explain why, but they do. Trust me. They will spend hours sorting through garbage, if allowed, or doing other repetitive tasks, which garner shiny bits of trash or trinkets. I guess they’re like crows, again, I don’t know. I have never been that gone on drugs to understand the mentality; I have only dealt with the aftermath.
During his most recent outing, to scavenge for shit in the desert, he had stumbled across the half-dead animal. He liked to fancy himself a real Doctor Doolittle, having an affinity for dogs in particular. So committed to his beliefs was he about the nature of dogs that I had merely to question his logic to send him into a fit of fury. And I did this all the time, for fun. You may as well have some fun when dealing with a shell of a human, and the only true emotion junkies have is rage.
So, there we were: him, a dog-named-Boo, and I. Yes, I know. Trust me, I know about the god-dammed-fucking song. So, there we were, and according to him the dog-named-Boo would eat anything little that came into the house. Knowing this made me less than happy that there was a puppy within her sights. However, I also knew that her bark, much like that of her owner’s, was worse than her bite. As the only adult in the room, it was my chore to address the newest addition to our fucked-up family. I had tuned out most of what was coming out of his mouth because his lips had been moving, which meant he was lying.
The timeline he had given, regarding how long the animal had been in this state, was likely somewhat accurate. I knew by looking at the dog it needed immediate medical attention. I also knew that it was past business hours on a weekend and any money he may have had was blown on drugs during my absence. As my mind processed all the information, he continued with his stories, babbling away, as if that would somehow make the animal fairy appear and fix the mess he had chosen to make ours.
“I just couldn’t just leave it there to die!” I had heard him protest from the other room, which I had left, to escape the sound of his voice and ridiculous logic. I could tell he was high-as-a-fucking-kite and that always meant I was in for some fun. Throw in one of his totem animals, and you could imagine how the evening would unfold. I knew he would soon find me because I was the only one who could fix the situation. Even he knew he was too fucked-up to do anything about it. All too soon, there he stood, with that crazed look in his eyes, as if somehow this was my entire fault. I didn’t dare speak, and yet I felt compelled to highlight the flaws in his logic.
“So, exactly what were you planning to do with the dog?” I had asked.
“I couldn’t just leave it there,” he replied.
“And you decided to intervene and do what exactly? Give the poor creature a glimmer of hope that not all humans are fucked?” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I realized, I had thrown the first punch, and I steadied myself for the fight.
“At least it won’t die alone, in the heat,” he spat. The distinct change in his tone was emphasized to have an effect on me, but it had not worked, which hastened his jump from completely numb to rage zombie. I had never displayed fear when dealing with him, though he had given it his best shot to terrorize me.
“Well, it’s out there with Boo, who’s growling at it, and I can assure you that animal is less comfortable now, than when you found it.” I said as I pointed out the doorway. Hoping to redirect him away from such proximity to me.
My diversionary tactic had worked. His focus was again on the puppy, and he went back the pen. By now he had forgotten that there was another animal in the house. When I came out, I found him trying to corral and calm down Boo. I glanced into the pen and saw the miserable creature cowering in a corner.
Left with no other choice, I proceeded to start giving him orders, “Take your fucking dog outside now!” Thankfully, he obeyed, and left the house. I had not wanted to interact with the puppy much because I could feel it was dying from the moment I walked in the house. I can feel a lot of things, and he knew this; I think it’s what attracted him to me. My ability to feel deeply fascinates the dead inside ones. He had tried to explain to me once that he could do the same with animals. However, as I had pointed out, he was too numb to have true emotion, so his drug-induced delusions were not at all similar to mine. Finally, with his scattered energy from the room, I turned my attention to the puppy.
