Harry kicks off his second episode of the podcast with an incoherent rant about dealing with the other junkies at the Suboxone clinic. After thoroughly boring his audience with his relentless yammering, he then segues into a list of rules, tips, and tricks, for anyone looking to get into the drug game, or anyone in the drug game that would like to step their game up. Misery ensues, and a good time is had by none.
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Hey....
I've been all over the place lately. At the beginning of the summer I was plowing through the Needles, Names, and Numbers drafts, ultima...
Saturday, December 8, 2018
Saturday, December 1, 2018
So I Did a Podcast...
I talked for an hour about the Opiate Roll Call, a subreddit where you could find strangers to buy heroin off of. As you can imagine, it was very short lived and very sketchy. I talk about my experiences on the sub and its eventual downfall and closure for an hour. I also say "Um" a lot, and have a really annoying voice. Let me know what you think, guys.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
Appetite For Dysfunction (Part III)
SCRREEEEECCCCCHHHHH!!!!!
KASSSHHHHIIIIIHHHHH!!!!
SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH…
I half expect to hear “AGAIN?!!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!”
from our neighbors, but it never comes. Whippet crackers are noisy business.
Especially when you’re cracking 360 individual chargers and consuming them
recreationally.
“Wooooaaaaahhh…” Jessica says, the nitrous warping
her voice, making it sound several octaves lower than it normally would.
“Hahahahahaha...” We both laugh before taking
another haul.
I’m playing it cool, but inside me, my organs are
involved in a bloody civil war. My head, stomach, and eyes are vying for
control of my body’s pain sensors, each part of me insisting they’re the one in
the most agonizing pain.
“I HURT THE MOST.”
“NO, I HURT THE MOST.”
“YOU NEED ME TO SEE, I HURT THE MOST.”
Unprovoked and without warning, my stomach drops the
nuke. Just as I exhale a cold hit of nitrous and render myself severely
impaired.
“Oh… FUCK!” I shout, staggering to my feet and
stumbling for the bathroom.
Everything twirls, swirls, and shifts as I evacuate
a toxic mixture of whiskey, cocaine, cola, and stomach bile into the toilet.
The high dissipates quickly as I wretch violently, dry heaving as my skull
threatens to implode in on itself.
“Jesus fuck.,.”
“You alright in there?” Jessica asks.
“Yeah… Fuck...” I say as I catch my breath.
I pull myself up to the sink and run cold water over
my hands, splashing it onto my face. My eyes are bloodshot and my face is pale.
I hold my face down to the faucet, taking a few good gulps of disgusting tap
water which I instantly regret as it all comes shooting back up.
Yellow-tinged water erupts from my stomach. I didn’t
know I had any moisture left inside my body, but as tears gush from my eyes, I
realize I was wrong. I dry heave for a few more minutes before staggering to my
feet and stumbling out of the bathroom.
“You alright?” Jessica asks again.
“Yeah, I’m OK…”
Typically mornings like this are bittersweet. It’s
like “Yeah I feel like I want to kill myself, and my body is rejecting
hydration and sustenance, but at least I had a good time last night. At least I
got laid last night.” This morning is nothing but shame and self-loathing. I
wanna crawl into this toilet and drown.
I brush my teeth, gagging as I scrub the phlegmy
bile from my tongue and nearly restart the whole process over again. I douse my
eyes with eye lube in an effort to quench their red, cracked, thirst. My
contacts dig into my dry retinas as I blink the sting away.
I’m always anxious. I’m always so fucking anxious.
I’m anxious because I was up all night drinking and doing blow. I’m anxious
because I failed my partner as a man. I’m anxious because I’m Harry Miller. I
wanna do more blow, but I can’t handle the drip right now. Instead I take two tiny
sips of water, feeling it drizzle all the way down my ravaged esophagus to the
empty pit of my stomach.
“Does Harry want a belly rub?” Jessica asks me.
“No thank you… God I’m so fucking hungover…” I
reply.
“You smell like a brewery…”
“Ha… Look, uh… About last night…”
“What about it?”
“Hahaha… Wooooooooow… OK…”
“It’s OK. Seriously! It happens.”
“Not to me it doesn’t.”
“Well hey, now you know.”
“I’ll get some dick pills next time…”
“How much gas is left?”
“Let’s see… We got… Two, four, six, eight, ten,
twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, twenty… Twenty four!”
“Twelve each.”
“Listen to you! My little hippie crack head…”
“Shut up!”
“Just don’t get strung out on this shit, alright?
I’d feel so bad…”
“People don’t really get addicted to this, right?”
“Ehhhhh… I suppose it can happen. But you won’t get sick if you don’t have it. Look at
me. I’ve been addicted to every fuckin’ drug in the world. Except benzos. A
good rule of thumb is that if I can do this shit recreationally without getting
a habit, you’re good.”
When the whippets are finally killed off, we pack up
our things. My stomach eventually settles to the point where I can do a line
without yacking. My heart races and my emotions start to numb as the cold drip
slides down my throat.
“Aw! I forgot I brought these!” Jessica gasps,
holding up a pair of jeans.
“Huh?” I reply.
“These jeans are super, super, tight. I wanted to
see if I could pop the button on ‘em for you…”
“Ooooh… Fuck! That would’ve been so hot…”
“Do we have time?”
