...Remember the Crush love? It's just over. It just ended 5 minutes ago. From his side, not mine. But my fault. But his idea. Judge this yourself.
I went to visit him. Twice.
Last time, he's got this awesome plan that, since he can only have window-phone visits and couldn't obtain a table-touching-allowed visit, he could send a cellmate of his to get some heroin from me, by visit. He wrote it down for me. I was supposed to meet the guy's mom, take some money, meet his own mom, get some money & clothes, make a package with those clothes and food, and have like 4-5 heroin bags stuck up in my mouth. I'd pass through all the jail filters and get to the tables visiting room, where I'd meet a guy I've never seen before, hug him, kiss him and transfer the bags by that kiss. Then we'd talk about shit, I'd leave, the dude would go to his room and I'd go home, happy I did a good thing for my "love".
Problems? I never met that guy, and he knows him only from jail, in these 5 months he's been there. So the dude could just call the guards tell them I brought him heroin and I wouldn't get out of there. Not in the next 5 years at least. Trafficking is bad enough as it is, add the location, a damn prison and I'm fucked for good.
He just called and I told him all this reasons. I can understand why he got all sentimentally manipulative. I can understand he won't ever want to see me again. I'm stupid. But I love my heroin and I want to be free.
If it was him I should take the bags to....I wouldn't stay even think about it. But an unknown guy?!...
The Doctor Freak
From time to time, there's a freak appearing to the scene of my escort sex-life. And I totally love them. Coz they pay good money, and coz they're something different, something new, something other than the bang-bang-thank-you-ma'am. Actually, exactly for these freaks I started my escort life, long time ago when it wasn't just about money and next dose.
So, there's this guy I've met like an year ago, The Doctor.He's 30-something, not very good looking but not ugly either, he just doesn't have anything sexual about his looks.He inspires me a little boy, taking a piss at the toilet. Don't ask...lol. He is nothing of a doctor in real life, which makes it a bit scarier.
So he calls me and tells me his fantasy. We settle it all up, and the first meeting took place at my home, I was still home alone day-time coz my mother's boyfriend hadn't moved in with us by then.
He comes, with all necesities covered: a bag of syringes, various sizes (2 to 10 ml), 2 pair of gloves, alcohol for desinfection of the tools/areas, a thermometer, lots and lots of needles, a spoon and few condoms. I was dressed in white and I welcomed him to my apartment as we planned, role-playing a sick worried patient, very afraid of needles and doctors in general. I sit on the bed, he opens his bag of tools and I take my blouse off, so he can start by examining my heart-beating and my reflexes. He checks my tits as well, how firm they are and check for nodules. He makes me cough and listens to my lungs. He makes me open my mouth, puts the spoon on my tongue and makes me say "aaaa" to check my throat. Also checks the gag reflex.
"Is it bad, doctor?"
"Oh yes, I'm afraid it is. Let me check your temperature, you might have a fever."
So he puts the thermometer up my ass, while he checks, gloves on, the insides of my cunt. Everything seems to go well there, judging by the swelling in his pants. He then takes out the thermometer and watches it in a moment of silence.
"I'm afraid you really caught a bad flu. I'm gonna have to give you some injections for this strong bacteria."
And here starts my Oscar role-playing:begging him with tears in my eyes, to avoid using needles on me. Promising I'll be a good girl and take all pills he'd prescribe. Even offering my sexual favours in order to avoid the stinging of his syringes.Telling him imaginative stories of a horrible childhood, where doctors would torture me to death. Nothing works, the bulge in his pants grows bigger and bigger, and finally he turns me ass-up, head down for the first injection.
"There, there...be a good girl, it's not gonna hurt that bad!"
I keep moaning, tears down my eyes, mumbling non-sense about stopping this torture at once.
"Look, let me show you how little this hurts. I'll get some needles up your butt muscle, so you see the pain is nothing as bad as you remember it."
