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He drove in into me harder, and at the moment he began to grunt with pleasure, I felt the sensation of my own rocks getting off. I was well aware that I wasn't hard in the least, but I seemed to come anyway. It sure felt like coming! We enjoyed our simultaneous climax, and when completed he relaxed on top of me, breathing heavy. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, and thought,damn, fuckin' zombie sex rocks! For this period of time all thoughts of being under the influence evaded me...it must have been forty five minutes since I'd last thought of my broken bottle. But, as always, my thinking returned to the vodka.Well, I thought,this is a good time. He seems content; maybe I can get away now and do my thing. Once again everything else was forgotten.

I gently began to push zombie-boy off of my heaving chest, while saying, "Hey man...just gimmie a minute here, so I can go do this thing, okay?" He dislodged his tongue from my head and made eye contact with me and looked surprisingly like his normal strung-out self. He spoke and said, "Yeah man, I need a fix too."

He sounded so normal. No reminiscence of zombie-ism. Part of me was disappointed. But I had hopes that later he'd get a taste of my head again and all would be well and wildly erotic. I wondered if he had a recollection of our sex. I prompted him by commenting about how great he was. He agreed and said, "Yeah man. That wasreally good. I felt like an animal...I don't remember being that horny in a while."

I was glad he remembered. We got up from the mattress and both started for the kitchen once again. I felt a draft on my bare brain as we walked through the house. It was a strange sensation. At this point strange was becoming the norm. Not much that I could think of would've been all that shocking to me. But I was excited, very anxious. I just knew in that this method, intra-brain injection of liquor, would produce the desired effect. I mean, how couldn't it? It would. That's all there was to it.It had to. I grabbed the rig off the kitchen table and bent down to the pool of vodka which was beginning to evaporate somewhat. I stuck the needle into the liquid which sat a fraction of an inch off the linoleum, and pulled the plunger back. I watched the syringe fill and I was ready. Out of habit, or out of my boy's habit, I should say, I flicked the rig a couple times to get the air out, and as I caught myself doing this I chuckled out loud. Like it mattered if there were air bubbles. My lover watched on, patiently waiting for me to go first, and then he would take his turn with the needle. I looked to him with eyes asking for assistance. He stepped over to my side and took the rig from me. Without a word, he pricked my exposed brain with the needle and pushed the plunger down. I was on pins and needles, so to speak, just barely able to contain my enthusiasm. I waited. As the small amount of vodka was injected directly into my brain, I was aware of a very cold sensation at the point of entry. I waited a moment.

"Gimmie another hit man."

He obliged me and bent to fill the syringe again. Once more, he stuck me. I felt the same coldness, but nothing else. Well, I thought to myself, how much of this shit did I need to drink to get an effect? I can't expect 5cc to get it for me, now can I? I told him, "Dude, I wish you had bigger rigs. This might take awhile." After the second, he waited for me to request a third.

"Yeah man, hit me again."

We repeated this procedure multiple times. I lost count quickly. The pool was dissipating rapidly, and I began to feel some concern.Fuck, I thought,how am I gonna get off? Maybe it's just the wrong part of my brain. Yeah, that must be it. I then told my boy these thoughts.

"So...you want another hole in your head, is what you're saying? Dude, this is just fucked. Maybe it's easy for me to say, but you should just give it up."

His insensitivity hurt me. As I watched him go to the counter and retrieve his spoon, and begin to cook himself up a nice fix, I got really pissed off.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you, you mother fucking junkie! You say that shit so calmly while you go and get ready to get off. That is bullshit man..matter of fact, fuck it...we should suffer together!"

With saying that, I got up quickly and grabbed the spoon from him, which already had a small chunk of brown tar on it. His eyes met mine with a pleading look that immediately had a physical effect upon me like being sliced with a blade. I shook off my anger and knew that I had no good reason to deprive him. He saw me soften and stepped towards me with an outreached hand, gesturing for the spoon to be returned. I handed it back, looking to the floor and shaking my head in dismay. I was disgusted with myself. I was truly beginning to realize the extent of my sickness, my addiction. But the desire to feel a chemical was so strong, so overwhelming, I went right from a lucid thought of my actual state of helplessness into the thought of drilling another hole through my skull.

