(Sorry for the long post - this one touches on some of my wildest and freakiest nights).
Having unprotected sex behind a tree in the woods surrounding a grungy travellers' campsite at a small free trance party with a woman I'd just met while full of extremely pure amphetamine sulphate. The party was near Brighton, UK, where meth is pretty rare, but this particular batch of sulphate was advertised as 50% pure, cut once with dextrose (average speed content was more like 10-20% back then, and dirt cheap, this was twice the price and more than worth it), and I'm pretty sure the dealer was telling the truth so far as purity was concerned. I was used to swalllowing/snorting grams at a time - a quarter lasted me the night, He showed up with maybe two ounces of the stuff at about 3 in the morning, when everyone was coming down from their first rush, and sold out in about 15 minutes. Things got lively fast. It was clean, subtle stuff, not unlike my one taste of Desoxyn: you felt alert to the point of omniscience, and were deceptively much higher than you thought.
About two hours after the first al fresco fuck, I was back in the woods with another woman, a 'friend' of the first - I later found out they were lovers themselves, but got off on sharing guys, and both had spied as I played with the other, not that I would have objected (the secrecy, they explained, was part of the thrill. Drug-dispensing, voyeuristic, playful, bisexual and pretty hippie chicks prove, to me, that there is a God). The second time around, Pixie No 2, a natural flame-redhead, gave me a hit of the mysterious 'Bliss' - a blotter said by some to be a variant of LSD-25, by others to just be extremely pure, clean acid. Those kind of parties were usually a great source of straight-from-the-chemist drugs and liberty caps, all of them cheap (the shrooms were often handed out, gratis): the Bliss was exquisite, more like 2-CB than acid. It also, according to several friends, made me more attractive than I'd ever been - two women in our little college tribe stuck their tongues down my throat out of nowhere as dawn broke, and things might have gone further had I not been satiated by the Bliss girls and somehow together enough to observe the rule of never risking friendships for a quick thrill (okay, having come twice immediateky beforehand helped). I'm not given to unprotected sex with strangers, and am generally quite shy, but the bliss/speed combo had me glowing and horny enough that if the seocnd Pixie hadn'r been in the mood, after dosing me, I might have raped a tree.
Later we all went back to their apartment, smoked some of best hash I've ever had, and drank some poppy pod tea, then snuggled up under a quilt and drifted through that liquid sky, six hands wandering in all directions. Much fun was had by all, and the HIV test came out negative.
It was all strangely playful and innocent. I saw them again at a couple of parties, and we were occasional fuck-buddies, sober and high, until they went on a trip to Southeast Asia, and vanished into the Thai party islands. Last I heard, they'd hooked up with an Israeli trance DJ and were badly strung out on Yaba (meth). The emails stopped coming, and I've always wondered what happened to them. Hopefully, a moment of clarity, rather than a bust. Thai jails make even the Arizona penal system seem like Ramada Inns.
That was wild: this was dirty. While the cathinone meth-analogue of sorts, mephedrone, was legal, I was living alone in London, and after a night shift proofreading at a law firm, with a long weekend off ahead of me, I decided, on the spur of the moment, to drop a couple of Hagigat (Israeli cathinone blend) capsules and watch a random DVD - an atrocious martial arts novie. Atrocious, that is, save for the scene in which a near-naked Holly Vallance, a long-term crush of mine, beats the shit out of a bunch of cops who burst into her hotel room when she's just stepped out of the shower. A shot of her pulling panties on under a towel (those thighs...God may move in mysterious ways, but when s/he feels like it, dude can sculpt) transfixed my meph-addled eyes, as did a brief topless shot and the sight of her in lingerie: I must have watched the sequence 40 or 50 times, masturbating feverishly, with a lesbian porn DVD running on the TV by the monitor. The eventual orgasm, after several balloons of nitrous and six or seven joints, was so intense I nearly blacked out, drenching my chest in the white stuff for what felt like an hour.. Dirty, but funny, and GOOD.
