SwissBanker
Bluelighter
London. Not so long ago.
I had stashed away in Europe some of the wonderful Amsterdam E from not-so-distant trip report fame and left it for "much much later" but a trip over The Pond for business, and a random encounter with Chicane on the radio and I made the trek to pick up a bit just... "in case."
Former readers will recall that the Amsterdam stuff tests very nicely and comes out to be between 120 and 140mg of MDMA pure aside some typical and harmless fillers/binding agents. My experiences with these pills in past have been stellar.
It's sort of been "all work and no play" since the departure of The Girlfriend from the scene. E never seemed interesting without a playmate. It was sort of ironic, then, that I happened to run into "Kayla" via random e-mail just before my trip to the UK.
I stopped off at "Home" near Zurich first, and dug out the pills I had left behind, dropping 4 in a little baggie and thence into my pocket.
Arrived in London, spent a pair of days getting work out of the way and then rang Kayla.
London has never been my favorite late-night city. Things close too early, there is a lot of pretense to getting in anywhere after like midnight or so, and I don't know the city as well as I should so the venues to me are a bit... unfamiliar.
Kayla knows it better than I, I find out, but it still doesn't rise to the level of Zurich. But then, little does.
I knew Kayla back in the "first E period" days, when I first started to get to know the drug. Back before dealers cut the dose on each pill way back. Back when a pair of pills would smash you for the night and far after.
The night begins simply. No expectations really. I don't even know if I/we will have occasion to use the pills. But we do.
We take them in Trafalgar square. One each. The night was old, it seemed the thing to do.
Just under an hour later we are at a party, somewhere, with people I just don't know. I end up talking to some girl at length about finance (yes, finance) when it starts to come up. Same as usual, and I am actually quite astounded by the consistency that are E comeups for me. I first notice that my sense of smell has become acute. Then colors seem more... alive. Then that tenseness in the jaw. A random smile at everything. Before long, it's bliss and everything is perfect. Softer this time, maybe.
The party, however, is filled with grad students, none of whom are also on E, so I urge Kayla to leave. We do, but along with some guy Kayla knows, now she does anyhow, and walk out into damp London air and mist.
Kayla asks me if I can give him a pill. I feel a bit selfish so I tell her that she can give him the other one I have for her, but that I don't want to give my second one up. She looks at me a minute, smiles coyly and then I hear her whisper to him "he's all out." Hah. We are such bastards.
We end up drifting along through a very affluent neighborhood near Hyde Park, just outside of Mayfair and on the outskirts of Kensington. It is like 2am by now. There is a security van for a private security firm blazoned with "K9 Patrol" sitting, engine on, and quietly idling away. My traditional "talk with authority" bent comes back, and I walk up to the van opposed only by the harsh whispers of my companions "what the bloody hell are you doing?" and am about to talk to the driver when I notice that he is dead asleep, sprawled across the front seats. The dog, a Shepard I think, is also dead asleep in the cage like section of the back. This strikes me as so funny I have to stifle a laugh.
I stand there for a long time, right next to the window of the van, less than a meter from the sleeping and helpless guard who would be rather surprised if he chose to wake just now, and come to the impression that I would very much like to cuddle with the dog. The largish Shepard looks like it is dreaming, occasionally twitching its paws in a sort of random order or something that I am sure I would be able to decipher as a canter if I spent the time or wasn't smashed. Instead, I just watch and wonder what the fur would feel like on my face.
New line.
I am standing. In a rich and paranoid neighborhood. At 2am. Next to a security company van. Watching the security guard sleep. Fantasizing about putting my face in the fur of an attack dog.
Yeah, seems totally natural. I bet that fur would really really be soft.
Kayla and company finally pull me away and we continue on our mostly quiet meander around Hyde Park.