Tears formed in my eye sockets, somehow, and began running down my face. I looked on as he expertly gave himself a nice boot of heroin and the look of beautiful relief came over him. Fuck, seeing that pained me even more. My mental obsession with trying to figure out a way to get high was taking over completely. I was truly a slave to my addiction. I could do nothing but sob with my head in my hands. The helplessness I experienced was what seemed to be the first tangible feeling ever without drugs, without sex, without anything to remove me mentally from the reality that seemed to surround me. I hated it. I could not fathom my 'life' continuing in this way. As I cried, my boy approached and attempted to comfort me in his tracked-up arms. He knelt before me and wrapped his arms around my body as I sat doubled over and crying in the metal kitchen chair. He nestled his head against mine and I heard his breath, his sighs. I knew he hated seeing me so miserable. But I also knew that he had to do what he had to do to maintain. I began to think that it was possible that he was as upset for me as I was. I felt a tear trickle onto my bare leg, and then another, as his clutch tightened around me.

I could not do this. Somehow the tears stopped and I sat upright, and with that fierce determination of before, I reached over to the drill on the table. He picked up his head from my lap as I moved, and saw the drill in my hand.

"Mann, I knoow how baad youu wanntt too get hiigh..butt you knooww thaat woon'tt worrk."

His stoned eyes pleaded up at me to stop.

"Besiidss, all thee vodkaaa iss gonne, maan."

I looked to the busted glass on the linoleum, and he was right, there was not any wetness left on the floor to speak of. What we hadn't tried to use had evaporated into the musty air. A part of me was so driven to just go get another bottle and try again, with a new hole. But that was my mind. My body, what was left of my body, disagreed. A physical weakness I had not yet felt had was beginning to come over me. The combination of grief and stress helped me to draw the conclusion that sleep might be helpful. I looked at him and said, "Fuck it, man. I'm gonna go lay down. I can't deal with this shit any more right now."

He rose from his knees and let me get up, and as I began to make my way towards the back room where our mattress was, I heard him shuffling behind me. I went to the edge of our bed and sat, with my head in my hands once again, before I made a move to lie back. He sat beside me, and through all the narcotic influence that surrounded him, I sensed his genuine compassion for me. We lay down together, and he held me, stroking my head, reassuring me that he loved me. Sleep came over me quickly like a cloud covering the sun. I was void of dreaming.

When my eyes opened, it was dark outside the sheet-clad window. The last few days had been so mixed up for me. Even when I was in my normal routine of carrying on and drinking around the clock, I still hadsome idea of what day it was, or what time of the day it was. The streetlight outside shone through and cast a yellowish light on my lover's face. He was sleeping very soundly, breathing slow and shallowly. I looked at him as he slept, the lines on his face telltale signs of a hard life, and an abused body. His hair was long and uncombed, as usual. The smell of oil from his scalp wafted into my nostrils. Yeah, my boy was pretty much a poster child for a slogan that might say something like "This is what you'll look like if you become a heroin addict."

As I stared at him in his sleep, I really thought about how much he meant to me, and how much I actually did love him. I never knew too much about the whole love thing, but in comparison to any other relationships I'd been involved in, intimate or otherwise, this was the closest I'd come to experiencing love. And for a short moment I felt gratitude. Then without warning, my thoughts took a turn towardsbad.

I had a vivid visual of how he'd looked after tonguing my brain...he sure was fucked up all right. Almost to the point of scary. But he also seemed to come out of it alright. I wanted to wake him and to hear about how that high felt. I put my hand on his shoulder and rocked him gently back and forth, speaking somewhat softly to him. It seemed to not do the trick, so I shook him a bit more forcefully. He was out. Gone. There had been times I'd seen him be unconscious for hours after getting high. But I had no way to gauge the time that had passed since we'd come from the kitchen. So, I really had no clue how long he might be out.