I knelt down next to it, making no attempts to speak or touch it. I just looked into its eyes, it was scared, but it was lessening since the other dog had been removed. Eventually, I had climbed into the pen with it, sat down, and waited for it to approach me. There were a few blankets and pillows tossed in amongst the newspaper he had laid down, which struck me as funny because an animal this dehydrated and starving would not have anything more than blood to expel. I giggled at the thought of how he lauded himself such an expert on dogs. My laughter made the puppy relax enough to the point where it cautiously approached me. Soon, I had lay down and it had snuggled its head closely to my chest, its breathing more labored than frantic. I stroked its head, avoiding its body because I knew this hurt it, and stared at the ceiling. I don’t know how long I was in there. I could hear his coming and going from the room, occasionally making his way past me, but I didn’t dare make eye contact with him.
I dozed off but was awoken by the puppy convulsing slightly, though it had not moved from my side. He was also there, standing over me, before I was fully aware of what was going on.
“What’s wrong with it?” he had asked.
I did not answer him because I could not. I was too disoriented from falling asleep and waking up to dog’s death rattle. Awaking with a start, to death can take a person a moment to acclimate to. He couldn’t understand that, of course, and simply thought I was ignoring him. I will never forget that moment, I could feel the fear from them both rising, his from not knowing what was happening and the animal’s because it was near death. Not wanting to upset the animal, I calmed myself down to answer him without screaming.
I finally managed to whisper, “It is dying.”
“Do something” he said!
There was urgency in his voice, but it lacked the bravado I was so accustomed to. He had just stood there, staring at me, as I held the animal close and tried to do whatever the fuck I was supposed to do, in a completely fucked situation that was all of his doing. In typical fashion, he was incapable of doing anything useful. There would be no right-action from him. No saving the day. No animal superhero move. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.
I had started to cry, which upset me because he was there to witness it. What were initially tears for a dying animal had soon turned into weeping over the situation in its entirety. How had I ended up there? How was I holding the dying dog he had brought home? How was I the one feeling any of it because he was too fucking gone to feel anything? I looked up and finally made eye contact with him. He just stared at me for a few moments and said, “This is why I love you.”
The injustice of it all finally overwhelmed me and I wept uncontrollably. The explosion of raw emotion must have shocked him because he seemed taken aback by it all and moved away from me. Just as he did, we locked eyes and I could feel how afraid he was of me. I could smell and taste his fear. At that very moment, staring into those cold, gray, unfeeling eyes, I realized that I hated this person, almost as much as he hated himself.flatlin3, d. (2012, December 14). A dog named boo. Paraphilia Magazine, (Trasumanar), 178-181.Retrieved from http://paraphiliamagazine.com/2012.html RIP Boo ❤ df3
PETTY GIRLS LIKE GRAVES
(Originally published in Paraphilia Hypokeimenon)
Brooke awoke next to her beloved, something he had kindly allowed her to do. It was not often that Christopher acknowledged his deep love for her. Brooke had to spend a lot of time analyzing his patterns and behaviors. They were coming up on their sixth anniversary, in fact. Something Brooke was especially proud of. She and Christopher had been through a lot during their time together. Though they had not always been in contact and in agreement, they had always had their special connection. Brooke knew in her heart of hearts that her beloved Christopher was the one true love she had always dreamed would come to rescue her. Waking up next to him filled Brooke with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction and achievement.Lying on her side, Brooke reached across her beloved and grabbed her pack of cigarettes. She always had a cigarette first thing in the morning. Or whenever they finally awoke from their contented slumber. Brooke caught sight of herself lighting the cigarette in the mirrors affixed to the wooden canopy above Christopher‘s bed. The black tulle draped haphazardly around the frame gave it a more regal effect, she thought. But that was her Christopher, wasn‘t it? Regal. Cultured. Educated. Wise. Brooke saw her reflection above smile and this made her giggle. She tried to repress her sound, as not to awake Christopher. Who she could see was soundly sleeping, the covers wrapped tightly around his head.