Hyde Park is closed after midnight. Still, it looks like the COOLEST place to be running around in while rolling. Cool, dew laden grass. Statutes of heroic figures, all done up in gold and grey stone, even marble. What a paradise in the early hours. Still, the many "CCTV" signs warn us off, and somehow we manage to resist the urge to be arrested while in possession of narcotics in Hyde Park.
That spurs me to think we should use what we have left. It's not possession if its in your blood, eh? Kayla and I slip another pair of pills while "Richard" isn't looking. He's beyond drunk and whatever was in his stomach when we left the last event is certainly in his bloodstream by now. His face is so red, even in just the streetlights, that I am sure he is going to stroke out any minute. Not that I would mind. Actually, I'd sort of be entertained by that. He's a total ass. He is constantly pawning off these really bad chat-up lines. I wait for the weak vessel to give way. The wince of a headache, turned splitting, the collapse. The seizures. I wait for it, but it doesn't. I imagine I can cause it, like Damien in "The Omen II." Either I can't, or I am just not E'd up enough for the powers to materialize cause he doesn't even seem to notice my rude stare. Still, it's the first time I have had pseudo-violent thoughts on E. And yet, they were more... experimental than they were violent. Just wanted to see if it would work.
Talking to Kayla with my eyes doesn't work either. When I do look at her she smiles for a bit, then starts giggling with Richard. Bah. We walk... forever.
Richard wants to go back to his place. I am Jack's complete surprise. He and Kayla are getting awfully friendly. I'm not really into the idea, but I play passive aggressive instead of disagreeing, which seems impossible on this E. Instead, I just dally when they run for the bus. Make them miss it, "Ohhh... damn! Are you sure it was ours? I could have sworn it was... nevermind." buy another 20-30 minutes of the cool mist on my face, the crescent moon, the occasional very short skirt or revealing eveningwear that saunters by, drunk as Richard, the distant calls in the night of London's young, rich and drunk.
There is this kind of arousal on E. It's not sexual per se as much as it is sensual. I want to touch and be touched ("Feel the Pants!") I want badly to just really be kissed. Not hard, but slow and wet. Deep. Kayla is reading my mind and she leans in right in front of me with a devilish look in her eye, catching the moment perfectly, puts a hand on cheek and turns the chin in almost forcefully, but in order to suck Richard's face, not mine.
The rejection is both frustrating and expected. I am far more threatening a sexual object than Richard, who she only met today. I have strings attached. Even with E. Pity, but then not so.
Sex on E isn't the same for me without someone I am connected to. Kayla was perhaps a try at that, but nothing more. And a poor choice of a try at that. But I doubt I thought that right then.
Bored while they are busy swapping spit, I suddenly find the building near us interesting. Ignoring the many CCTV cameras I look closer, walk over and eventually start to study it closely. It's a massive concrete, boxy edifice. Coarse and harsh. The textures are fascinating and the colors, though I KNOW they are dull, seem alive and bright. Deep reds and blacks. All bars and walls and nearly windowless. I am right in the middle of studying one of the largish gates, about to touch it even, when a deathly British accent accosts me. "Right, what exactly do you think you are doing?" I am confronted with what looks to be a military policeman. I can't stop looking at one of the buttons on the uniform long enough to meet his eye. Once again, I find myself on E talking with armed authority figures. Strange.
I cannot believe the nonsense tale of architecture studies at RISD and my personal interest in urban building (complete with invented architects names: Did you know that this style was popularized shortly after World War Two by a Dutchman?) that escapes my mouth to explain why I have been busily examining the side gate to the Knightsbridge Barracks of the Queen's Household Calvary. Amazingly, it seems to work. The military policeman is baffled and flummoxed by my combination of knowledge (all bullshit) and E-courage. I am told to kindly piss off and come back during tour hours. I head back the bus stop, some 50 meters away.
A bus roars by me on my way back. I chance a look and see Kayla and Richard, locked in a nearly obscene embrace, not yet even having had the opportunity to assume their seats, fly by on the first deck of the bus.
