It was par for the course. My sexual advances toward my wife were met with less than an enthusiastic fan fair. Not that I was expecting any different. After all, we both have been fighting a cold. But I thought I would test the waters, even though I knew there snowball’s chance that the beast with two backs would appear. Lying there beside her as she puffed occasionally from a lingering cough, an all too familiar thought creped in to my feeble little head.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered about sharing an MDMA session with my wife. It pains me to think that we will grow old, wither and die and she will never know the joy, love and intimacy provided by that magic little substance. That fact is a sharp blade that jabs me from time to time. I know the bond that we have is special and cannot be overshadowed by anything. But I also know the effects of my long absent mistress would enhance our bond to heights that she hasn’t the tools to comprehend. I lament the day where our time together will end and fear my biggest regret will be missing out on what I perceive would be the most amazing experience two lovers could experience together.
I have done, by my standards, many drugs when I was younger. I assume I followed the natural progression of the successful drug user. I tried beer and cigarettes in high school, smoked my fist joint at my graduation party, and then went off to college looking for a better future and better highs along the way. My wife started off on the same path but got hung up on the sauce. By her own account, she nearly drank herself right out of college her freshman year but never made the leap to substances beyond the lawful realm. Like most people in this ass backward society, she was all too willing to drink herself stupid and then have the gull to look down her nose at hippy, burnout, white- trash, drug users.
I made no attempt to hide my former drug use from her. At the time I had no real intentions of doing drugs ever again. The two and a half years I spent abusing MDMA was not without consequences. The effects of my abuse were not particularly debilitating but they were well pronounced and enough of a detriment to be plainly noticeable to me. I was in desperate need of a long break to say the least.
I didn’t quit using drugs because I wanted to or because I became particularly aware of the damage my abuse was causing. My abrupt stoppage was more like “quitting by default” than a conscious choice. I had moved away for college to the big city. That summer was deemed later as the second summer of love and I jumped in with both feet. I actually went looking to try harder drugs. But it wasn’t the drugs that brought my back home; it was money.
The school I went to was rather expensive. That coupled with the distance from home and the cost of big city living had my family strapped and I was no help. All my money went to partying. So back home to the land of cornfields and moo cows I came. I left behind all my friends, the dream of making it big and most importantly, as this story is concerned, my drug contacts. I don’t make friends very easily and I left the few that I had down south so finding another MDMA dealer was not going to happen for me. Besides, a few months sobriety was all I needed to see the damage from pilling it up nonstop for 2+ years. So when I went back to school, my drug experiences were just a fond memory.
We met on the front steps of the dormitory. We were together all through college, shacked up for another five years after and now have been married for four. 12 tears together, and it still seems pretty fresh but it was shortly after we met that I started to imagine sharing the MDMA experience with her.
It was only after I started hinting that I wanted her to try MDMA with me that I found out that my wife had fallen prey to the bandwagon that is prohibition. Even the dumbest sap can see through the whole “drugs are bad, man” mantra that has been forced upon an unwitting society such as ours. I am absolutely dumfounded that it is still so prevalent in modern times. But even so, that is the world I am immersed in at the present moment. My wife is the anti-drug. No amount of prodding will steer her and her stubbornness is more frustrating than her ignorance on the matter. It is one of the few sticking points we have and, sure as shit stinks, I have a better chance at winning the Mega-Millions Jackpot than changing her mind. You just can’t reason with someone who bases their opinion of drug users on the misinformation provided by the media and their limited interaction with the stereotypical high school stoners.
It’s no matter really, I am a man no. I am used to my dreams being crushed. I used to think that being a man meant to be physically and mentally tough, to have the wisdom to know what needs to be done and the resolve to do it. That is the Ozzy and Harriett definition and has no bearing in the real world. The truth is, being a man is knowing that your dreams are nothing more than condiments slathered on all the shit sandwiches life feeds you. It’s your job to scarf them down and ask for another.
My drug using days are behind me for the most part. I don’t particularly like weed, I spent way too much time smoking the stuff in the past that I kind of ruined it for myself, though I can see myself taking puff or two under the right circumstances. Cocaine is just not my thing. It’s a very smooth ride and I do like my stimulants, but the cost and risk of addiction is not worth the lackluster performance. Meth is for rednecks and the generally uninformed in my opinion and opiates make me itch. I had too many bad trips to even think of touching mushrooms or LSD ever again. It gives me the willies just thinking about it. The only drug I really would like to have again is MDMA.
It breaks my heart to know that the only person in this world that I would want to share the most eye opening , life changing experience that I have ever had the privilege to partake in has been brainwash to the point that she is unable to see that she is voluntarily depriving her and I of what could be the most magical, breath taking, and incendiary experiences a couple can share.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am the one who has exalted this experience way over and above what it actually is. Maybe us doing MDMA together will not be the earth moving experience I remember it to be and I should just bury it deep inside my next shit sandwich and munch it down and forget it ever happened. Maybe I am wrong in thinking that I could enhance the greatest love I have ever felt for another human being. But maybe…maybe there is a chance of MDMA lending us the opportunity to enhance our connection to each other far past what either of us could ever imagine. That is my dream… and I am watching die. And when its light finally dims completely it will transform into resentment and my greatest fear will materialize. My greatest fear is that our time together will not only end without sharing this experience together but that I will go on with a tiny part of my soul resenting the woman I love for killing the last dream I had.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered about sharing an MDMA session with my wife. It pains me to think that we will grow old, wither and die and she will never know the joy, love and intimacy provided by that magic little substance. That fact is a sharp blade that jabs me from time to time. I know the bond that we have is special and cannot be overshadowed by anything. But I also know the effects of my long absent mistress would enhance our bond to heights that she hasn’t the tools to comprehend. I lament the day where our time together will end and fear my biggest regret will be missing out on what I perceive would be the most amazing experience two lovers could experience together.