He sticks a needle in, and I jump with discomfort. He leaves it there, carresses me parentaly on my back, then gets another needle in. And so on, with me moaning and groaning with each needle that I actually loved and it was so getting me in the mood for a shot, till I have like 7-8 needles sticking out from my ass. He then methodically, carefully and visibly excited takes them off one by one, wipes the area with alcohol cottons, and gets the syringes readily filled with different antibiotics. He would draw the liquid in the syringe in front of my eyes, making the scary push-up-liquid-jumping check for air everytime.
The substances are ranging from Distilled Water to Penicilin G, therefor from no-pain to extreme-pain. We negotiated for 7 injections, so I knew that's a loong way to go. To make it more interesting, I wouldn't know which syringe comes up next, as we made this lotery thing of putting 10 tickets in a bowl, each with a number, each number assigned to a substance.Out of 10, there would be 7 painfull ones (vitamins +penicilins) and 3 not painfull (distilled water, calcium).
I start with the first ticket, and it says 6. He makes a face, from which I can't tell if it's gonna be Penicilin G or Calcium. I soon find out it was Vitamin B, after having some kind of pain I would rate as a 6 on a scale to 10. And so on, so forth, ticket drawn, butt stung, screaming or not, till we finish the 7 injections that were decided for me to have.To this point, I had real real tears drawing lines on my face, coz out of 7, I had 5 painfull, reaaally painfull shots. Intra-muscular, as my doctor is not at all fascinated with mainlining. Such a petty.
After the last needle was drawn out of my butt cheeks, his cock was menacing to rip off his pants. So, like the good scared girl that I was, I ask my good doctor to let me thank him for being so nice and tender to me, and I get his cock out for play.
I start by licking slowly and softly, part coz I didn't want him to finish too soon since this was thje only sex he'd get, part coz his dick was so red and hard it seemed the skin could get ruptured on harder moves. On the first licks, he was already moaning and all, so I tried to go as slow as I could.Licking slowly, taking it in my mouth tenderly, sucking on it a bit, licking a bit more, taking it down my throat, everything so tender and slow. Nevertheless, in about 2 mins we were done, cum running down my chin, and my doctor looking in the mirror at me with this ever-so-satisfied grin. I went for a freshen-up, then walked my doc to the bus stations, as he's cheap enough to not afford a taxi.
Then, getting back home, I'd just pick up my 200e from the table where he put them ever since he arrived, and I make my calls for the day's bags.
So, there's this guy I've met like an year ago, The Doctor.He's 30-something, not very good looking but not ugly either, he just doesn't have anything sexual about his looks.He inspires me a little boy, taking a piss at the toilet. Don't ask...lol. He is nothing of a doctor in real life, which makes it a bit scarier.
So he calls me and tells me his fantasy. We settle it all up, and the first meeting took place at my home, I was still home alone day-time coz my mother's boyfriend hadn't moved in with us by then.
He comes, with all necesities covered: a bag of syringes, various sizes (2 to 10 ml), 2 pair of gloves, alcohol for desinfection of the tools/areas, a thermometer, lots and lots of needles, a spoon and few condoms. I was dressed in white and I welcomed him to my apartment as we planned, role-playing a sick worried patient, very afraid of needles and doctors in general. I sit on the bed, he opens his bag of tools and I take my blouse off, so he can start by examining my heart-beating and my reflexes. He checks my tits as well, how firm they are and check for nodules. He makes me cough and listens to my lungs. He makes me open my mouth, puts the spoon on my tongue and makes me say "aaaa" to check my throat. Also checks the gag reflex.
"Is it bad, doctor?"
"Oh yes, I'm afraid it is. Let me check your temperature, you might have a fever."
So he puts the thermometer up my ass, while he checks, gloves on, the insides of my cunt. Everything seems to go well there, judging by the swelling in his pants. He then takes out the thermometer and watches it in a moment of silence.
"I'm afraid you really caught a bad flu. I'm gonna have to give you some injections for this strong bacteria."
And here starts my Oscar role-playing:begging him with tears in my eyes, to avoid using needles on me. Promising I'll be a good girl and take all pills he'd prescribe. Even offering my sexual favours in order to avoid the stinging of his syringes.Telling him imaginative stories of a horrible childhood, where doctors would torture me to death. Nothing works, the bulge in his pants grows bigger and bigger, and finally he turns me ass-up, head down for the first injection.