Fuck.
I had stashed away in Europe some of the wonderful Amsterdam E from not-so-distant trip report fame and left it for "much much later" but a trip over The Pond for business, and a random encounter with Chicane on the radio and I made the trek to pick up a bit just... "in case."
Former readers will recall that the Amsterdam stuff tests very nicely and comes out to be between 120 and 140mg of MDMA pure aside some typical and harmless fillers/binding agents. My experiences with these pills in past have been stellar.
It's sort of been "all work and no play" since the departure of The Girlfriend from the scene. E never seemed interesting without a playmate. It was sort of ironic, then, that I happened to run into "Kayla" via random e-mail just before my trip to the UK.
I stopped off at "Home" near Zurich first, and dug out the pills I had left behind, dropping 4 in a little baggie and thence into my pocket.
Arrived in London, spent a pair of days getting work out of the way and then rang Kayla.
London has never been my favorite late-night city. Things close too early, there is a lot of pretense to getting in anywhere after like midnight or so, and I don't know the city as well as I should so the venues to me are a bit... unfamiliar.
Kayla knows it better than I, I find out, but it still doesn't rise to the level of Zurich. But then, little does.
I knew Kayla back in the "first E period" days, when I first started to get to know the drug. Back before dealers cut the dose on each pill way back. Back when a pair of pills would smash you for the night and far after.
The night begins simply. No expectations really. I don't even know if I/we will have occasion to use the pills. But we do.
We take them in Trafalgar square. One each. The night was old, it seemed the thing to do.
Just under an hour later we are at a party, somewhere, with people I just don't know. I end up talking to some girl at length about finance (yes, finance) when it starts to come up. Same as usual, and I am actually quite astounded by the consistency that are E comeups for me. I first notice that my sense of smell has become acute. Then colors seem more... alive. Then that tenseness in the jaw. A random smile at everything. Before long, it's bliss and everything is perfect. Softer this time, maybe.
The party, however, is filled with grad students, none of whom are also on E, so I urge Kayla to leave. We do, but along with some guy Kayla knows, now she does anyhow, and walk out into damp London air and mist.
Kayla asks me if I can give him a pill. I feel a bit selfish so I tell her that she can give him the other one I have for her, but that I don't want to give my second one up. She looks at me a minute, smiles coyly and then I hear her whisper to him "he's all out." Hah. We are such bastards.
We end up drifting along through a very affluent neighborhood near Hyde Park, just outside of Mayfair and on the outskirts of Kensington. It is like 2am by now. There is a security van for a private security firm blazoned with "K9 Patrol" sitting, engine on, and quietly idling away. My traditional "talk with authority" bent comes back, and I walk up to the van opposed only by the harsh whispers of my companions "what the bloody hell are you doing?" and am about to talk to the driver when I notice that he is dead asleep, sprawled across the front seats. The dog, a Shepard I think, is also dead asleep in the cage like section of the back. This strikes me as so funny I have to stifle a laugh.
I stand there for a long time, right next to the window of the van, less than a meter from the sleeping and helpless guard who would be rather surprised if he chose to wake just now, and come to the impression that I would very much like to cuddle with the dog. The largish Shepard looks like it is dreaming, occasionally twitching its paws in a sort of random order or something that I am sure I would be able to decipher as a canter if I spent the time or wasn't smashed. Instead, I just watch and wonder what the fur would feel like on my face.
New line.
I am standing. In a rich and paranoid neighborhood. At 2am. Next to a security company van. Watching the security guard sleep. Fantasizing about putting my face in the fur of an attack dog.
Yeah, seems totally natural. I bet that fur would really really be soft.
Kayla and company finally pull me away and we continue on our mostly quiet meander around Hyde Park.