Brooke‘s thoughts drifted back to the first time she laid eyes on Christopher. She had known in an instant that he was The One. She was shocked to learn he felt the exact same way. It had been messy, leaving the boyfriend she had been with for so many years, but it had been worth it. The first few weeks she and Christopher spent together were magical. They spent the entire time high and having sex. This was not her ex-boyfriends forte. He had been more of the wheeler-dealer type. And by that Brooke meant drug-dealer type. He had quickly taken her in and supplied her with a lifestyle she could not afford on her own. After more than seven years together, he was rather distraught upon learning of her shacking up with Christopher. Brooke had simply run away from him, no explanation, no communication. She was fine with burning the bridge at the time. She saw absolutely no use to keeping him around any longer. Brooke had finally found her Prince Charming and she was planning on keeping him.
Brooke looked around the room. Christopher‘s home was simultaneously familiar and foreign. She had spent so many days, weeks, and months living here. Brooke had always excelled at playing house as a child. Growing up with brothers and a mother who wasn‘t around meant Brooke played alone, a lot. The only attention her brothers had ever given her were negative reinforcements of how weak females were. Christopher made her feel special and safe. When she was with him, nothing could hurt her. Except him. And that was okay with her. She knew her Christopher like no other woman could, she thought. It was her understanding of male ways that made her and her beloved soul mates. She knew in her heart of hearts that boys played rough and they never meant to hurt anyone.
The times Christopher allowed her to stay with him were magical. Brooke didn‘t even mind when he would kick her out so that other girls could visit. She even found his frequent vanishing acts quite charming. She loved him and his adorable idiosyncrasies. While he was away, Brooke spent her time cleaning, nesting, and smoking the excellent product Christopher was famous for. That was why he had come into her world. He was the source of the new dope her ex-boyfriend had so desperately wanted. She wondered if it had been worth the cost in the end? One week after Christopher shook his hand, he had his cock in Brooke. Where it stayed for the next several weeks.
Brooke lowered the bed covers and studied her breasts in the reflection. They were not large, not like the grotesquely huge ones of the girl she did not like to remember. Brooke‘s breasts were small, but firm and perky. Not bad considering she had given birth. What a mess that had been. Six months after she and Christopher had started dating Brooke had discovered she was pregnant. This was after the girl she did not like to remember informed Brooke that she was about to give birth to Christopher‘s son. The girl had been polite and her emails were well written. Brooke had meant it when she told the girl that she would very much like to meet her. Although Brooke knew, in her heart of hearts, that Christopher loved this girl the most, she was happy. The girl required Christopher to jump through too many hoops and would never allow him to be himself. Brooke knew that the child she was going to give him would make up for all the sadness he felt at the loss of his beloved.
Brooke had tried so very hard to be good, once she learned she was pregnant. She was carrying Christopher‘s child and it deserved only the best. But it was hard to say no and Christopher didn‘t mind if she did. She had not found out she was pregnant until she was six months along. She couldn‘t remember how much dope she had consumed during this time, but she knew it was a lot. Enough to make stopping then irrelevant. She had hid it from Christopher as long as she could. When she did finally tell him, it caused him to kick her out. He was appalled that she had been using drugs the entire time, endangering his child. For several weeks he avoided her, refusing to return her calls or text messages. Brooke sent her pleas via her blog postings online. All in hopes of winning back her beloved‘s favor.
Eventually, he did invite her back. In fact, Christopher had become increasingly involved in the planning of their baby‘s room. Christopher‘s mother had bought him a new house and together they were going to make it a home. Their home. They had settled on a name for their daughter, one Christopher‘s own father had bestowed upon a child from a previous marriage, a daughter who had died at birth. Christopher didn‘t like fucking Brooke once he could feel the baby move. Which was fine. She spent her time nesting and didn‘t mind that Christopher went out to get high and have sex. Her beloved has a very active sex drive and she was not able to satisfy it. It was his right to fulfill his needs himself. Brooke knew that he always came home. Eventually. When he did, it was straight into their bed he went. Where he would lay his head upon her still barely-there baby bump and tell their daughter all about how wonderful their lives were going to be.