Several minutes later, wiping up, I cracked up laughing at the absurdity of the whole scene: It turned out four hours had passed, with my constantly rewinding, freeze-framing and generally behaving like a chimp on heat who's learned to use a mouse and dvd player The room reeked of mephedrone, sperm and weed, my futon was soaked through with sweat, and I was surrounded by my collection of soft skin mags. It was at this moment that I realised, just as some psychedelics can expand consciousness, and clean/pharm amphetamines, dosed carefully, contract it to intense focus on a complex task, cathinones with porn knock you a few rungs down the evolutionary ladder. Similarly, the only good experience I ever had with piperazines (sold as such, when BZP was legal) was a visually assisted act of self-abuse: several hours of maddening, frustrated effort, resulting in an explosion that sprayed me, lying flat on my back, just below the eye (I'm 5'11). I must have knocked up Lilith with quins. Other than my first blowjob, from a very generous and more experienced lover (I was 22, she was 29, and liked to swallow), they were the most intense, long-lasting climaxes of my life.
I still wish I knew what that Bliss stuff really was - and that I had some more. I've since ceased using both porn and stimulants, my libido having been more or less wiped out by a few years of dope and benzos. Ah well. Desire is suffering. But life is fucking dull without it. And the only way to survive a BZP comedown without downers or a partner is, bluntly, to go fuck yourself.
Final story, coke this time. One ex, without warning, jammed a bottle of poppers under my nose when I was on the verge and she needed a little more time, which was resourceful of her, but we were drunk, had split a gram of decent coke in shots of absinthe (she played hard), and she'd given me a blue diamond of brand-name, 100mg Viagra, which combo could have killed me. She didn't know about the nitrate contraindication with Viagra, All I suffered was a momentary flare of migraine-like pain, then all was well...but it would have been real traumatic for the poor woman if I'd died inside her. Doctors in Britain don't have to report ODs or drug-related injuries to the cops, but she would have had to live with both well-meant manslaughter, and the memory of accidental necrophilia. At least I would have died happy. A former poledancer and lingerie model, the woman was agile and tireless.
So if you’re in a state where sustaining an erection require Viagra/Cialis/whatever, make sure your partner knows NOT to hit you in the face with nitrates. While it's not like a guy slipping a roofie to an intended victim, it did underline, as I pointed out afterwards, that you really can't go around drugging people without warning, even in an act of love. For a few seconds, I was in agony, went half-blind...then, before she even noticed, all was well, the rush dissipated, pain vanished, and we reached a mutually staisfying conclusion. Again, I found reason to believe that the universe can be benovelent, sometimes, through a lover and a hazy mix of chemicals. Coke in absinthe (or any booze), incidentally, isn't as intense or immediate as snorting, but the high's of near-amphetamine duration, and if it's real coke (rare in Britain these days), a good drug for night shifts at desk jobs. Oral coke is vastly underrated, and doesn't burn through flesh, but it takes a fairly hefty dose. Half a gram was excessive, though, and dangerous: a quarter would have been plenty (she did the pouring and mixing). We ended up killing off almost a case of beer, playing Baldur's Gate on Xbox till we were hallucinating Lizardmen, and blazing half an ounce of Thai weed before we could sleep.
And I learned, that night in the Forest, the truth of the Boss's words: '...I don't know how many girls you dated, man but you ain't lived till you got down on your knees and tasted a red-headed woman...'
Sorry for the long post, but it's a subject that brings a lot of happy, sweaty, silly and wonderful moments to mind, Risky, frisky business, but if you're informed and experienced, fly with the high,and roll with the lows, 'cos you can get to the top of the mountain, behold the valley of the shadow and laugh as you come, with the right lover and the right drugs...and sometimes the right lover can be yourself. Just don’t forget to keep some Valium and condoms at hand (the latter when playing with others).
Thanks to the OP for starting up this thread. Call me shallow, but the above were some of the best nights of my life. Magical pixies who fucked me in the forest, fed me Bliiss and PPT...and like all good pixies, eventually vanished. The 90s were a good time to be young in England,
