My First Hit of Meth

Slammed: a Memoir — Chapter 1 Part 3

Warning: Graphic descriptions of drug use and sexual situations. What you’re about to read is not fiction. It happened to me.

Jerry pulled out a bong with a long green neck.

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Well, it’s been a while, but I wouldn’t say no to a toke, though I wish I bought more munchies.”

“It’s not pot,” Jerry said. “It’s Tina.”

I plopped down on the bed and shrugged, “Whatever.”

Tina was a fun name. I once took a hit of some pot called Alaskan Thunderfuck. I couldn’t tell you if it lived up to the name since I wasn’t really a connoisseur.

“John,” Danny asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m in the mood to try something new.”

I was in that lovely drunk place where everything was pleasant and my inhibitions were loose. That place where you can be dared to jump over a bonfire or go talk to the guy who’s been making eyes at you from across the bar.

I didn’t clock Danny. I didn’t see if there was hesitation or concern on his face, or if there wasn’t. I didn’t clock Ben to see if he’d even taken his hands out of his pockets or if he was excited like a lid about to come off a boiling pot.

I simply watched Jerry.

The din of our Dominican neighborhood bled through the window: the never-ending New York traffic; music full of pulsing bass, brass horns, and tinny metal guitars; the clinking of dominos on card tables; all spiced with occasional eruptions of rapid-fire Spanish.

This filled the silence as we watched Jerry work.

After setting the bong on the floor, he squatted down in front of it. He held a tiny ziplock bag, maybe an inch square, containing a white shardy substance. He then took a straw cut on a diagonal to create a tiny spade, then gently scooped some of the shards into the bowl.

Only it wasn’t a bowl like you would pack pot into. It was a glass bulb with a hole on the top where Jerry poured in the white shards. The underside of the bulb looked scorched while the neck heading into the bong was solid white. Jerry delicately closed the baggy, returned it to his backpack, and pulled out a cigar lighter. He ignited the small torch and began heating the bulb, gently tilting it back and forth. The white substance melted and became a thick white smoke.

“Let’s try a shotgun first,” he said, just before placing his mouth at the top of the bong.

“Ok.” I leaned forward as he began drawing the smoke through the water and into the neck. Once the neck was thick with smoke, Jerry inhaled. He leaned forward to me and I met him as if we were going to kiss. He blew out as I inhaled, our lips lightly touching.

I held the smoke in.

“No, no, exhale!”

I obeyed, exhaling. The smoke tasted sweet, reminding me of car exhaust fumes, but wasn’t nearly as thick and dissipated quickly.

“You don’t have to do that with this stuff,” Danny said.

“Yeah,” chuckled Jerry, “you’ll fry your lungs.”

As the three of them took their turns, I waited for something to happen.

I didn’t have to wait long.

“Oh… oh. Oh, wow.” A growing sensation began in my core and expanded with a kind of cool heat. It was like the feeling on a rollercoaster right when it passes the apex and begins to drop, like the moment of orgasm directly before you cum. Both, together, only slower. Tremendously slower. Drawn out beyond imagination. Growing exponentially. A progression of heat. On the back of my head. My face. My thighs. My chest. I could feel every inch of my body. All of it. All at once.

It felt wonderful. Beyond wonderful!

“Oh” and “wow” and “holy” and “shit” were the only words that I could think to say.

“Scoot over,” Jerry said, “Let me sit on the bed.” I did. Ben lay down on the bed behind us, the top coming off his boiling pot.

I was quickly boiling myself. “Can… can I have a straight hit?” I managed to ask.

“Sure,” Jerry smiled, enjoying my enjoyment.

Trying to keep control, I placed my mouth at the end of the bong while Jerry coached me, heating the bulb. “Careful. Not yet…not yet…ok draw slow. Slower…ok…now.”

I inhaled the delicious smoke, a direct hit, thicker, sweeter. I felt Ben’s hand on the back of my head pulling me down toward him.

I met his mouth.

He forcefully sucked the vapor out of my lungs.

I moaned.

He exhaled and then kissed me hard, ferociously, feeling the vibrations of our shared moans on my tongue.

Jerry had put up the bong and was tearing off his shirt as Danny knelt down in front of him and started to undo his pants.

Ben pushed my head down. His pants were open and his cock was out and hard. I took it immediately into my mouth. I began sucking it without hesitation, as if it was what I was meant to do, as if it was my only purpose, while trying frantically to get my own pants off.

The bedroom door jerked open.

I pulled away from Ben.

Everyone froze.

Silence.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

For a few moments we remained frozen. The din from the street momentarily pulsed back into the room.

Then everyone started moving at once, buzzing frantically, putting on clothes, putting things in bags.

I pulled up my pants and just sat on the edge of Danny’s bed. My eyes were wide. My body was pulsing. In that moment I realized entirely and completely what had just happened.

It’s over.

It was over.

That was all I could think.

My relationship with Henry was now over.

And I didn’t care.

I was amazed, almost giddy, about the fact that, in that moment, I did. Not. Care.

The lights flashed on. Danny was trying to talk to me. “John, we have to go.” All faux British-isms were gone. “I think you should come with us. John?”

I was mesmerized by the duality of knowing my relationship with Henry was over and that I still felt so fucking good. “I don’t care,” I said out loud, not dismissively, but in wonder.

“Ok, John, that’s fine, but we’re leaving. Are you going to come with us or are you going to stay here?”

I could hear Jerry and Ben clomp quickly down the hall and out the front door.

“I…I don’t…I should…” talk to Henry is what I was trying to say. I wanted to go with them wherever they were going. I wanted to continue what we had started. Forever.

But I had to talk to Henry. I don’t know why. I just had to.

Standing up, “Wait…wait for. Me. I’m …going to. To…” I gestured in the direction of our bedroom.

Feeling the euphoria continue to flow through me like a torrent, I slowly approached our bedroom door, opened it, stepped in, and closed the door behind me. The light was off. The room was pitch-black. I could not see him and he could not see me with my eyes wide and face full of wonder.

“Henry, I…I don’t…” All the words wanted to be said at once. All the things. Sentences, questions, claims, all piled on top of each other, trying to form one word, forming none, “I…I’m not sure. What’s. What’s happening…”

“I think you should go.” Tears. His voice was muffled, choked. Even in the darkness I could tell he was clutching his oversized teddy bear, Teddy. “I think you should go away.”

So, I did.

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Chapter Guide

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