Brooke had forgiven Christopher for abandoning her when his son had been born. She knew how manipulative the girl was and did not hold it against her beloved. He was a boy and could not help how he reacted to the evil deeds of the girl. The girl had expected Christopher to be something he was not and did not understand the dope game. Brooke had always found this most amusing. For someone Christopher claimed to love so much and hold in such high esteem, he sure treated her like a moron. The numerous lies she had been party to his telling the girl. The numerous times they had giggled as they smoked together and read aloud the incoming text messages. Brooke thought about this, a lot, during her stay in the homeless shelter. It had been the only place that would take her as a pregnant woman with a drug habit. Brooke‘s own family had abandoned her after the ex-boyfriend filled them in on her sudden departure and subsequent theft of his belongings. She was very pregnant and very alone when Christopher dropped her off at the shelter. He wished her good luck and then headed down the highway to visit his beloved.
Brooke did not like to remember this time. She noticed the frown that reflected back from above and put out her cigarette. She reached over and gently rubbed Christopher‘s side. He didn‘t budge. He usually didn‘t. He slept like the dead, especially when they had been on a good one. Such as the one they had just been on. Her and her beloved had just finished a five-day fuck fest. They had not had to leave his lair for dope nor food. Sequestered to amplify their love. Christopher was a true romantic at heart; it was what Brooke loved most about him. He was a consummate romantic and lover. He made her feel things no other man ever had.
Brooke caught sight of the picture on the wall that she hated. It was the one thing she wished Christopher would get rid of, but she knew he never would. It was the drawing he had done of the girl when they were in high school together. He had made it very clear to Brooke from the very beginning, as he did with them all, that his feeling for the girl were not up for negotiation. Many nights Brooke had listened to Christopher agonize over how he had to keep the truth from the girl. How she could never find out what a horrible person he truly was because it would kill him. She liked to hold him and gently run her finger through the hair at his neckline when he got in these moods. Looking at the picture of the girl now, Brooke smirked. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stretched as she stood up. She walked over to the picture, tapped the cigarette she was about to smoke on the glass and addressed the art directly, “Not so special after all were you?”
Brooke padded into the bathroom and went pee. The bathroom was a mess, it usually was. Christopher was a horrible housekeeper and Brooke was often too busy helping him cook dope or taking care of her daughter to worry about good housekeeping practices. Her pussy was sore, as usual. Christopher knew how she liked it and never disappointed her. Brooke caught sight of a pair of women‘s underwear, which was not hers, behind the bathroom door. Why had she not seen them before now? The standard list of excuses went through her head as she wiped herself. Walking back into their room, she gazed filled her head as she gazed upon her beloved as he slept.
Brooke climbed back into bed, but not before checking her phone to see if the ex-boyfriend had provided any up-dates on her daughter. Christopher had been so supportive to her during her pregnancy. Even attending a doctor‘s appointment with her. She was not staying with him when she went into labor. Christopher had found out about several affairs Brooke had engaged in during their early days. But he had put his anger aside to rush to be by her side as she gave birth. When the cord became entangled around the baby‘s neck and it had come out blue, he was there. As he was when the doctor‘s resuscitated and breathed life into the product of her polluted uterus. Christopher had been horrified at the sight of a blue child. His horror had quickly been replaced by anger. Anger due to the fact that his daughter was the wrong color. A fact Brooke herself could no longer deny. The weeks her daughter spent in NICU allowed the Hispanic features to take prominence. The child was clearly the progeny of her ex-boyfriend. Not Christopher.
This had thrown another wrench into their love story, but as most true love stories do, theirs had a happy ending. That was all ancient history now. Many women had come and gone in the years since then. The girl and her son disappeared, never to be seen again. A bone of contention with Brooke, because what kind of woman keeps a man from seeing his own child? Christopher was excellent with her daughter. He let Brooke bring her around whenever they visited. The baby was very quiet and didn‘t interrupt their smoking. Brooke‘s daughter was a very docile child and this made Christopher happy. He was also first to express his unhappiness during her visits with her father. This had cemented their bond in Brooke‘s heart of hearts.
