Drug Fucked

The walls had started to melt around me. Every step I took felt as though I had plunged my foot into the depths of a marshmallow coated floor. It was then, that the visualizations started to take hold. At first I had noticed the same repetitive pattern was replacing the textures of every surface around me. Lights began to flash all around me. I had started to doubt my own sanity. I had taken far too much acid. And in that moment I had become fully self-aware. I had found myself at another festival, wearing the same dirty clothes for the past 3 days, induced in a drug stupor of sorts. It had reached a point that I was taking whatever substance had been offered to me. But as fearful as you may be of these narcotics and the effects it makes on an individual, I enjoyed it. The freedom, the confidence I had gained, the people I had met, the experiences I was having and the sex I was soon to enjoy.

Auditory hallucinations were a common side effect of the research chemical I had ingested a few hours ago. I was also experiencing massive visual hallucinations and was struggling to determine what was reality and what was a part of this psychedelic experience. My inner monologue was abruptly interrupted by a feminine voice that pierced the chaotic sounds that confused my frantic mind.

“Max! Max! Is that you?”

I turned to look, the dim lighting resulted in my blurred vision leaving trails of fractals and beams of multi-coloured light in its wake. Was this female voice just another hallucination or perhaps a metaphor for my deprived sexual existence in my mundane life? I was snapped back to reality as I saw a familiar face approach me. Her silhouette was defined against the bright lasers of the stage. Rays of neon green and fluorescent pink shot out from all sides. Her dress was covered in the most entrancing floral pattern. I gazed up at the face of this goddess. It was warping in front of my eyes. A shot of distrust forced it way through my spine. I had recognized the voice, but the face seemed somewhat unrecognizable. It materialized after a period of 10 seconds.

“Oh Caitlin, it’s you! Man, I’m pretty fucked. I’m tripping pretty fucking hard!”

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was Caitlin. A good friend from my University days. The one girl that was willing to take as much substances as I was. Her boyfriend was with her. A pang of guilt shot through my spine at the dirty, sexual thoughts that ran through my mind at that instance.

But it was hard not to notice the sheer attractiveness of this goddess that stood before me. Her sky blue eyes highlighted my world. Her delicate fringe that played across her forehead, inadvertently shielding her one eye reminded me of a cartoon I had seen once long ago as a child. I then glanced down and noticed her supple, yet perky breasts protruding from beneath that mesmerizing floral dress. The dress had begun to distort and manipulate infront of my very eyes. The patterns had begun to dance and pulsate with the heavy bass of the music that drowned out menial conversation.

“Hey man, what are you on?”

Her boyfriend feebly muttered in an attempt to make the somewhat awkward lull in conversation less noticeable. He was out of his element. He’d be much more at home in a gym or doing study or whatever responsibilities people our age generally tended to. Their pairing had certainly been an odd one and I had often considered how it came about and whether it would last as long as either of them would’ve hoped.

“Ummmm, well…”

I began, as I rattled off the long list of substances I had abused in the past 72 hours. I couldn’t help but notice the tinge of pride in my voice but also the fear of the thought of the massive stress I was putting my body and my mind under. I was tripping myself out.

“Well me and Caitlin are candy flipping. But I dropped a Viagra about half an hour ago. Hate the floppy cock that Ecstasy gives you!”

A common problem that a lot of MDMA users noticed was the difficulty in getting an erection while under the influence. I’ve personally never had that problem, but I tended to palm it off to my own sexual depravity.

“Oh my God! I love this song! Do you guys want to dance?”

The dulcet tones of Parisian Goldfish filtered through the background noise. I was eager to do whatever this nymphet suggested. She had appeared as a Goddess and I was willing to do what she asked of me. I stumbled in my half conscious and half aware state to the dance floor. Bumping into humanoids- left, right and center. But no one cared, we were all pretty fucked.

After what seemed an eternity of maneuvering through endless crowds, we had reached the dance floor. The music was louder than ever, and I felt the heavy bass working its way through my feet and coursing through my entire body.