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We were embracing one another tightly, kissing away the thoughts of the prior hours, escaping into the abyss of our affection. I had distinct awareness of his hard bone, rubbing against my own as he humped me excitedly. I was nearly forgetting the horrid events, I was ready to have him in me and float away to another plain in my mind. Sometimes sex was just as effective as synthetic drugs. He began to ready me for his fat shank with his skilled hand. I was way ahead of him; I pulled him closer and felt as he moved inside of me.Oh, fuck yeah! The familiar quick-shot mix of pleasure and pain took me to another level, another world.

He fucked me strong and fast, with each stroke I escaped more into pleasant comfort. One distinct and undesirable side effect of heroin was the inability to orgasm. We both knew this, so he just fucked away for several more minutes, well aware that he was unable to express his burden, he was just fucking for me. I was able to find solace in this pleasure zone and disconnect from my woes, enjoying him thoroughly, but suddenly awoke to the fact that my cock was about as hard as a wet washcloth. The knowledge of no blood flow quickly ruined my mood. I aggravatedly pushed my lover away, and my gaze settled on the bloody shirt I had strewn upon the floor. The cockroach had found his way over to it, and if magnified, I was sure I'd be able to see his tiny tongue lapping at the shirt. If roaches have tongues. My lover saw the frustration on my face and felt my anger. He tried putting his arms around me once again, as a comforter, his staff still engorged and reaching out to me.

"Man, just stop, ok?" My voice was so angry. I didn't want to take it out on him, Christ, I knew this wasn't about him. But seeing a junkie's dick hard as a rock and ready to assult, while my sober flesh lay limp and dead made me feel like shit.

He ignored my rejection and pulled me to him with strong needle-marked arms. He remained silent, and just held me tightly, tenderly planting kisses on my neck. I lost it, once again. Tears of fears and rage began to stream down my cheeks. I felt more hopelessness than I ever had. This shit was just too fucked up. What was the lesson to be learned from this experience, I wondered. I had a belief that every event was a lesson, and granted, I was a slow learner, continually repeating past mistakes with the lesson proving more painful with each subsequent demonstration. I felt I had reached a point where, yeah, ok, I'm ready to fuckin' learn from this....let's just wake up now, and everything will be back to normal. I will quit drinking, yeah, that's what this is about. I will get sober for real, quit selling dope to kids and get a real job. Hell, I will break it off with my lover, if that's what it takes for things to be ok. If my life is falling apart because I'm committing cardinal sins well fuck, I'll go to church. My mind was once again racing uncontrollably. Wondering, aching to know what I could possibly do to reverse this bullshit. As he flexed his arms around me and stroked my head I began to notice how horribly cold I was. I shivered against him, as my icy tears hit the bare mattress we sat upon, mixing with the grue stains I'd painted on it. Overwhelmed, I began to shut down. Lack of alcohol, normal body function that so many people take for granted with each second their heart beats, the inability to get hard, the feeling of losing my mind were all overloading me, and I slipped into a hard sleep, before I could even wonder to myself if I would wake again.

I did wake, frigid and dazed, trying to recollect the last span of consciousness. I was alone on the bed, with my knees curled to my chest and a holey blanket carefully tucked around me. The light from the window was dim, it looked like early morning or twilight, but I had no idea which. My memory was so hazy and muddled; it was like trying to recall a blackout. You know, when you drink enough to not have any recollection of what happened, or what you did, but were still obviously functioning. I tried remembering how much I'd drank, or what or with who the night (or day) before, but I couldn't.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim room, I noticed voices from the other room. I listened for a moment, and then knew the voices. One of course, my boy, and the other, other two actually, were a couple of guys who get their smoke from us. I began to move from the bed with the thought of putting on clothes and joining them for a couple hits. Then I noticed the shirt on the floor, and memories flooded me right away. I stood, naked, and stared at the shirt lying before me. Then something seemed to snap in my head, and whispered "fuck it", very softly, in my ear. I turned and pulled a pair of jeans and a tank top from the open dresser drawer, pulled them on, and casually strolled out into the direction of the front room. As I walked, I felt strangely light on my feet. Before I had a chance to acknowledge this thought, the whisper came again and once again said, "Fuck it."