Brooke looked to her phone for signs of how long they had been asleep. She had sent her BFF a text message 18 hours ago. She assumed this was the approximate amount of time they had hibernated. Christopher was never easy to rouse from sleep. His mum had warned her of this. His mum was such a wonderful woman in Brooke‘s mind. She had gone out of her way to make sure that Christopher never had to work a day in his life. His mother was wealthy and took such good care of her family. Brooke was honored to be a part of their gatherings, whenever she was allowed to attend. Eventually the family had all warmed up to her and talk of the evil girl had ceased.
Brooke loaded up a fresh pipe, deciding this was a pleasant way for Christopher to wake up. She padded into the kitchen and prepared their coffee as well. As it brewed, she prepared the fine china tea set his mother had given him. Her EBT card had recharged a few days ago, so there was plenty of food in the house. Brooke loved to act in the capacity of a wife for Christopher, even though he had made it clear he would never again marry. “Doesn‘t matter,” she said aloud as she carried the tray back to their bed. Her Christopher was still resting soundly. “Time to wake up sleepy head,” she cooed sweetly as she leaned in to kiss her beloved‘s cheek. Brooke quickly recoiled in horror. He was cold! How could her Christopher be cold? She felt the panic spread through her body and immediately began to shake him. She shook his shoulders with all the strength she had. “Christopher,” she shouted! Brooke threw back the covers and kicked the dogs off of their bed. “Christopher, wake up” she screamed! Brooke knew in her heart of hearts he was not going to wake up. He was cold, so very cold. How could she have not noticed this before? A million thoughts ran through her head. She should call for help, she should call his mother, she should call someone, anyone, but her eyes focused on the pipe sitting next to their coffee.
In that moment, Brooke knew exactly what she had to do. Just as she had known the moment she laid eyes upon her Christopher that they were soul mates. She went to the side of the bed that he was facing and put her hand upon his shoulder. Brooke pushed him onto his back. She was very aware of how very much she should be completely freaked out and yet she was not. Her thoughts were clear and profoundly important in her mind. Brooke knew exactly how her and her beloved should proceed from here.
She quickly took the pipe and went to the computer. Brooke needed information and where better to find it than the Internet? After a few hits off the pipe and web sites searches she had the information she needed and she didn‘t have much time left. Brooke went back to her Christopher and stared deeply into his closed eyes. So many of her childhood dreams were fading before her eyes and yet she felt calm. He was her soul mate and there could be no other ending for them now.
Brooke pulled back the bed coverings and, as indicated on the websites, her beloved was fully erect. This made her smile; even in death Christopher was the consummate lover. A few slight adjustments and he was ready for her. The serenity and calm she felt was overwhelming for she knew that they were going to be together. Forever.
Angel lust, it was such an appropriate term Brooke thought as she lowered herself down upon her Christopher‘s erect cock. She hit the pipe as she went about pleasuring herself. Looking at her beloved she could not stop thinking about what a wonderful person he was and how very lucky she was that he loved her; in his own way.
Feeling herself about to reach climax, Brooke reached across the bed and found her beloved‘s favorite possession exactly where it should be. She could feel the tears run down her face and he warmth comforted her, as it always had. Brooked liked to cry. She thought briefly about her daughter and quickly reconciled that a child would be better off with no mother than a mother like Brooke. Her movements hastened, as she brought herself closer to climax. She saw the painting of that evil girl as a reflection in the mirror. The image of herself nude juxtaposed against the girl staring at her with those eyes, those dead-doll eyes. Christopher loved them, so very much. Brooke put the gun in her mouth, whispered a final “I love you,” to her beloved and pulled the trigger.