Hyde Park is closed after midnight. Still, it looks like the COOLEST place to be running around in while rolling. Cool, dew laden grass. Statutes of heroic figures, all done up in gold and grey stone, even marble. What a paradise in the early hours. Still, the many "CCTV" signs warn us off, and somehow we manage to resist the urge to be arrested while in possession of narcotics in Hyde Park.
That spurs me to think we should use what we have left. It's not possession if its in your blood, eh? Kayla and I slip another pair of pills while "Richard" isn't looking. He's beyond drunk and whatever was in his stomach when we left the last event is certainly in his bloodstream by now. His face is so red, even in just the streetlights, that I am sure he is going to stroke out any minute. Not that I would mind. Actually, I'd sort of be entertained by that. He's a total ass. He is constantly pawning off these really bad chat-up lines. I wait for the weak vessel to give way. The wince of a headache, turned splitting, the collapse. The seizures. I wait for it, but it doesn't. I imagine I can cause it, like Damien in "The Omen II." Either I can't, or I am just not E'd up enough for the powers to materialize cause he doesn't even seem to notice my rude stare. Still, it's the first time I have had pseudo-violent thoughts on E. And yet, they were more... experimental than they were violent. Just wanted to see if it would work.
Talking to Kayla with my eyes doesn't work either. When I do look at her she smiles for a bit, then starts giggling with Richard. Bah. We walk... forever.
Richard wants to go back to his place. I am Jack's complete surprise. He and Kayla are getting awfully friendly. I'm not really into the idea, but I play passive aggressive instead of disagreeing, which seems impossible on this E. Instead, I just dally when they run for the bus. Make them miss it, "Ohhh... damn! Are you sure it was ours? I could have sworn it was... nevermind." buy another 20-30 minutes of the cool mist on my face, the crescent moon, the occasional very short skirt or revealing eveningwear that saunters by, drunk as Richard, the distant calls in the night of London's young, rich and drunk.
There is this kind of arousal on E. It's not sexual per se as much as it is sensual. I want to touch and be touched ("Feel the Pants!") I want badly to just really be kissed. Not hard, but slow and wet. Deep. Kayla is reading my mind and she leans in right in front of me with a devilish look in her eye, catching the moment perfectly, puts a hand on cheek and turns the chin in almost forcefully, but in order to suck Richard's face, not mine.
The rejection is both frustrating and expected. I am far more threatening a sexual object than Richard, who she only met today. I have strings attached. Even with E. Pity, but then not so.
Sex on E isn't the same for me without someone I am connected to. Kayla was perhaps a try at that, but nothing more. And a poor choice of a try at that. But I doubt I thought that right then.
Bored while they are busy swapping spit, I suddenly find the building near us interesting. Ignoring the many CCTV cameras I look closer, walk over and eventually start to study it closely. It's a massive concrete, boxy edifice. Coarse and harsh. The textures are fascinating and the colors, though I KNOW they are dull, seem alive and bright. Deep reds and blacks. All bars and walls and nearly windowless. I am right in the middle of studying one of the largish gates, about to touch it even, when a deathly British accent accosts me. "Right, what exactly do you think you are doing?" I am confronted with what looks to be a military policeman. I can't stop looking at one of the buttons on the uniform long enough to meet his eye. Once again, I find myself on E talking with armed authority figures. Strange.
I cannot believe the nonsense tale of architecture studies at RISD and my personal interest in urban building (complete with invented architects names: Did you know that this style was popularized shortly after World War Two by a Dutchman?) that escapes my mouth to explain why I have been busily examining the side gate to the Knightsbridge Barracks of the Queen's Household Calvary. Amazingly, it seems to work. The military policeman is baffled and flummoxed by my combination of knowledge (all bullshit) and E-courage. I am told to kindly piss off and come back during tour hours. I head back the bus stop, some 50 meters away.
A bus roars by me on my way back. I chance a look and see Kayla and Richard, locked in a nearly obscene embrace, not yet even having had the opportunity to assume their seats, fly by on the first deck of the bus.
Fuck.