I have done, by my standards, many drugs when I was younger. I assume I followed the natural progression of the successful drug user. I tried beer and cigarettes in high school, smoked my fist joint at my graduation party, and then went off to college looking for a better future and better highs along the way. My wife started off on the same path but got hung up on the sauce. By her own account, she nearly drank herself right out of college her freshman year but never made the leap to substances beyond the lawful realm. Like most people in this ass backward society, she was all too willing to drink herself stupid and then have the gull to look down her nose at hippy, burnout, white- trash, drug users.
I made no attempt to hide my former drug use from her. At the time I had no real intentions of doing drugs ever again. The two and a half years I spent abusing MDMA was not without consequences. The effects of my abuse were not particularly debilitating but they were well pronounced and enough of a detriment to be plainly noticeable to me. I was in desperate need of a long break to say the least.
I didn’t quit using drugs because I wanted to or because I became particularly aware of the damage my abuse was causing. My abrupt stoppage was more like “quitting by default” than a conscious choice. I had moved away for college to the big city. That summer was deemed later as the second summer of love and I jumped in with both feet. I actually went looking to try harder drugs. But it wasn’t the drugs that brought my back home; it was money.
The school I went to was rather expensive. That coupled with the distance from home and the cost of big city living had my family strapped and I was no help. All my money went to partying. So back home to the land of cornfields and moo cows I came. I left behind all my friends, the dream of making it big and most importantly, as this story is concerned, my drug contacts. I don’t make friends very easily and I left the few that I had down south so finding another MDMA dealer was not going to happen for me. Besides, a few months sobriety was all I needed to see the damage from pilling it up nonstop for 2+ years. So when I went back to school, my drug experiences were just a fond memory.
We met on the front steps of the dormitory. We were together all through college, shacked up for another five years after and now have been married for four. 12 tears together, and it still seems pretty fresh but it was shortly after we met that I started to imagine sharing the MDMA experience with her.
It was only after I started hinting that I wanted her to try MDMA with me that I found out that my wife had fallen prey to the bandwagon that is prohibition. Even the dumbest sap can see through the whole “drugs are bad, man” mantra that has been forced upon an unwitting society such as ours. I am absolutely dumfounded that it is still so prevalent in modern times. But even so, that is the world I am immersed in at the present moment. My wife is the anti-drug. No amount of prodding will steer her and her stubbornness is more frustrating than her ignorance on the matter. It is one of the few sticking points we have and, sure as shit stinks, I have a better chance at winning the Mega-Millions Jackpot than changing her mind. You just can’t reason with someone who bases their opinion of drug users on the misinformation provided by the media and their limited interaction with the stereotypical high school stoners.
It’s no matter really, I am a man no. I am used to my dreams being crushed. I used to think that being a man meant to be physically and mentally tough, to have the wisdom to know what needs to be done and the resolve to do it. That is the Ozzy and Harriett definition and has no bearing in the real world. The truth is, being a man is knowing that your dreams are nothing more than condiments slathered on all the shit sandwiches life feeds you. It’s your job to scarf them down and ask for another.
My drug using days are behind me for the most part. I don’t particularly like weed, I spent way too much time smoking the stuff in the past that I kind of ruined it for myself, though I can see myself taking puff or two under the right circumstances. Cocaine is just not my thing. It’s a very smooth ride and I do like my stimulants, but the cost and risk of addiction is not worth the lackluster performance. Meth is for rednecks and the generally uninformed in my opinion and opiates make me itch. I had too many bad trips to even think of touching mushrooms or LSD ever again. It gives me the willies just thinking about it. The only drug I really would like to have again is MDMA.
It breaks my heart to know that the only person in this world that I would want to share the most eye opening , life changing experience that I have ever had the privilege to partake in has been brainwash to the point that she is unable to see that she is voluntarily depriving her and I of what could be the most magical, breath taking, and incendiary experiences a couple can share.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am the one who has exalted this experience way over and above what it actually is. Maybe us doing MDMA together will not be the earth moving experience I remember it to be and I should just bury it deep inside my next shit sandwich and munch it down and forget it ever happened. Maybe I am wrong in thinking that I could enhance the greatest love I have ever felt for another human being. But maybe…maybe there is a chance of MDMA lending us the opportunity to enhance our connection to each other far past what either of us could ever imagine. That is my dream… and I am watching die. And when its light finally dims completely it will transform into resentment and my greatest fear will materialize. My greatest fear is that our time together will not only end without sharing this experience together but that I will go on with a tiny part of my soul resenting the woman I love for killing the last dream I had.