I glide-walked down the hallway and passed the drying vomit in front of the open bathroom door. I shuddered, and reached into the bathroom, taking a towel from a hook and dropped it onto the mess in the hall. I looked into the bathroom mirror at my self, my face. Wetting a washcloth I rubbed cold water over my cheeks, eyes and forehead. Refreshing. I rubbed the whetted cloth on my exposed arms and felt fresher, presentable. I commenced to the front room. As I appeared in the doorway of our front room, my boy and his two guests turned to me. The two guys nodded and said, "Hey man, what's happinin'? You in there sleepin' it off again? Here, have a hit off this." The guest that had spoken extended his hand towards me which was wrapped around the neck of a vodka bottle. I knew what would happen, I remembered what had happened in the kitchen, and I wasn't about to look like I pissed myself.

I played it cool and took the bottle, and as I tipped it skywards on my lips I used my tongue to cork the opening, making it appear that I had taken a drink. Oh, the shit tasted so good on my dry dry tongue! How I wanted to drink it down. The taste and smell made a shiver go through my shell of a body. I was in for a long uncomfortable road of not drinking, I thought to myself. I did my best to appear my usual self to our guests, sat next to my lover on the sofa (him wide-eyed staring at me, wondering if I'm alright) feet up on the table pretending to hit the bottle again. Then I passed it over and reached for a cigarette. As I put the filter between my lips, I suddenly wondered what would happen on the inhale/exhale.....I thought for a moment, and decided that any abnormal exit for the smoke was safely clothed, and I lit up. My lover stared at me, watching as I took an immense drag (no lung capacity to limit my intake) and the cherry sizzled down an inch or so. The guests, eyeing the large bag of reefer just purchased, took no notice to the enormous drag I'd taken, and the chimney-like cloud I blew out. My lover just stared, somewhat shocked. I looked at him and managed a small grin, and then playfully punched him in the arm. I guess, even though he saw it coming, it caught him a bit off guard. He flinched and said in his stoned monotone voice, "Heeyy maan, whaat the fuucckk?"

Our guests looked from us to each other, and sensing a possible domestic situation arising, they began to make a move towards the door. We bid our farewells, as well as any good dope dealer does, and they let themselves out. I began apologizing to my boy and he stopped me, laughing. "I waas jussst fuucckin' withh ya, maan...Heyy, I need taa go gett some morre shhit...how arre youuu feelin'?"

I told him that I seemed to be alright, felt ok all things considered. I took another drag off the smoke and wondered if it was coming out of my ass. I was not curious enough to look though. I was actually pretty calm and comfortable. I realized that alcohol withdrawal wasn't bad on someone lacking innards. My obsession with getting a drink had somewhat eased up, but then with the thought of going with my boy to get his shit, I knew how bad I'd want my shit too. He was ready to go, a pocket full of money our acquaintances had given us, and a good buzz on. Going on a dope hunt when you were uncomfortably straight was never fun. So I stood and put a hand out to help him hoist himself up, and we went out the door and proceeded up the street, to the heroin dealer's flat. It was several blocks away, and we passed three convenience-liquor stores on the way. Upon seeing each one as we walked by, my brain ached to feel the instant ease a pint or so would bring. Then, like a flash of lightning, I got a brilliant idea of how I could get off. I thought about it excitedly as we walked on, waiting to share it with my lover after I'd worked all the bugs out of it.

As I examined the tentative plan in my mind, my pace picked up a bit, and I felt a sincere smile spread across my dirty face. I held my boy's hand as we headed up the dark street towards the dope man's house. I had determined that since it seemed to get darker instead of lighter, it must be night, not morning, as I had questioned silently earlier. The cool breezy air seemed to cut though the fog in my lover a bit, and he spoke

in a more normal, deliberate manner.

"So, you feel ok, then? You look like you're ok. How'd you drink that, in the living room? Geez, your hand is fuckin' cold. Maybe you just imagined that shit, huh...I know people who really go nuts from alcohol poisoning. I dunno. Do you think it really happened?"

I just didn't feel like debating. I knew what the fuck had happened. He had seen the effects it had on me. For him to question it, well, I guess it still was a very insane incident and hard for anyone to swallow. But I was not in the mood to prove my point or make my truth believable. I told him, yeah I feel pretty good, considering...yeah, I am a little cold...responding to his questioning with not too much feeling. I was really wrapped up in my scheme of getting some liquid relief. There was no doubt of the reality of the earlier events. I knew how hard drugs 'round the clock can make one's perception a bit foggy. I didn't blame him for wondering if my tale were true. But I honestly did feel pretty damn good, and I was so looking forward to feeling the warmth of alcohol. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced it would work.