"There, there...be a good girl, it's not gonna hurt that bad!"
I keep moaning, tears down my eyes, mumbling non-sense about stopping this torture at once.
"Look, let me show you how little this hurts. I'll get some needles up your butt muscle, so you see the pain is nothing as bad as you remember it."
He sticks a needle in, and I jump with discomfort. He leaves it there, carresses me parentaly on my back, then gets another needle in. And so on, with me moaning and groaning with each needle that I actually loved and it was so getting me in the mood for a shot, till I have like 7-8 needles sticking out from my ass. He then methodically, carefully and visibly excited takes them off one by one, wipes the area with alcohol cottons, and gets the syringes readily filled with different antibiotics. He would draw the liquid in the syringe in front of my eyes, making the scary push-up-liquid-jumping check for air everytime.
The substances are ranging from Distilled Water to Penicilin G, therefor from no-pain to extreme-pain. We negotiated for 7 injections, so I knew that's a loong way to go. To make it more interesting, I wouldn't know which syringe comes up next, as we made this lotery thing of putting 10 tickets in a bowl, each with a number, each number assigned to a substance.Out of 10, there would be 7 painfull ones (vitamins +penicilins) and 3 not painfull (distilled water, calcium).
I start with the first ticket, and it says 6. He makes a face, from which I can't tell if it's gonna be Penicilin G or Calcium. I soon find out it was Vitamin B, after having some kind of pain I would rate as a 6 on a scale to 10. And so on, so forth, ticket drawn, butt stung, screaming or not, till we finish the 7 injections that were decided for me to have.To this point, I had real real tears drawing lines on my face, coz out of 7, I had 5 painfull, reaaally painfull shots. Intra-muscular, as my doctor is not at all fascinated with mainlining. Such a petty.
After the last needle was drawn out of my butt cheeks, his cock was menacing to rip off his pants. So, like the good scared girl that I was, I ask my good doctor to let me thank him for being so nice and tender to me, and I get his cock out for play.
I start by licking slowly and softly, part coz I didn't want him to finish too soon since this was thje only sex he'd get, part coz his dick was so red and hard it seemed the skin could get ruptured on harder moves. On the first licks, he was already moaning and all, so I tried to go as slow as I could.Licking slowly, taking it in my mouth tenderly, sucking on it a bit, licking a bit more, taking it down my throat, everything so tender and slow. Nevertheless, in about 2 mins we were done, cum running down my chin, and my doctor looking in the mirror at me with this ever-so-satisfied grin. I went for a freshen-up, then walked my doc to the bus stations, as he's cheap enough to not afford a taxi.
Then, getting back home, I'd just pick up my 200e from the table where he put them ever since he arrived, and I make my calls for the day's bags.
Crush Story
As mentioned in an earlier post, there is an exception to my junkie-dealers story. I will call him Crush, for he was a real love-crush from the begining.
I kept hearing about this "crush" guy in quite a while. His turkish name made me think he's some old, fat, black, ugly pervert, also known as paranoid, so I was in no hurry of meeting him or having someone buy me from him. Till that one day, when me and my best-friend/boyfriend-for-the-world D. had no place to buy from and he comes with this idea, "let's go to the turkish!". Okay...off we went. Met him in a McDonalds and when he came, I couldn't belive my eyes: this beautifull thing was that turkish?! Nothing of what I imagined!Aged 29, he is tall, pretty muscular and well built, medium-tanned soft, silky skin, brown deep eyes, sweetly shaped lips and this general face appearance and expression of a tricky foxy. Loved him the moment I saw him. It was somewhat reciprocal, since he took us (me also, and I was the "stranger" and he was, least that of all I though,indeed paranoid) to his house to shoot up. There I couldn't take my eyes off him and it was settled: I'd love to feel his skin rubbing against mine, those pin-point eyes looking in passion at me and I was dead-curious how would those lips feel, how is he kissing, how is he fucking... He did have a girlfriend, so these thoughts were pretty messed-up.His gf was there too and hated me from moment 1.