“Yeah. It’s 11:30.”
“Yay! I’m gonna try ‘em on…”
Jessica peels off her leggings and slips into the
jeans, the fabric already constricting tightly around her thick calves as she
slides into them. Watching her jiggle and wiggle her way into the tight denim immediately
excites me. I stand up, my boner bulging out of my basketball shorts
obnoxiously.
“Oh, shit! Look who it is! Look who decided to join
us! Hey buddy, how you been? Missed you!” I say, motioning toward my dick.
“Hahahahahahahaha, oh my God… HMMMPPPPHHH!!” Jessica
laughed and grunted as she heaved her jeans over her thighs.
Jessica got the jeans all the way up to her waist
before she stopped and just stood there, panting from all the exertion as her
belly divorced the button and fly permanently.
“You’re really out of breath, aren’t you?” I ask.
Jessica just smiles and nods, putting a hand on her
belly. Her genuine joy at outgrowing a pair of jeans, an experience that would
humiliate and disgust 99.9% of women, is so sexy to me. Watching her get bigger
and bigger, all the while maintaining that beautiful smile of hers, makes me so
happy. All her hard work is paying off. I’m so proud of her.
Are
you listening to yourself right now? What fucking planet are you on…
I shake my inner monologue from my head as Jessica
sucks in her tummy and struggles to get the jeans buttoned. She grunts, huffs,
and puffs, to no avail.
“They fit fine last week… You can take some pictures
for your spank bank if you want…”
“Don’t mind if I do…”
I snap a few pictures of her standing and sitting
with her belly hanging out triumphantly over her jeans.
“Ooooooh Dunkin Donuts…” Jessica says as we drive.
I throw the blinker on and pull in.
“Hahahaha, oh Harry, you don’t have to…”
“Mmmmm yeah I do. I’m your feeder. What do you
want?”
“Hmmm… There’s so many donuts…”
“Cool, so we’ll get a dozen. You want sandwiches or
bagels or…?”
“Hahaha, oh my God! No… Just the donuts, thanks.”
“Ok… God, look at how excited you are. You’re so
fuckin’ cute…”
I tickle under Jessica’s double chin as she smiles.
Jessica wolfs down three donuts before we arrive at
her house.
“Well… Besides the uh… Technical difficulties, I did
have a good time last night.” I say.
“I had fun, too. Let it go, Harry. It’s not a big
deal. You’ll get ‘em next time.” Jessica replies.
“Alright. Thanks. See you soon.”
“Bye.”
We kiss and Jessica gets out of my car, waving at me
before she waddles over to the long staircase leading up to her house. She
lives on the second floor, poor thing. She’s gotta haul ass up two huge flights
of steps before she can relax.
I go right to bed upon returning home, waking up
groggy and confused at 6:30. I have a message from Jessica on my phone. It’s a
video…
I play it. It opens with a close-up of Jessica’s
face just as she closes the front door to her house.
“Hey, Harry! I know you’re not feeling good, so I
figured I’d make a little video to cheer you up. Whoooo… Whooooo… Sorry. I’m
like, wicked out of breath, because I just had… To walk… Up… Whooo! Oh my God…
Ok… I had to walk, up that flight of stairs behind me…. Whooooo… Whooooo…”
The sounds of her huffing and puffing and gasping
for breath capture my attention and immediately make me stiffen up. It’s a
bizarre sensation, because as much as it turns me on to see her so winded after
doing something so simple (reinforcing how heavy and out of shape she’s
become), it also hurts me a little. I hate seeing her have to exert herself
like this. I hate seeing her struggle like this.
“I’m sure you’ve heard me complain about these
stairs before, they suck… But I know how much you love seeing me get all out of
breath, so… Enjoy!”
Jessica smiles as she holds the camera at the least
flattering angle she can manage, from below. She pulls her t-shirt up just a
bit, just enough for her belly to peek out just the way I like it.
“Whooooo… Oh my God… I fucking…. Hate… Stairs…”
Her breathing started as heavy nasal breathing, but
after she’s halfway up the stairs, it has unraveled into heavy, oral, gasps. It
reminds me of when I was fat, and I used to try and hide my heavy breathing
around other people when walking up stairs or doing anything physical. As
Jessica reaches the top, she’s smiling, but visibly very winded.
“Whooooo… Hope you… Liked that, Harry! I’m gonna go
eat these donuts, now… Bye!”
Having just woken up, I already had a hard-on. Now
I’m really fucking horny. I watch the video four more times before I cum. As
soon as the jizz leaves my body I’m overcome with shame and self-loathing…
“So, after I dropped her off… She um… She made me a
video…” I explain to Isaac a few days later.
“Mhm…” He replies, listening attentively.
“And it’s of her… And she’s um… She lives on the
second floor of this house, and she has to go up these two really long flights
of stairs to get to her place… And… She knows that… I… I really, really, like
it when she um… When she’s out of breath. From doing something relatively easy,
y’know? Because it sort of… It shows how fat she’s become and how far she’s
come on this journey with me…”
I rub my hands over my face. This stuff is all so
hot in my head, but when I verbalize it, it disgusts me. I have to pull the
words out of me with all my strength. Jesus
Christ, I’m such a piece of shit…
“So… She’s going up the steps, and she knows just
what angle to film it at, to make herself look as fat as possible. And it, um…
It really, y’know, gets me excited. So I, uh, I… I… Take care of myself, and
almost immediately upon finishing, I just feel… Fucking terrible…”
“Why?”