I lightly smacked his face a couple times, but still got no response. My thoughts, which were not optimal, turned even worse. I began to think the unthinkable. And once it began, I couldn't stop it. Quickly I became delirious with maniacal thoughts of how to go about experiencing the same high he had earlier. Part of me was in total disbelief of the notions I was having. The other, dark addicted part, wondered why I hadn't thought of it before this point. I then knew, had no doubt, of what I had to do.

I continued to stare at him as he drew each breath slowly, and exhaled at an almost undetectable rate. He looked so beautiful and peaceful. So satisfied in his torpidity. I kissed his sleeping face quickly and got up, and set about putting my thought into motion. I returned to the kitchen and cooked up another spoonful of junk, and loaded the rig. I opened and closed several drawers before locating a pair of needle nose pliers in one, and a short coil of nylon tie-downs. I scanned the counter and saw a knife, and I cut the nylon rope into four shorter sections. Then I picked up the drill, and headed back into the bedroom. Back to my sleeping savior.

He was still as motionless as when I'd left the room. I began to roll him on his side, and then all the way on his belly. He still did not stir. I took his wrists in my hand and began to wrap the rope around them, weaving it back and forth from one to the other, until he was bound tightly. I moved down his body and repeated this procedure with his ankles, the whole while him seemingly unaware of my actions. I pulled him down to the bottom edge of the bare mattress and took another piece of the rope and looped it through the small "handle" of cotton twine that was attached to the mattress. He was now secured, and unable to kick at me if he in fact awoke and objected. The rest of my 'equipment' was laid out on the bed next to us, I wondered if it would be better if I just went ahead and gave him another dose before he did come to. I decided no, I'd wait until he really was in need of it, when he could appreciate it. I positioned myself next to him as he lay so still, and took the drill in my hand. Pointing it at my mark, I squeezed the trigger, pausing as I let the drill run for a moment, to see if the noise woke him at all. It did not. A fleeting thought of "what am I doing?" went through my head, but as I touched the tool to his temple, all thoughts vanished.

As the coldness of the metal made contact with his head, I saw his hand twitch reflexively, but nothing more than a twitch. As I put pressure on the tool, and heard the sound of it grinding on bone, his drugged eyes began to flutter open. I stopped, and heard him say in a whisper of a voice, "Whaaddaaya dooin...."

"Shhhh. Relax, man. It's ok." I put down the drill and took up the loaded rig. He was just beginning to realize he was tied up. But for the most part, he was unaware of what was happening. He tried again to speak.

"Heyy...yooou getttin kinkeyyy oonn mee?"

I smiled down at him as I gripped his arm and squeezed it enough to make a vein appear. Without any words I poked the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger halfway down. Then I drew it back, filling the syringe back up with dope and blood, and then gave him the full dose. I heard him sigh and a barely audible "Oooh yeaaah baaby" came from his mouth. A big smile spread across his face. He was completely still now. I looked down at him for another moment. and then got back to the task at hand that my relentless addiction was forcing me to perform.

Returning the rig to the mattress, and retrieving the drill, I set it against the spot I'd begun to make contact with. In one quick motion, I squeezed the trigger once again and it easily went right through the bone. He made no movement. The big smile was still there. His stillness was not unusual, but something about it, possibly the fact that I was drilling a hole into his head, made me put my fingers to his neck and feel for a pulse. Just as I raised my hand to do so, I felt a warm wetness spreading across the mattress under my knees. I hesitated before placing my fingers to his neck, for I was suddenly afraid that the involuntary release of his bladder meant he was really gone.

I knew beginning this procedure that it was more than likely that this would kill him. I was undecided though, whether it was the heroin or the drill. He was still smiling, very still, without even a small breath. I picked up the needle nose pliers and inserted one point into the tiny hole I'd made, and closed them on his bone. As I snapped a piece of skull away, I imagined my lover being pleased with saving me from going insane. For supplying me with a high I so desperately needed. I ignored any faint feeling of guilt or sadness, and focused on my needs. I snapped off another small piece of bone with the pliers, and another. The opening was now big enough to accommodate my tongue comfortably. I was so fucking ready for relief. Nothing, absolutely nothing else mattered at that moment.