We began the ascent of the cement stairs leading up to the dopeman's door, and my boy reached out and knocked four times. We stood, waiting, for several minutes before the door cracked open, and the shady man's eye poked out to evaluate his visitors. He saw that it was us, and opened the door fully, welcoming us in as warmly as a dope dealer can. We entered and took our regular seat on his sofa, and he sat across from us, firing up a huge spliff. He took an incredible hit off of it, gagged a bit and puffed his cheeks out doing his best to hold the smoke. He did pretty fair for several seconds, but then could hold it no longer, and with a loud cough it came billowing out of his throat. He gagged and coughed violently for a few seconds before passing it our way. My boy was telling him what he wanted; he had enough cash for two grams of the brown, but asked for the third to be spotted. The dopeman knew where we lived, and he knew we also played the game and didn't have a lot of trouble paying our debts to him. He started to get up out of his chair and go into the backroom to fill our 'script. As he exited, my lover took a hit and went to pass it to me. "What you think that's gonna do for me, man? I ain't gonna get anything from that", I reminded him.

"Oh, yeahh, I'm sorry man", he whispered, with his eyes averted, obviously feeling a bit bad about offering it to me. "Hey," I started, whispering back at him, "Let's make your dude a bet, and get that junk for free."

"Whaddaya talking about," he whispered back.

"Just watch this man, wait till he comes back in here." I almost giggled as I spoke. The dealer returned with an eight of smack, and said that he'd take 200.00 today and could wait two days for the other 125.00. Then I cut in.

"Hey man, what you wanna bet that I could smoke the rest of this doobie down in one toke?"

There was two-thirds of the huge joint left.

"There's no fuckin' way you could smoke that up in one hit. Who you tryin' to fool, fool?"

"I'll bet you that smack that I can", I confidently said.

"Oh, and what do I get out of it when you don't, cause I KNOW you won't, you gotta be a stupid mutha-fucker to think you could do that."

I paused and said, "If I can't you keep the money AND the dope,ok?"

My lover jerked his head around and looked at me with a very alarmed expression. "What the fuck are you doin' man?" He semi-hissed at me, trying to speak quietly, but the possible threat of him not getting his stuff, and the possibility of pissing off his dealer obviously made him quite uncomfortable. I put my arm around him and coolly told him tochill, baby, and then turned back to the dopeman and said, "Well, we got a deal then or what?"

"Fuck, if you wanna be that stupid, I can't see passin' up two hundred for nothin', but your boy there is gonna be hurtin'...why you wanna grow big balls all of a sudden and try to do somethin' you know you can't do, fool? What tha fuck's wrong withya?"

"Are we on then?"

"Yeah, ok. And when you cough your guts up after a five second drag, I get the money and keep the dope, right?"

"Yeah, man. But that ain't gonna happen."

I took the fat joint which hadn't burned down much as we'd been talking, and went to suck it down. As I began to draw from it, I clenched my sphincter as tightly as I could, and just kept tokin' on it, all in one pull, as it sizzled and crackled and ash fell off from the end as it got nearer to the fingers that pinched it. Both of my audience members did not believe their eyes. Well, my boy was not quite as shocked as dopeman, but he was wearing an expression of"Whoa! What the fuck!" on his face. I kept my ass muscles tightly squeezed, making sure to not let up until I was on the exhale, which finally, I was. I must've taken a minute-long toke. I took the now roach of a joint from my lips and blew out the most tremendous cloud of pot smoke you've ever seen. It was such a huge cloud, that it totally hid me from the other two...and I wondered if they could see through the cloud at all. I couldn't.

"What the FUCK! I have never seen such shit in all my life, and let me tell you, I'veseensome fuckin' shit now! How the FUCK did you do that?"

I shrugged as the last of the smoke exited my hollow body, and relaxed my ass finally. "I dunno, man, just been practicin', got good lung capacity, y'know?"

"Well, fuck, you got me dude. You won't again though. That's the craziest fuckin' shit I ever seen!"

I was really glad that he didn't seem to be taking his loss too hard. Hell, he probably hadn't had as interesting of entertainment since the contortionist-prostitute-junkie-regular-fuck-of-his got run over by the street cleaner truck. Not that her getting run over was his entertainment. Just had to clarify. So he hands over the eight ball chunk of heroin and shakes his head, and scratches it too, still having difficulty of what he'd witnessed. My boy hadn't said a word. I knew how relieved he was that I hadn't fucked things up though. We said our goodbyes and got up to let ourselves out. Then I stopped and turned and asked the mangey haired smack seller, "Hey, you don't have a drill, do ya?"