“Because I’m listening to her health deteriorating…
And instead of being concerned, or sad, I’m turned on.”
“What’s the whole, end game here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, once you reach that goal, I think you said
for now it’s 300 pounds… What happens after that?”
“I don’t know… I mean… I don’t think I’m gonna wanna
stop. I mean… I know, I know, I’m not gonna wanna stop at 300. But… Y’know… I’m
not saying… I’m not saying, that… In a way that would imply… That she doesn’t
have a choice in the matter. Because like, honestly, I lose interest as soon as
she doesn’t want to anymore. I don’t like the idea of her doing this just for
me. I want her to want to be fat too. But the way she’s been… Y’know… Talking
about it… I don’t see us stopping at 300 pounds.”
“It seems like, from what you’ve told me. She’s well
aware of the potential risks and consequences that come with this.”
“I know, but… I care about her. Or at least I say I
do.”
“Well… You can care about someone while you enable
them. In fact, some might argue that enabling someone’s unhealthy behavior
means you care about them a lot…”
“I almost feel like… Like I should stop seeing her,
for her own sake. Part of me says, that if I genuinely care about her, I should
stop seeing her. Because then, at least, I won’t be complicit in her killing
herself. I know that’s an extreme way of looking at it, but she wouldn’t be as
compelled to overeat and get bigger if I wasn’t there encouraging it.”
“How old is she again?”
“31… And y’know, that’s another thing… Like, I understand…
I understand that, worrying about the health stuff, in my 20’s… Is kinda silly…
But it still worries me… Like I’m not gonna be young forever. Let’s say I meet
a girl and we really click, and we fall in love… And she’s also, y’know,
morbidly obese. Which, if she was with me, she would pretty much have to be…”
“Right…”
“What if something happens to her? What if she…
Y’know… Decides she wants to get healthy?”
“What do you think you would do, if that happened?”
I sigh, swallow, and stare at the floor. “Honestly?”
“Yeah, honestly. Harry, when you’re talking to me
about this stuff, I want you to do your best not to beat yourself up. I want
your actual feelings, even if you think they’re wrong or bad. So just tell me,
what you would do if you met a girl and fell in love and she decided she wanted
to lose weight?”
“OK… I would… Well, the first thought I would have, right off the bat, is how
much.”
“As in, how much weight would she want to lose?”
“Yeah. But, but, but… I wouldn’t actually ask her
that. I’d find a roundabout way to ask it, because
I’m a fuckin’ scumbag…”
“Woah, woah, woah… Explain.”
I take a deep breath. “Because, my answer should be,
‘That’s wonderful, and I support you 100%. I want you to be happy and healthy,
and I think it’s great that you’ve decided to take some steps to improve
yourself.’ But instead of that, I’m immediately filled with this… Dread. Like,
she’s losing weight. She’s not gonna be attractive anymore. It’s so selfish…”
“So how would you respond to it? Positively or negatively?”
“I would lie. I would lie, and I would tell her,
y’know, that I support her and I want her to be happy. And that it doesn’t
bother me that she wants to lose weight, because I want her to be happy. And I
like to think I would want her to be happy, but… Inside I would be really sad.”
“So, you would tell her you support her.”
“Yeah. I think I would tell her that she can do
whatever she wants to do and that no matter I’d support her. Because the fuck
else am I gonna say? But, um… Y’know, like I said before, I think I would find
sneaky ways to sort of get a feel for how much weight she wants to lose… I
wouldn’t sabotage her in any way, I’m not like that… I’m really, I’m not like
that. I swear to God. I’m not a fucking monster…”
“Is the worry that, if she loses the weight, she’ll
be more desirable? That she’ll go off and find someone else?”
“Nah. Because if she loses the weight, I won’t give
a fuck if she finds someone else. Because she’s not gonna be attractive to me
anymore. Which is insanely superficial, and shallow…”
“Is it, though? What if she was thin and gained
weight, and you were, as you say, ‘normal?’”
“Yeah, no, you’re right… I mean, fuck, if you meet
someone and you’re attracted to the and they change the way they look in a
drastic way… But, here’s the thing about that. If she puts on weight, I can
hide behind the whole health thing. Normies have that crutch. ‘I don’t care
what size you are, but this lifestyle is horribly unhealthy.’” I say in a
mocking tone.
“You’re being quiet.” Jessica says.
“Sorry. How’s your food?” I ask.
“It’s OK. Honestly not as good as I thought it’d
be.”
Things have not been the same between us since New
Year’s. I don’t know if I’m just looking for things to dislike about her so I
can stop seeing her, or if we’re just becoming comfortable enough with one
another to start being shitty towards one another.
“So you’re gonna take me out and then just not talk
to me?”
I drop my fork and rub my temples.
“Y’know… When you say shit like that to me… It
doesn’t make me wanna talk to you…” I say.
“What’s it make you wanna do?”
“It just kinda sends me into this anxiety loop. Like
‘I’M NOT TALKING, I HAVE TO TALK, I HAVE TO SAY THINGS, I HAVE TO TALK.’ And I
panic, and I get fuckin’ nervous.”
