I'm obsessed. And I've never even tried it.
I'm a curious lass by nature, willing to try most anything twice. In the past year I've been working on filling in the blanks in my corruption and integrating all the deviance I've ever wanted into my normal day-to-day life. Last year I injected kink. Started down the drug path again, as I hadn't really done much more than smoke weed over the years. First two journeys were with a bum friend, and of course, bum E. This past New Year's Eve was quite a different story. So, I'm on a roll this year, so to speak. *grin* Lost my acid virginity (thanks, kitty cat), fell in love with E a few times over now. Oh yeah, and shrooms were cute, and I couldn't have asked for better ambiance than running around nekkid in the Smokey Mountains. I've got the right people in my life right now to show me anything my debaucherous heart desires. I can moderate my cravings for my candy of choice, but something else has been residing in my subconscious.
Cocaine.
Whoa, nelly!
There must be one last snowstorm on its way or something, because I've been hearing nothing but coke mentioned over and over again from different sources. The trailers for that movie Blow that's coming out. I flip open the Sunday NY Times Magazine to find more mention of it. A close relative of mine fondly talked about a 4'x10' pile of cocaine on a table in her Studio 54 days. There was barely a dent in that pile after hours of consumption by a horde of people. She got so excited reminiscing she got the hiccups. And this is a woman who's 12 years sober, mind you.
There was the article in whatever girly magazine I suffered through recently about a suburban, yuppy, executive chick getting hooked and coke practically destroying her life. Consumption at an orgy a few months ago, I passed. Then seeing Pulp Fiction again. Then a friend partaking with his dealer.
Cocaine gets my cock hard. This time last year, though, I was absolutely refusing to ever even consider snorting. A history of addiction in my family and my impulses are hard enough to control sometimes. I can get carried away. Then I met the most arrogant, driven, powerful, successful, enticing, and charming Leo. We played our D/s games, he liked holding me when I cried. He likes his girls vulnerable. And dammit, I liked being vulnerable to him. See where this is all going?
I was *so* close to doing it with him. I looked at his drug box ("if you want to see how naughty I've been, just look here," he said) sometimes when I was alone in the apartment. Stared at the vials. Rolled them between my thumbs. Thought about it. He was quite recreational about usage. Had complete control and had been doing it for years with clients on occasion. He's a much stronger person than I am when it comes to willpower and self-motivation. And so I passed, out of fear. But I walked away with a newfound curiousity about this power powder.
And the worst thing that could have happened did: I eroticized cocaine.
I can almost feel it, I can almost taste it. I can picture us kissing afterwards. I can picture myself the giddy girl, you pouncing on me. Sure, I don't need drugs to act out these fantasies, but it's now intertwined and feels like some part of the fun is missing without our favourite stimulant. Black lipstick, black hair, white powder. A shared kiss, parallel lines. That look in my eyes. That look in your eyes.
Oh God, I'm hooked. And my nostrils are virginal.
I'll just have to keep on passing.