"A what? A drill?"

"Yeah, you know, a drill", and I made a 'neeeerrrrrrr' sound trying to demonstrate a drill.

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Would ya mind a lot if I borrowed it from ya, just till tomorrow? I need to fix the, uh, doorknob, it's real loose, ya know?" It was all I could come up with at that moment. He gave me a funny sideways look and said, "Ok, if you say so...don't break it though, fucker. I'll hafta take it out 'cho ass."

He turned away from us and disappeared into another room. My lover looked at me and said, "What the fuck are you talking about? Our doorknob's fine, it's not loose."

"Shhh, chill", I whispered.

"We've got a screwdriver, why you need a drill for the doorknob?"

He was being persistent. "Shut up, man, I'll tell you in a minute", I said with less patience. The dreaded nappy dealer man came back just then with a cordless drill, explaining to me it needed to be charged.

"No prob, thanks a lot man. And thanks for the dope!" I couldn't help but smile as I said that, and he replied with a "Yeah, fuck you too." He knew he'd make his money from us in a day or so.

We turned and left dopeman's pad and began our several-block journey home. We were always a bit nervous upon walking home after a score. A lot can happen between here and there. But I was armed with a drill; I wasn't too concerned this time. We walked on and got closer to the first of the three liquor stores we'd pass, and I quickly made tracks for the door. My boy followed closely. I swung the door open with a new energy, and I must've appeared a little over-zealous or perhaps under the influence of PCP to the clerk. He freaked the fuck out as he saw us enter, me wielding a drill. I saw the concern on his face, but not before I saw him draw the shotgun that was quietly hiding under the counter, waiting for a happening. He pulled that big gun out and if I would've had a bladder, I woulda pissed myself on the spot. I reached to the ceiling with the drill in my hand, and stuttered, "Hey, man, I just wanted to get a fifth of Smirnoff, chill, I got the money to pay ya right here."

"Put that fuckin' thing down before I blow your head off, punk."

The unfortunate thing about this store, and this neighborhood, was that they weren't the greatest. That being said, it wasn't a mystery why the employee line-up changed so frequently. If he'd worked there for longer than the two weeks or however short of time he'd been there, he would've easily recognized us, and drill or not, would've known we were harmless. I put the drill down on the floor, s-l-o-w-l-y....and rose, waiting for the clerk to let me know I was safe to approach the counter. I did, got the bottle, paid, turned towards the door, the drill, and where my boy had frozen, and exited. Fuck, that was an un-nerving few seconds there. My poor lover, I was pretty sure he had pissed himself. He was really a wreck for several minutes after that. Finally being able to breathe normally and calm down, he said, "What'd you get that bottle for? How are you planning to drink it?"

"I'm not, I've got another idea," I said, smiling once again. Still not ready to reveal my plan to him, waiting till we could sit down and I could explain to him. We quickly got back home, where upon entering, putting our dope, drink and drill down, we recognized the pertinent need for a dual-shower. He, dripping with piss, and me, rotten from the last 24 hours. We stunk bad. We could both hold out a few minutes while we got cleaned up a bit. Then the thought of entering the shower, where I'd seen aliens appear earlier, made me feel quite nervous. I really wasn't in the mood for a shower. I really wasn't thrilled at the thought of the man I love going into that shower.

"Y'know, let's just wash up at the sink, baby. I'll wash you and you can wash me, ok?"

My suggestion was readily accepted, and on our way into the kitchen, I hit the play button on the CD player as we passed it. Some random techno beat began to play as we stripped in front of the sink. I took the dry crusty dishtowel and wet it, then smeared some liquid dish soap onto my lover's chest. I lathered him up and scrubbed him softly with the towel, making millions of tiny soap bubbles appear on his tracked-up arms, the sparse hairs on his chest and belly collected the suds and he soon was bubble-covered. I washed him up good, and quickly, anxious for my turn so I could get on with my plan. I rinsed him after carefully making sure his tool was nice and clean for me.Hell, at least I could still suck it, I assumed. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried him off. Then I took my turn with him lathering, scrubbing, stopping to play with my flaccid dick, and then rinsing me. We were clean for the first time in a while, and I was ready to get on with it now. I had no doubt that this would work; this was the answer.