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”
“I’m always nervous…”
“Yeah. You really are a bag of nerves.”
I fake a smile and sip my drink.
Things start to fall apart rather quickly. Our dates
become less intimate, more transactional. We don’t talk as much. Resentment
grows from within me. Never one to communicate my issues with literally anyone,
I let them fester and grow into anger and rage. When this happens, it’s usually
a small or inconsequential thing that sets me off and opens the flood gates of
shit I’ve been mad about for a while but never had the balls to address.
“You’re being quiet.”
“Y’know that doesn’t fuckin’ help, right!?”
“What?”
“Telling me I’m being quiet. I know I’m being
fucking quiet.”
“Alright, Jesus! What’s your problem?”
“I don’t know…”
We eat in awkward silence for a few minutes.
“It’s gonna be fuckin’ weird now, isn’t it?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Because I fuckin’ snapped at you, it’s gonna be
weird the rest of the night.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t know what the fuck you’re
talking about. What is it with you lately?”
“I don’t know…”
“You do know, though. You just won’t talk about it…”
She’s right. I’m being shitty.
“I’m sorry…”
“That’s OK…”
But it’s not OK. I pick at my chicken sandwich. Jessica
cleans her plate. I pay the bill and take her home. We don’t talk for a long
time after that. She deletes me on Facebook. I start texting other girls.
Life
goes on.
“Do you regret the way you handled it?” Isaac asks
me.
“Ehhhh, kinda, I guess. But it was a mutual thing.
We weren’t getting along…” I reply.
“Mhm.”
“She’s still gaining, as far as I know. Which I’m
kinda happy about, I guess…”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I would feel bad if I helped this girl pack
on all that weight and then just dipped. Knowing she’s happy how she is, and
still wants to get bigger, makes me feel better…”
“I see.”
“I’ve been making myself sick with this shit for so
long. The consequences, I mean. I think I’m ready to just say fuck it. Do what
I do best.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fuck the consequences, fuck the long-term, feel
good now. Feeding and fucking and fucking and feeding, going hog fuckin’ wild.
Not giving a fuck about diabetes, heart disease, whatever the fuck. Those are
old people problems anyway.”
“Hm. Y’know, you make that sound so easy, but
something tells me it’s not.”
“No shit. But I feel like… By agonizing about this
shit so much, I’m letting life pass me by. These are the prime years of my life.
And I’ve already wasted most of them. If a girl’s gonna be fat, like that’s
what she’s gonna do, why not fuck her? Why waste my time beating myself up over
shit that I might not even live to see become a problem?”
“You’re not implying that you wanna hurt yourself,
right? That’s not what I’m hearing right now?”
“Relax, I’m not gonna off myself. I’m just saying… I
could relapse and die tomorrow. Who the fuck knows what’s gonna happen? If a
girl’s gonna be fat as shit and wants to be fat as shit, why shouldn’t I love
her while she’s fat as shit? I’m 26. I got like, what, a little less than 20
years before we’re in heart attack territory? I’ll worry about that shit then.”
“You say that. But do you believe it?”
I sigh. “No. No, I don’t…”
Saturday, November 24, 2018
Appetite For Dysfunction (Part II)
“It honestly, in a lot of ways… Kinda reminds me of
drugs…” I say to my therapist, Isaac.
“Hm? Explain.” He replies, pushing his glasses up
the bridge of his nose as he shifts in his chair.
I’ve been seeing Isaac for counseling with my drug
problem since my run-in with the law a few years ago. At first I had no
intention of taking it seriously and only started going to stay out of jail,
but slowly, I started opening up to him. He’s seen me through several relapses
and rough times and never gave up on me, regardless of how bad I’d fuck up.
He’s thin, middle aged and horseshoe bald. He’s got a soft, kind, demeanor, and
a voice that lends itself well to therapy.
“I just… It feels so… Fuckin’… Good. But, y’know…
When I finish, I’m just… Overwhelmed…With shame, and regret, and I hate
myself. More than usual.” I stammer.
I suck at talking about this shit. I don’t like
talking about my problems.
“Mhm…” Isaac replies.
“She hit 250 pounds the other night. And I got her a
cake. Annnnnnd I fed her the whole thing. And the whole time, I’m like,
encouraging her, pushing her to finish it. And I was so proud of her when she
finished it. She was sitting there, with this big belly just bulging out into
her lap, gasping in this way… It was like pain and pleasure at the same time.
And it just… There’s nothing like it. I can’t describe how hot it is.”
“And yet, there’s another side to it…”
“Yeah. Because it’s fucking killing her.”
“Well that’s not what you find erotic about it,
right?”
“No. But… Does that even matter? At the end of the
day she’s packing on weight and I’m encouraging her to do so. It turns me on
that she’s shortening her lifespan. I feel like I’m a fucking monster…”
“I hear ya. It’s like you’ve found someone to
indulge this part of you that feels incredible in the moment, but can have bad
repercussions in the long term.”
“Exactly. I don’t know what to do. I mean I can’t
say I’m in love with this girl. But… What happens if we get serious?”
Isaac nods.
“I just fuckin’ wish I could put the genie back in
the bottle, y’know what I’m sayin?”
“Do you really?”
“And be rid of this horseshit? Absolutely. Of all
the fucking kinks and fetishes and weird shit to be into, I gotta be into the
one thing that can kill you. The one thing that has consequences outside of the
bedroom. I mean, besides being like a pedophile, but you know what I mean.”
“Hmmm…”
“I feel stupid even bringing it up.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I can’t cure it. I can’t stop being
attracted to fat girls.”
“Is the feeding thing like, a requirement?”
“No. But… It’s definitely a major incentive. I’d
never try and push a girl into it or do any sneaky shit to try and fatten her
up. But now, with Jessica… I don’t know. It’s just so fucking hot.”
“It’s tough.”
“No shit.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you…”
“No, no, I know. I’m just frustrated. What am I
supposed to do, just repress my urges? Never pursue a relationship, never have
sex again?”
“Well, as your therapist, I think it’s
counterproductive to suggest things to you. My opinion on this is, really,
irrelevant. I think it’s great that you’re getting back out there and pursuing
women, but as you’ve said, the lifestyle changes she’s been making can have
some bad consequences.”
“And it’s like, these people in the community, they’re
just like ‘Fuck it! Here for a good time, not a long one!’ and it’s like,
that’s all well and good, until someone gets diabetes, or has a stroke, or a
heart attack. Those aren’t always quick and clean ways to go. And to do that to
someone you’re supposed to really care about?”
Isaac sighs and nods.
“And I wonder, how the fuck is this gonna play out?
If we stop seeing one another, I go on, my life is pretty much fine. Meanwhile,
she’s… significantly heavier than when we started going out. Is she gonna
resent me? Are her friends gonna resent me if it gets serious? Imagine watching
your friend gets fat as shit, and there, on the sidelines, there’s their
partner, cheering them on. And I can’t… I can’t… I can’t fucking do anything
about it.”
“It’s a lot to grapple with.”
“That’s kinda one of the things I miss about dope.
It pretty much made me asexual.”
“Well, sex, and masturbation, and pornography, those
can all lead to addictive behavior as well. But the thing that makes that
particular vice tricky is that you can’t really completely abstain from it.
Well, you can, but… It’s not healthy.”
“Right.”
“Have you considered maybe cutting back on the
porn?”
“I tried. But… My fucking imagination. If I don’t
watch it I fantasize about it.”
“I see…”
“You met a girl, Harry? That’s great!” Mary, my
friend Rich’s girlfriend, says as she loads a bong.
Jack, Rich, Mary, and I are hanging out in Rich’s
living room watching Rick and Morty.
I smile as I sip an empty beer, anxious.
“Where’d you guys meet?” Rich asks.
“Well…” I begin.
“Go on, man. Nobody’s gonna care.” Jack says.
“It’s uh… It’s a site called Feabie. For guys that
like… Fat girls.” I say shyly.
“Yeah, how big is she?” Rich asks.
“She’s around 250 last we checked.” I reply.
“She actually tells you how much she weighs?” Mary
says.
“Well, that’s the thing… She’s uh… What they call a
feedee.” I explain nervously.
“A Phoebe?” Rich asks.
“No, no, a feedee. Like, a signee. Basically she’s
actively trying to gain weight, and I’m helping her.” I reply.
“So she wants
to be fat?” Mary asks, puzzled.
“Yeah… It’s weird, but… What’re you gonna do,
y’know?” I reply.
“Well hey man, as long as she consents to it and you
guys are happy…” Rich says.
“How big does she wanna get?” Mary asks.
“Right now we’re shooting for 300. But we’re gonna
see how she feels.” I reply.
Mary nods, but I can tell she’s concerned.
“What is it about fatties that you love so much?”
Rich asks bluntly.
“I’m just obsessed with gluttony and excess and
doing too much of everything I like to do. I mean I’m a fucking drug addict. So
I take everything to the extreme...” I reply.
“You’re being quiet.” Jessica says to me over,
unsurprisingly, dinner.
“I’m sorry…” I reply, staring disinterested at my
chicken parm.
“Can I try some of your chicken?”
“Absolutely.”
Jessica smiles as I cut a piece of chicken breast
and bring it to her lips.
“Mmmmm… That’s good.” She says.
“Haha. And nobody has any idea…” I trail off.
“Ha! Right?”
“Hey, so… I was thinking… You got any plans for new
year’s?”
Jessica shakes her head.
“Well… I was thinking… Me and you could get a room
somewhere and party. A nice place, like a Hilton or something.”
“That could be fun!”
“I could get us a little blow, some nitrous… You
ever do nitrous?”
“No, that’s like the balloons, right?”
“Yep.”
“That sounds like fun, Harry.”
“Cool. I’ll make the reservation and arrange for our
party favors…”
I order a couple of cases of whipped cream chargers
and some full-sized punch balloons, the ones with the rubber band that kids
play with. I also arrange for a delivery of one gram of fishscale, premium,
Cocaine. With New Year ’s Eve landing on a Sunday this year I don’t even have
to request it off work. I make the reservation and wait.
The Cocaine arrives on time, as well as the
whippets. The blow is a beautiful sparkly white, and one bump from my snuff
bullet is almost too much to handle. With all the party favors acquired, we’re
ready to go. Jessica sends me a picture of her wearing a pink pig snout and I
become erect.
On the big night, we start off at the Cheesecake
Factory. Overrated in my opinion, but Jessica likes it. We do a line each
before we go in, and I’m taken aback by Jessica’s ability to eat while on coke.
I pick at my sandwich and barely manage to get half of it down, but Jessica
cleans her plate like a good little piggy.
“This is really good shit, wow…” Jessica says,
checking her nose in the fold-down mirror in my car.
“Hehe, told ya. Genuine fishscale. I’m surprised you
can eat on it. Not that I’m complaining…” I say, smiling as I poke her belly
through her coat.
“Yeah, you know you’re a fat girl when you can eat
on coke, right?”
“Haha, right. Now where we headed? Back to the
hotel, right?”
“You said you’d take me to Torrid!”
“Haha, I know, I’m just fucking around…”
This evening was a very expensive undertaking. I get
off on spoiling her. I bring Jessica to Torrid, a plus sized women’s clothing
store, and let her pick out a few outfits. I gasp audibly at the sight of a
big, big, biiiiiiig, girl standing behind the cash register, her enormous
breasts sagging onto the counter as she leans forward on it. She’s a big’un
alright, must be around 450-500 pounds, if I’d hazard a guess. She’s wearing a
tight, form-fitting hot pink dress that shows off her big, flabby, bingo wings
and expansive cleavage.
She’s gorgeous.
“Excuse me? Could you unlock the fitting room for
me?” One of the customers asks her.
“Of course, honey! Right this way… Ooooooooof! Haha…
You’d think they’d make this area a bit bigger for girls like us…” My titanic
dream girl jokes as she squeezes her frame through a swinging door that
separates the counter from the customers.
Gigantic ass cheeks shake and jiggle with each step
she takes. Her face is oddly slim and very pretty, with beautiful brown eyes
and shoulder-length black hair with red highlights. Watching her approach the
fitting room it’s apparent that her hips are wider than the doorframe, and if
that’s not just the most adorable god damn thing in the world, I don’t know
what is.
“There you are, sweetie! Let me know if there’s
anything else I can help you with!” She says as she opens the door.
“Thank you so much.” The customer replies.
“How do you think this looks?” Jessica asks me,
snapping me from my trance.
“Uh, I like it.” I reply stupidly.
Jessica arches her eyebrow and realizes the
corpulent cashier has captured my attention since we stepped into the store.
She giggles and shakes her head.
I quickly resume unapologetically perving out on the
cashier. It’s rare you find women over 300 pounds in my neck of the woods, let
alone a white whale of this size and beauty. She goes back to leaning on the
counter, holding her head in her chubby hand as she scrolls on her smart phone
with the other. As Jessica slowly makes her way through the store I get a side
profile, which is even more impressive. Such
a big belly. 10/10, would rub. At one point she looks up unexpectedly and
catches me staring, but just smiles at me.
“You guys find everything you’re looking for OK?”
She asks us as Jessica finally checks out.
“Yes, thank you.” Jessica replies.
“Alright, your total is gonna be… $85.68.”
Jessica looks at me and I put my card through the
reader.
“Aw, look at you spoiling your girlfriend!”
“Hey, I try.”
The cash register drawer pops open by default,
bouncing against the cashier’s belly and shutting again.
“Haha! You guys have a good night now!” She says
cheerily, giving her stomach a few pats.
I pick my jaw up off the floor and leave with
Jessica.
“Your face when she closed the drawer with her
belly, Harry, oh my God…” Jessica says as we walk to the car.
“I almost came right then and there. She was… God
damn… Just incredible.” I reply.
“I didn’t know closing a cash register with your
belly was a fetish…”
“It just reinforces how big she is, I don’ t know. I
love shit like that. Like when a big girl gets into a
car and honks the horn
with her belly? Oh baby…”
“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo.”
“Just wait, you play your cards right and we’ll get
you that big in no time…”
“Ha! Maybe…”
We each do another bump and drive to the hotel. The
room is beautiful, with a full couch, TV, kitchen area, and bed. I make myself
a Jameson and coke and do a line while Jessica gets naked. The weight she’s put
on is more noticeable without clothes on, her big belly and tits jiggling with
each step.
“I’m not putting clothes back on for the rest of the
night.” She says while I chop coke on the granite countertop.
“Ok.” I reply.
We each do a line and I break out the cracker,
inhaling a cartridge straight from the nozzle before attaching a balloon to it.
I giggle as I exhale the cold nitrous and Jessica looks on next to me. I get a
rhythm down quickly, filling the balloon with eight or so chargers before
taking it off the nozzle and handing it to Jessica.
“Hold the mouthpiece shut. Don’t let any out.” I
instruct her.
“What’s it feel like?” She replies.
“It’s kinda like Ketamine. You ever do Ketamine?”
“No.”
“Don’t be nervous, it’s fun.”
“OK…”
After filling my own balloon I take it off the
nozzle and ready it for inhalation.
“Alright, take a deep breath, and exhale. Clear your
lungs. Then inhale as much of this as you can, and hold it for as long as you
can.” I tell her.
“OK.”
I take a big haul off the balloon and hold it in for
several seconds, the lightheadedness seeping in as I exhale. I look at Jessica,
who exhales at the same time, and we both start laughing.
“Wow…” She says.
“Right?”
For the next hour or so, we sit there, leaning on
each other, huffing balloons and zoning out like a couple of dope fiends.
Jessica quickly picks up how to properly inhale the food grade gas, and I watch
her get more fucked up with each haul. A few balloons in and I’ve reached peak
disassociation, unable to make words anymore as my body and mind divorce and I
lose motor function. I can’t articulate it verbally, but I feel myself lift off
of the couch and levitate in mid-air, turning over and over while still in a
seated position. I look at Jessica, wide-eyed and desperate to explain what’s
happening to me, but the elevator that brings words from my brain to my lips is
out of service.
They don’t call it hippie crack for nothin’. I could
do this shit all day. Then again, when it comes to me and drugs, that really
isn’t saying much. The high quickly dissipates and I stand up, legs still a bit
wobbly as I go to the counter for more coke. I smirk as I sniff a line and fix
myself a stiff drink.
Jessica is on another planet, and looks like an escaped
mental patient, a vacant look in her eyes as she sits there on couch,
completely nude. She stares unblinkingly ahead as she brings the balloon to her
lips and inhales. When it hits her, she loses track of her entire world, and
her pinching grip on the balloon’s mouthpiece relaxes, sending it flying around
the room. She has no idea, though. She’s preoccupied with other things.
“What the fuck just happened… Hahahahaha…” She
gasps.
“Pretty cool, huh?” I reply, taking a seat next to
her.
“Yeah. I really like this stuff…”
“I had a feeling you would.”
“I’m hungry…”
“Well then let’s get you some food. Can’t have you
wasting away now can we?”
“God, Harry, look at me… I’m so big!”
“I know… You’ve been working very hard to get here,
and I’m proud of you.”
He
said, without a hint of irony.
I give Jessica a kiss and she hoists herself up off
the couch, jiggling all the way as she waddles over to the counter for more
coke.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask her.
“I don’t know, open up Grubhub and see what’s
around.” She replies.
“Chinese?”
“Sure.”
“Order what you want.”
“You gonna get anything?”
“Nah, I can’t eat right now.”
“More for me!”
We do a couple more balloons while we wait for the food
to arrive. Jessica scampers off to the bathroom to spare the delivery guy from
seeing her naked. I pay him and she comes out of the bathroom, this time
wearing a novelty pig snout. I don’t know why this turns me on. It’s so silly.
But I love it.
“Get over here. It’s feeding time.” I say.
Jessica snorts and oinks and sits down next to me. I
pick up a chicken finger and bring it to her mouth. She opens wide and takes
most of it down in one bite.
“That’s a girl. My big piggy…” I say.
Jessica smiles as she chews.
I have a hard-on that could cut glass as I feed her,
feeling a sense of relief that the cocaine hasn’t robbed me of my ability to
have erections.
I
hate how much I love this. I hate how much this excites me and turns me on…
“We should get you a pink sweatsuit or something, go
all out with it.” I say.
“You really like this, huh? Me being your big, fat,
prized, sow?” She replies.
“Oh I do, I do, I doo-ooooohhhh… We gotta get you
good and fat for the state fair!”
“Hahahaha, you’re so fuckin’ weird.”
“Does this technically make me a furry? Pretending
you’re a pig?”
“Hahahaha, I don’t know… Maybe you are a furry… I
want more food! Feed me!”
“Yes ma’am!”
Jessica puts away an order of crab Rangoon and
chicken fingers before tapping out halfway through her beef teriyaki.
“I won’t hold you to the clean plate club standard
tonight, seeing as how you’re on coke.” I tell her.
Jessica rolls her eyes. “So generous of you.”
“You nice and full?”
“Yes… Rub my belly, Harry, pleeeeaaaaaasssseee..”
“With pleasure.”
“Ooooh that feels good…” Jessica moans.
I kiss her as I massage her bloated, distended,
belly, easing the ache from her excessive gluttony. I go slow, in little
circles, punctuated by a couple of light pats and jiggles. I don’t know what it
is about rubbing a fat girl’s belly that drives me fucking insane.
“You mentioned your mother was overweight.” Isaac
said.
“No, no, no, no, no. I don’t wanna fuck my mother.
Don’t even…” I replied.
“That’s not what I’m implying, Harry. Are you
familiar with the expression ‘every man marries his mother?’”
“Yeah…”
Jessica reaches for my crotch and fondles my
erection with her chubby hand.
“What have we here?!” She says.
It’s nearing midnight as Jessica unzips my jeans and
pulls my dick out. I take my snuff bullet from my pocket and prepare a bump as
she gets on her knees and starts blowing me. I snort, making horrid noises as I
get all the yack up my nostril and down my throat. I lean back and sip my drink
as she gives me head. She’s damn good at it, too.
There’s
an old stereotype…
After several minutes, Jessica loses patience with
me. She pulls my dick from her mouth.
“Are you gonna cum?”
“I don’t think so. The fuckin’ coke makes it really
hard for me to nut.”
“I don’t wanna give you blue balls but I’m getting
sore from kneeling…”
“That’s fine, you don’t have to.”
I gave up on the Zoloft within a week of seeing
Jessica regularly. I didn’t look back. Like I said, I don’t have a chemical
imbalance. A 25 year old drug addict and career fuck-up with no discernible
skills to offer to the work force and no drive or ambition to change that, one
that lives at home in their childhood room, frankly, should be depressed. I
made my fuckin’ bed.