Time passed...he told to come buy myself...I was buying for the whole neighbourhood as he really was paranoid and not selling to anyone, probably coz he just got out of prison early months before. Me and my friend D were the only ones who could buy from him, and he was the only one selling in the neighbourhood. And had good stuff, too. And here start the conquering, these days I am asked all the time what did he do to make me love him so and be so "semper fidelis" to him: I would call him at 7 in the morning, he would not hang up but tell me come in an hour or two, then hearing my disappointed, sick voice he'd call back 5 minutes later telling me come now. If I was real sick, he'd come. He wouldn't belive the crap my friend D was telling him to cut me off from buying from him; whatever D would tell him, he'd ask me if it's true. He knew D since before prison (and he was for 3.5 years in prison, same, trafficking issues), so he should have trusted him, not me. He would let me stay around at his place until I'd get my shot - I had great vein problems at the time, just started to shoot myself and he would even help me by doing the injection for me, even though he totally hated doing this to anyone. Most of the time, when I'd go buy, he would invent whatever subject/reason to keep me around more (feed the cat, wash the dishes, lace his shoes coz he dont know how, etc etc etc). One day, I went to his place to buy with an ocassional junkie bf; he'd let us come in, trusted the guy in his house coz he came with me. That day I was having real trouble shooting and he wanted to help by finding some vein in my upper arm, so I had to take off the blouse , having nothing underneath. When I pulled it over my head, I see some drooly, amazed Crush, staring at my tits saying "Oh my God...You got SUCH gorgeous tits! They're so beautiful! How come I didn't see that till now?!" . I burst into laugh, coz there was nothing offending in this, he was like a kid being so excited about some toy he'd see in a store.
Before his arresting, a month before, I felt something bad is gonna happen to him. Just felt it, just knew it. So I thought I shouldn't feel sorry for NOT doing something about my love, and gave him this sms, telling "I love you. I do not want anything or any consequence for telling you this. I simply want you to know. I'll always be by your side". He did not reply to it in anyway when we met shortly after, seemed to me he wouldn't belive it.
While he was arrested, yet no convicted, for months at the police station, he had his mother calling me, asking me to come see him. First time I went, we had our first kiss. I finally felt his soft lips over mine ,his playfull tongue, his sweet taste i already knew from the bags that he used to keep in his mouth, passing them to me in my mouth, and I'd usually put them in my mouth to feel what he tastes like. Now, I was finally tasting him and he was a lot more amazing than I imagined. But everytime, I'd leave home and dream for another week till it was time to visit again, and he'd stay there, locked away from the world, locked away from heroin and... me. I went for 2 months , then his girlfriend started coming and I stoped going.
After few more months, I get this call "Hey...you know who I am? Are you home? Can you come down in 10 minutes?" OMG...! I was with my time-to-time boyfriend Molecule, after 11 loving days, when I got this call and jumped in my shoes to go down. Molecule left in anger, but my heart was beating out of my chest thinking he did come, he is free and he wants to see me...! He came for heroin and for asking me to be together, for real, to move together, to live together. Which I, being so fucked up so many times by people wanting to take advantage of my money-making, thought its a scam and refused. I refused him for more than a month, everyday we'd hang out together in his beloved grey old car, everyday he'd tell me how he'd want us to be doing everything together, how he's tired of being alone and for his own and how he'd be there for me. And I kept refusing.
Over the last summer, I stayed with him a lot of days and nights, we had sex 2 times and we'd hang around alot.Meanwhile, from all the things he said and done, I knew I was so wrong for refusing him...but whatever I'd say or do, he was just so convinced I cannot have feelings for anyone. Never took me seriously again.
In October he got arrested again. And two weeks ago, his mother called saying he asked me to come. I went. Will go to the end of times. This is my second chance and I am not going to waste it.