I climbed onto my 'sleeping' lover and lay on his back, while taking his pretty head into my hands as I touched his brain with my tongue. I had not had any thought of this not working until that very second. But upon my tongue contacting his organ, I felt some sort of electrical buzzing begin at the tip of my tongue, and start to travel throughout my mouth, into and down my throat, and spread throughout my whole body. He tasted warm and wet and a bit salty. It almost reminded me of semen. I pushed my tongue far into the hole in the bone and sucked on his head as I continued to feel this wave building over my being. I was certainly feeling it...I was starting to feel somewhat out of control. I suddenly became so excited with this act I was in the process of; I picked up the pliers and snapped off another piece of his skull. I was able then to lick his organ with a lapping type motion, and with each touch of my tongue to his brain, the more intensely I felt this...electric...wildness...

I was beginning to feel disconnected from the scene. I felt as though I was on the verge of a blackout, yet it just didn't quite happen. Sweat was pouring off my flesh, and I was so high and excited I basically lost any control over what my body decided to do. I had to wonder no longer about how he had felt when he'd tasted my brain. I sucked his head with such aggression, and noticed that I was equally aggressive in my rubbing against his dead naked flesh. The flaccidness of my dick mattered not. I humped his body for all it was worth as I continued receiving the juice from his head. The feeling wasso fucking great! But it was difficult for me to really focus on my intoxication. The desperation I had to just go on feeding as I involuntarily dry-fucked him was just about all I could be aware of.

This went on. And on. I felt full body orgasm-after-orgasm. I grunted and attempted to speak to my lifeless lover as he supplied me with this incomparable pleasure, but I was beyond the ability to form any actual words. Finally it seemed to come to the ultimate climax. I felt as though my soft penis ejaculated with incredible force, and my whole body was just consumed with that feeling. I sucked his head and came, over and over. Then, suddenly I felt completely drained. I was terrifically exhausted, I could move no more. I lay atop my lover's dead body, motionless. I was still mentally consumed by that wonderful relief he had given to me. Never had I felt that sort of high. Never had I experienced that sort of escape. As I rest myself against his bare back, I felt the cooling pool of ejaculate that was between us. I kissed his face. Still the faint smile was upon it. I was unaware of exactly how long I'd spent getting off, but for that moment I felt satisfied and fulfilled. My thoughts then seemed to drift back into the picture of reality.

I began assessing the scene. I took myself back to the days before, when I had the initial bizarrities begin in my life. I remembered the whole chain of events, every day between now and then, and thought of what led me up to this point. This point of absolutely no control. This point of utter powerlessness. Succumbing to a relentless need to be satisfied. I was beginning to question myself, of how I could have let this happen. I sat up next to the lifeless body of the man who was my partner, and tried to comprehend what I had done. Being driven beyond anything my human will could control, I had performed the unspeakable. But as quickly as these questioning thoughts came, again they left. Left me with thoughts of getting enough energy to do it all again. Right then, I knew I needed nothing more in my life. This could and would be my sustenance. I gazed at my still-bound lover, and as I cut him loose, I was so grateful for his sacrifice to me. He was all I ever needed. That was, unless, his dead brain lost its potency. Then what the hell would I do? A question I didn't even need to ask. The answer was automatic. I prayed that I needn't leave the house anytime soon.

The CD player seemed to be set on random, and I heard a new song begin and smiled to myself as I listened to the words and let myself relax in my selfish bliss.

"Heaven on the way down
Talk about a prime piece of real estate
Headin' all the way down
Yeah you know it's fallin' like an intrest rate
Jesus calls it even
You can have your heart back, no questions asked
A temporary way out
Yeah, heaven's on the way down
Sweet relief,
Pulling teeth
soldiers spy a tinker, tailor, junkie thief
Holding on
It won't be long
Heaven's on the way down
Thinkin' that it's over..."

--lyrics by Scott Lucas