I mean you see the routine all the time. One of these punk kids from the burbs starts snorting lines on weekends, says he'll never main line, says he'll never get hooked, says he's only a weekend visitor, he doesn't like dope just the atmosphere. You hear it, and you don't need to hear the rest to know how it all ends.
The lines start disappearing quicker, the weekend now stretches out to cover Monday through Friday, and now it's just a continual dope excursion. Then it happens. All principals and convictions evaporate until you find solace and salvation in a needle. Then it's all down from there. For me it wasn't dope that got me hooked, it was a pretty face.
Main-lining dope is a religious experience. Any seasoned dope addict begins to salivate at sound of spoons colliding. Each dope addict has their own med kit, and a preferred method of doing things. This normally is followed hand in hand with personifying your possessions. Spoons have Christening ceremonies, and the sight of a candle makes your veins thirst for a spoon to be placed above it.
So when Dawn offered to shoot me up for the first time I didn't hesitate. Her parents had gone out of town and left her a generous sum of money for groceries, which will never be purchased. The house had more then enough food for the week, and all the money went to buying the finest bags of dope Detroit had to offer.
She laid me down on a series of pillows she had arranged and helped me get my shirt off. We'd fooled around before but never like this. She steals a kiss and gets to work on cutting and melting the bag. She acts like a nurse, she's gentle and delicate with me, her hands opperate with a fine mechanical skill that can only be acquired through years of practice. Her delicate angel hands traced the tourniquet around my arm until the vein stood at full attention. A big thick throbbing highway of blood stood up against my skin. My heart was nervous and beating fast. IT felt like love for the first time.
Her hands and nervous smile, the way she kept re-assuring me that I'd both love and remember this experience. I trusted her; she was to cute to let anything bad happen to me. Her eyes focused and attached themselves to watching the bubbling tip of the spoon. I just watched her perfect breasts under her shirt move with the rhythm of her breathing as it quickend with anticipation for what would happen next.
I leaned back against the pillows and extended my arm, like a child reaching out for an Oreo. She filled the dropper and her eyes met mine one last time. She climbed over me in a very sexual fashion and sat on my lap. She took off her shirt, and unfastened her bra. She leaned over me for one last sober kiss, one long, moist sloppy kiss that seemed to last forever.
Snake bite on my arm, I watch the dropper go down, then rise, a beautiful mixture of blood and poison filled the milligram count of the syringe. In an instant the plunger came down and I experience the most intense feeling of my life. I've been a veteran at snorting dope, but I'd never shot it, never really used it... Until now.
Now I'm flying. I'm nodding off, and we're having the most relaxing sex of our lives. I don't cum for days. There's hardly any movement from our bodies. We're both too relaxed to try anything rough, and right now i don't care.
Sun light crawls across the tan carpet floor. I'm passed out naked and there's needles and cotton balls everywhere. As if some suburban home had been hijacked by dope fiends for the weekend- in fact it had.
My angel lay asleep and a blanket hangs under her breasts. I stare at her as she breathes, fascinated and aroused. I brush her golden hair behind her ear and let her sleep for a little while. I get up and walk naked into the kitchen. Her pantry is a maze and nothing is where I think it should be. After several calamitous bangs and crashes I find the coffee filters.
IT starts percolating and I start lusting for it. I stare at the new wound beneath my elbow. MY skin folds into a tiny little calloused volcano just above the vein. I feel guilty as I rub my index finger over it. This triggers a montage of images to run past my head. I picture my mom's heart breaking as I tell her I'm a dope addict, I see I'm holding Dawn in my arms as I'm trying to her shake her out of an over dose, I see us fighting over the last shot of dope, I see me reaching out for money while some greasy business tycoon pushes past me to get his hour's worth out of Dawn so we can get our Fix. I close my eyes, and then focus back on the kitchen.
I think of Dawn sleeping and how beautiful she is. I see blue veins cold and shivering running through her body. I want to warm her up, I want to make her smile, I want to hold her, I want to fuck her, but she's still sleeping. Instead I'm making breakfast for her.
Finding the pots and pans proved difficult due to my unfamiliarity with the kitchen, but once I got the ingredients together things came along nicely. Dawn drifted into the kitchen with slightly more modesty than I. She held the sheets around her waist; her gorgeous bare breasts lay hanging like peaches. She looks at me and knows what I'm doing. She sets herself up a plate while I'm cooking nude. Suddenly modesty I never knew I had before seizes me, besides it's slightly colder in here then I realized. I go back to the living room and find a blanket draped over a couch. I wrap it around my waist, and head back into the kitchen.
I come back to find that Dawn was already eating the breakfast I hadn't finished cooking. We were good like that. I'd set out to cook her breakfast and she'd finish up while I got caught up in something else. She was midway through her first bite when she asked if I was ready to shoot up again. I roll my eyes; I tell her only if she wants too.
We finish up and leave a mess in the kitchen that will sit there all weekend while we nod off in the living room. She strips the sheets from around her waist and starts tying up her arm. She pulls the bands in her mouth and gives me a look from the corner of her eye that says something sexual. I just see a dope addict. She asks if I'll fix her up, she wants to play doctor. I administer the shot, and watch her grip on my arm tighten, then loosen as the dope claims her. I lie down next to her and take the blanket from my waist and wrap it around both of us. She offers me a shot, but i decline, I just want to hold her.
We fuck and I catch her falling asleep midway through. I can't bring myself to finish. I wrap the blankets around her and leave her there. I walk up to her room and pull out the stationary I bought her and write a "Dear Jane" letter.
I leave it at her feet with a bag of dope and a litany of reasons why I can't do this to myself. Yeah that kid, that weekend visitor, that part sniffer- never shooter, yeah he walked out of that room that night. He never shot, and he never sniffed again. Her face wasn't so pretty anymore, and I'd finally broken my addiction...
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment