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.
Saturday, December 1, 2018
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
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.
“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!”
“Listen to you! My little hippie crack head…”
“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.”
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…”
“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…”
“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!?”
“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.
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.
“She’s still gaining, as far as I know. Which I’m kinda happy about, I guess…”
“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’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
“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?”
“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.”
“I feel stupid even bringing it up.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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?”
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.
“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?”
“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.
“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…”
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?”
“Don’t be nervous, it’s fun.”
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.
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.
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.”
“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.
“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!”
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..”
“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?’”
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! 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?”
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.
(To be continued…)