Jessica gets up and goes to the bathroom while I put
a pair of basketball shorts on. I do another line, which leaves me jittery and
on edge, so I choke down more whiskey, nearly vomiting as the coke drip and
alcohol violate my esophagus. I fill another balloon. Jessica comes out of the
bathroom and sits down next to me.
“Make me one.” She says.
“As you wish.” I reply.
After a few more balloons we do a couple of lines
and a few shots. Too much is never enough. Finally, we start kissing and make
our way to the bed. I pull my clothes off and…
“What’s wrong?” Jessica asks.
“Fuck…” I mumble.
My worst nightmare comes to life before my eyes as
my dick sits limp and lifeless.
What
the fuck!?!? It was fine before! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…
“This normally never happens…” I stammer.
“Shhh… Relax. Come sit with me.” Jessica says
soothingly.
“Fuck. Fuck!” I growl.
“You gotta relax, Harry. If you think about it it’s
not gonna work.” She replies.
Embarrassment and shame consume me as I sit down on
the bed.
Hello
darkness my old friend…
“It’s OK… Just relax. You wanna play with my belly?
That usually gets you going…”
I sigh and rub her belly, but my mind can’t help but
fixate on my absolute failure as a man.
I
can’t get a boner, I can’t get a boner, I can’t get a boner, I can’t get a
boner, I can’t get a boner, I can’t get a boner, I can’t get a boner.
Cocaine and whiskey, two of my favorite things, have
betrayed me. I’ve whacked off drunk and on coke countless times before, with no
issue. Why has God forsaken me?
“I’m sorry…” I say, defeated.
“Just relax, it’ll happen. You want me to put the
nose back on? Maybe that’ll help…”
Jessica puts the pig snout back on and has herself a
piece of beef teriyaki. She eats it sensually, accentuating her satisfaction to
try and turn me on. It doesn’t work. She goes to suck my dick, but forgets she’s
wearing a pig nose. She rolls her eyes and tears it off, putting my awful limp
dick in her mouth like she’s giving it CPR. It doesn’t work.
YOU
CAN’T GET A BONER, YOU CAN’T GET A BONER, YOU’RE A FAILURE AS A MAN AND YOU CAN’T
GET A BONER. WHAT ARE YOU, 80 YEARS OLD? YOU NEED A VIAGRA, GRANDPA? THE FUCK
IS WRONG WITH YOU!? YOU CAN’T GET A BONER, YOU CAN’T GET A BONER…
“Fuck it.” I mumble, getting out of bed and marching
over to the counter and chopping up a line. I’m so fucking predictable. Back to
my security blanket that actually makes everything worse.
Like
fucking clockwork…
“Yeah, ‘cuz that’ll fuckin’ give you a boner…” Jessica
says sarcastically.
Her words shatter my fragile masculinity like a
sledgehammer in a glass sliding door during a PCP home invasion. I need more
drugs to feel less things. It’s almost 4 AM at this point. It’s safe to assume
my dick has left the building.
GOD
FUCKING DAMN IT…
A less self-absorbed man might offer to pleasure
their partner orally, or at least improvise, in an effort to make up for their
drastic shortcomings. But such men are rarely on Cocaine, and such men seldom
have as fragile egos as our hero did that night. Instead, he sulked, and he
drank, and huffed nitrous, in awkward silence.
This
isn’t about her, it’s about me!!
“Well… At least you learned a lesson…” Jessica says,
smiling.
“I’m fuckin’ sorry… I don’t even… I feel like a
fuckin’ old man…” I slur as the Cocaine wears off and the whiskey takes hold.
“Well… For what it’s worth, I did have fun tonight…”
She replies.
“You’re just saying that.”
“Yeah, that’s right, fuck me for being nice. I’m
going to sleep…”
I am in full-tilt self-pity mode as I down another
glass of whiskey and put a Suboxone strip under my tongue. I reckon that these
last 12 hours of non-stop Cocaine and alcohol abuse, now combined with a
prescription opioid, will lead to one motherfucker of a hangover…
“Harry… Harry… Wake up…” Jessica says, poking and
prodding me.
“What… Oh my fuck…” I croak, my tongue and the
inside of my mouth like sand.
BOOM!
HEADACHE.
BOOM!
MY CHEST! FUCK!
BOOM!
MY FUCKIN’ STOMACH, FUCK!
BOOM!
A FAST-MOTION REPLAY OF YOU NOT GETTING A BONER, PUSSY!
BOOM!
ANXIETY! IT’S 8 AM. YOU HAVE TO FACE THE REST OF THE WORLD SOON, AND
SOBER, NO
LESS! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
“What?!” I moan.
“You wanna go get breakfast?”
“OK…”
I stumble out of the room looking like reheated
French fries covered in dog shit. Jessica is decidedly more perky and
optimistic than I am. Thank fuck for
sunglasses…
I make a plate, some pancakes, sausages, a muffin. I
barely get through half of it before my stomach rejects it. I choke down some
coffee, although when you’ve been up all night doing real drugs, caffeine is… A
complete fucking joke. A disgrace to the word “stimulant.”
“Did you do all the balloons?” Jessica asks as she
chows down.
“Ha, no… There’s still some left.” I reply.
“When’s check-out?”
“Noon…”
“OK…”
(To be continued…)
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