April 29, 2009

• My Sexual History: Chapter 13

  "My Sexual History"(Chapter 13)
  A Personal Journey through the pleasures of the flesh
  An "essay" by Michael F. Nyiri
  (begun in December 2004 and continuing)

  RATED: R or MATURE for language and sexual situations. (I've Xanga rated this entry as "discretion required")

  NOTE: When I last posted a chapter of "My Sexual History" it was in September of 2007. I began by writing "Believe it or not, I haven't posted a chapter of "My Sexual History" since July of last year." Well, this chapter is almost two years in "cumming." Previous entries are in the links below. (I also have all chapters linked in the My Sexual History tag and the whole story is always available on my website HERE.) This was originally to have been a series of short essays but over the last few years has become much longer and more detailed As a matter of fact, this is now officially "novel sized" so it is the first Xanga Novel I'm writing. This chapter took a lot of guts to write. As you will see by the title of the chapter, it deals with methamphetamine and masturbation. I'm not sure if there are any readers left who remember this series, but as usual, I've provided links to all the chapters.  I  mention "The Frat House" in this essay and have written a couple of essays concerning my life with Bob in the Frat House in the 80s  HERE. (latest chapter with link to earlier chapter)  I'd like to mention again that the image of the girl with the lollipop I use as my "header image" for this series is a model, and I got the image from the internet. This isn't a photo of one of my ex girlfriends. I just chose it to illustrate the series because it's quite a sexual image, but is not exceedingly purient.  MFN 04/29/09)

  1. "Then the Boy Pees into the Girl."
  2. "The Very First Kiss"
  3. "High School Daze"
  4. "Stag Films and Frat Parties, Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll"
  5. "Whoreticulture"
  6. "Meeting Ruth, the Sexual Goddess"
  7. "Red Headed Wretchedness, and A Respite Before Falling in Love"
  8: "Cathy: The Second Love of My Life"
  9: "Opposites attract: The 38 and the 18 year old."
  10:"Melanie and the End of the Me Decade"
  11:"Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder"
  12. "Sex as Bait for the Catch"

  13. Mething Around with Autoeroticism

  The late nineties wouldn't serve up any sexual delights for me in the common sense. In 1995, I discovered that Pat, my girlfriend of three years, with whom I shared a six month lease on a rented house, was cheating on me with her boss at the Policeman's Association. The subsequent breakup might have been discouraging, but wasn't really. The only thing keeping us together was the lease on the house. I couldn't sleep in the same bed where I found that she had been having sex with her new paramour when I was away, so I moved into the garage, sleeping on a daybed, and waited till May, when the lease expired.

  On weekends I was visiting my old friends Bob and Joel in "The Frat House", from which I had moved when I began living with Pat. I still wasn't driving, and I didn't want to be with my girlfriend, so I arose early in the mornings on weekdays and took the bus to work. On Fridays, I would take a kit bag with two changes of clothes with me into work, and Jack, our CEO, who lived somewhat near Bob, would drive me home to "The Frat House" for the weekend, and pick me up on Monday morning. While at Bob's, I slept in the living room on a sleeper sofa with a busted spring. There was a sliding door between the living room and the hall. Bob and Joel lived in their respective bedrooms. Joel was still in my old bedroom, snidely laughing at me for coming back, because he had been the most vocal opponent of my plans to move in with Pat three years earlier.

  Bob and Joel weren't getting along, and each would stay in his own "space". I would carom back and forth between Bob's and Joel's bedrooms, having a beer or seven, and watching whatever bit of entertainment would be playing on Bob's bigscreen or listening to records with Joel. Friday nights Joel would usually drive over to his friend Jim's in Long Beach. This wasn't my old friend Jim, but another Jim whom Joel had known since boyhood. The guy had been recently divorced, and was a pretty heavy speed freak, buying and selling methamphetamine from his apartment situated above his mother's house. Jim collected comic books and trading cards, and was a pretty meticulous type. He wasn't the poster boy for speed. In fact, for quite a while, until he really got addicted, you wouldn't even know he was such a druggie. I wasn't that friendly with him except in Joel's company, but I would accompany Joel to Jim's place on Friday nights.

  One such night, I was offered some speed. Both Joel and I bought 20 dollar bags, enough to last the evening. Before Joel had moved in with Bob, I and he had spent many an evening fueled on cocaine, so this was a logical progression. I'd used black beautys and "whites" in the 70s, so I thought I knew what to expect. The speed kept us awake, and we would have long conversations about nothing with Jim, and then we would drive home. The first time I spent one of these evenings snorting multiple lines of the yellowish white powder, I got incredibly horny when I got home and closed the sliding door to Bob's living room. This aspect of the drug was pleasurable, but when I wanted to go to sleep, I couldn't keep my eyes closed. Little eyelid movies filled with kinetic undressed women would play out before me, and though "Little Mike" didn't exactly become "Big Mike" because of the effects of the drug, I wanted insanely to have sex. Thoughts of sex filled me like a helium balloon about to either take off into the stratosphere or pop altogether!

  I went into the hall and brought the telephone back into the living room with me. There were phone services which would offer sex talk for $1.50 to $3.00 a minute. I speedily dialed numbers from the top of my head. 1-900-BIG TITS, 1-900-WET PUSS, etc. Some numbers went nowhere. Some were answered. When one of the "sex therapists" came on the line, I would ramble on in smutty heaven, not realizing of course that I was driving Bob's phone bill up almost as far as that helium balloon.

  There are about four weekends in a month, before the phone bill came around again. I used to pay Bob's bills when I was living with him. Joel was presently doing this job. I probably took speed for three of those four weekends, and when Joel looked at the phone bill, it was filled with about $350.00 worth of the "1-900" sex numbers. I hadn't realized (in my speed fueled wanton disregard for anything except some sexual satisfaction) that I had rung the phone bill up that "high". Bob was bemused. I promised to pay the bill in installments.

  The next time Joel went over to Jim's on a Friday night, I accompanied him as usual. I knew that I would be inundated with nervous sexual energy following the ingestion of the drug, but imbibed anyway. Of course I was not allowed to use the phone when I got home. Both Jim and Bob had a lot of porn tapes, and I had my complete collection of Playboys in boxes at Bob's, where I had stored them when I moved in with Pat. Armed with pornographic material, I would sit out the rest of the night into the morning fueled on the drug, in a constant feeling of sexual energy, either watching the tapes (over and over again, fast forwarding to "the good parts") or displaying my centerfolds around the living room so there was no room to walk around.

  Bob died of a heart attack at the age of 47, soon after I began visiting on weekends. He didn't have any close family. He was a single only son who had lived with his mother all his life until she had died and he'd asked first me, then a succession of roommates including Joel, to live with him and pay him cheap rent. However when he died, Joel and I looked through his effects and found an uncle in Colorado. We called him, and he soon became the executor of Bob's estate. Joel was unceremoniously kicked out of the house, which was put on the market for sale. May was just around the corner, when my lease on the rented house I shared with Pat would expire, so I suggested to Joel that we look for temporary digs in which to live together.

  We found a large three bedroom house pretty close in proximity to "The Frat House". The rent was cheap for the amount of space, and we rented a truck and moved my stuff from the garage and Joel's from "The Frat House". A lot of subsequent Friday nights were spent with Jim in Long Beach, and both Joel and I kept buying larger and larger bags of methamphetamine.

  Speed kills. If you take it long enough for it's ingedients to start dictating your life. Some addictive personalities, including Jim, begin to wither away because they don't eat right. On the drug, one doesn't care to eat anything. One mutual friend, Pete, took the drug at work, and would finish grand projects on Sundays when nobody else was around. Joel would get extemely talkative, and then spend a lot of time holed up in his bedroom with paranoia.

  I just wanted some sex.

  Although I've never condoned drug use, and though I never took drugs on weekdays when at work, or on weeknights when I had to go to work the next morning, I began a long period when almost all my weekends were "speedy" ones. I graduated from 20  dollar bags to buying large rocks of the stuff for hundreds of dollars. No longer would I even make excuses for partying with Jim. He became my "dealer". After I finally bought a car, a small 1991 Geo Metro convertible, I would sometimes drop by JIm's after work, since I worked in Long Beach, and get my "stash". Joel would give me the money for his stash, and between us both, we were able to purchase enough to possibly sell at a profit, but we wouldn't have any of that.

  I started visiting Jim more and more on my own, since I was driving, and after I scored, I would get high, and then leave Jim's and go to different nudie bars around the South Bay. I became a "regular" at three different bars, sometimes spending all my cash and having to rely upon the bar's handy ATM machine to dole out more money for lap dances.

  Sometimes I might spend all evening and into the morning hours at a "Gentleman's Club." I got to "know" quite a few of the girls who danced at these places, and I even let them know I was flying on speed. I always hoped to corral one of them into coming back home with me after her shift, but of course this never happened. I even obtained phone numbers from a couple of gals, who offered "home lap dances", but at $350.00 to $500.00 a pop, this wasn't a business deal I wanted to seal with a kiss.

  When speeding along on methamphetamine, the mind plays lots of tricks. If you are performing a task, like Pete at work, the task becomes overwhelming. If the task is trying to placate a sex urge, then you begin thinking up all kinds of ways in which to prolong that urge. My little "addiction" to the drug never became overwhelming. I never used it for anything other than to satisfy my sexual urge, even though physically, the drug doesn't help one to become erect, or to climax. The feeling is one of forever peaking prior to climax. When at Bob's, in those early days of using the drug, I actually masturbated, until I realized I was pulling the pud prodigiously, but nothing was really happening, except for a lot of physical hurt after about four hours.

  In time, I formulated a routine which helped me to (falsely) think the experience with the drug was not only positive, but enlightening. From the time I would leave work on Friday night, till Sunday evening, I would lapse into a zen state of constant excitement. I didn't even need to touch myself. I became quite a regular at the XXX tape rental store down the street from where I lived. I rented 8-10 tapes at a time, and watched them multiple times. In the mid nineties, the "amateur" videos overtook the (badly) scripted porn movies of the 80s. Each tape would consist of only the "good parts", so I didn't need to fast forward anymore. I would settle in my bedroom, watching porn on a 32" monitor sitting close to the end of my bed. One time I used my 6 foot inflatable plastic Gumby as a "love doll" and promptly exploded the inflatable cartoon character. After that I bought plastic "love dolls", using them and using them up when they would explode, as all of them always did.

  This wasn't sex. And it wasn't drugs. I would send myself to some heavenly place where I was always on the verge of coming, but didn't until after about 8-10 hours of sexual camaraderie with plastic dolls and speed. I moved from snorting the stuff to smoking it in large glass pipes. In retrospect, it's a wonder I didn't ruin myself in some way. However, after about a year of these "speedy weekends", I got tired of these exercises in futility. My "habit" started eating holes in my finances as well.

  The major reason why I tired of using the stuff was not only financial, but because I could see Joel's friend Jim wasting away, both physically and mentally. Pete, the other friend with whom Joel and I shared the "habit", shared his apartment with Jim when Jim was evicted from the place in which he was living after he sold the family home when his mother died. Jim began stealing first from me, by taking my money, but giving me smaller and smaller amounts of speed, which were delivered later and later. Then he stole money from Joel one week when he crashed on our couch. He stole my state's quarter collection, which was worth about $200.00, but blamed the theft on neighborhood kids. He stole all of Pete's laserdiscs and sold them for money to buy more drugs.

  As with earlier "addictions" in my life, I stopped cold turkey when I saw what the drug was doing to my friends. Both Joel and I stopped taking speed at about the same time, early in 1997. Jim eventually wound up in jail, and Pete became homeless. I was making good money at work, and I was finding that the effects of the speed didn't necessarily wear off on Monday mornings, even if I wasn't smoking it. I had started to become irritable and antsy all the time.

  It was overtime to stop. The special feelings I felt the drug were giving me were probably ruining my health. Scratch that. I knew my health was being compromised by "the habit." Besides, in 1997, I became hooked on another drug. I bought my first computer. Sex for me, this autoerotic form of drug fueled sexual abandon, was about to be replaced by a need to create art and literature on the internet. And I found I didn't need any drugs for this form of entertainment and enlightenment. It would be another two years before I would have sex, and that was fueled not by drugs, but by my newfound "lovesearch" on the world wide web.

  NEXT: (and hopefully not two years from now)  LOVESEARCHING AND LOSING IN CYBERSPACE

  • 9:11 pm
  • 16 Comments