But let's keep the details of this first visit for another post ...:)
I kept hearing about this "crush" guy in quite a while. His turkish name made me think he's some old, fat, black, ugly pervert, also known as paranoid, so I was in no hurry of meeting him or having someone buy me from him. Till that one day, when me and my best-friend/boyfriend-for-the-world D. had no place to buy from and he comes with this idea, "let's go to the turkish!". Okay...off we went. Met him in a McDonalds and when he came, I couldn't belive my eyes: this beautifull thing was that turkish?! Nothing of what I imagined!Aged 29, he is tall, pretty muscular and well built, medium-tanned soft, silky skin, brown deep eyes, sweetly shaped lips and this general face appearance and expression of a tricky foxy. Loved him the moment I saw him. It was somewhat reciprocal, since he took us (me also, and I was the "stranger" and he was, least that of all I though,indeed paranoid) to his house to shoot up. There I couldn't take my eyes off him and it was settled: I'd love to feel his skin rubbing against mine, those pin-point eyes looking in passion at me and I was dead-curious how would those lips feel, how is he kissing, how is he fucking... He did have a girlfriend, so these thoughts were pretty messed-up.His gf was there too and hated me from moment 1.
Time passed...he told to come buy myself...I was buying for the whole neighbourhood as he really was paranoid and not selling to anyone, probably coz he just got out of prison early months before. Me and my friend D were the only ones who could buy from him, and he was the only one selling in the neighbourhood. And had good stuff, too. And here start the conquering, these days I am asked all the time what did he do to make me love him so and be so "semper fidelis" to him: I would call him at 7 in the morning, he would not hang up but tell me come in an hour or two, then hearing my disappointed, sick voice he'd call back 5 minutes later telling me come now. If I was real sick, he'd come. He wouldn't belive the crap my friend D was telling him to cut me off from buying from him; whatever D would tell him, he'd ask me if it's true. He knew D since before prison (and he was for 3.5 years in prison, same, trafficking issues), so he should have trusted him, not me. He would let me stay around at his place until I'd get my shot - I had great vein problems at the time, just started to shoot myself and he would even help me by doing the injection for me, even though he totally hated doing this to anyone. Most of the time, when I'd go buy, he would invent whatever subject/reason to keep me around more (feed the cat, wash the dishes, lace his shoes coz he dont know how, etc etc etc). One day, I went to his place to buy with an ocassional junkie bf; he'd let us come in, trusted the guy in his house coz he came with me. That day I was having real trouble shooting and he wanted to help by finding some vein in my upper arm, so I had to take off the blouse , having nothing underneath. When I pulled it over my head, I see some drooly, amazed Crush, staring at my tits saying "Oh my God...You got SUCH gorgeous tits! They're so beautiful! How come I didn't see that till now?!" . I burst into laugh, coz there was nothing offending in this, he was like a kid being so excited about some toy he'd see in a store.
Before his arresting, a month before, I felt something bad is gonna happen to him. Just felt it, just knew it. So I thought I shouldn't feel sorry for NOT doing something about my love, and gave him this sms, telling "I love you. I do not want anything or any consequence for telling you this. I simply want you to know. I'll always be by your side". He did not reply to it in anyway when we met shortly after, seemed to me he wouldn't belive it.
While he was arrested, yet no convicted, for months at the police station, he had his mother calling me, asking me to come see him. First time I went, we had our first kiss. I finally felt his soft lips over mine ,his playfull tongue, his sweet taste i already knew from the bags that he used to keep in his mouth, passing them to me in my mouth, and I'd usually put them in my mouth to feel what he tastes like. Now, I was finally tasting him and he was a lot more amazing than I imagined. But everytime, I'd leave home and dream for another week till it was time to visit again, and he'd stay there, locked away from the world, locked away from heroin and... me. I went for 2 months , then his girlfriend started coming and I stoped going.
After few more months, I get this call "Hey...you know who I am? Are you home? Can you come down in 10 minutes?" OMG...! I was with my time-to-time boyfriend Molecule, after 11 loving days, when I got this call and jumped in my shoes to go down. Molecule left in anger, but my heart was beating out of my chest thinking he did come, he is free and he wants to see me...! He came for heroin and for asking me to be together, for real, to move together, to live together. Which I, being so fucked up so many times by people wanting to take advantage of my money-making, thought its a scam and refused. I refused him for more than a month, everyday we'd hang out together in his beloved grey old car, everyday he'd tell me how he'd want us to be doing everything together, how he's tired of being alone and for his own and how he'd be there for me. And I kept refusing.
Over the last summer, I stayed with him a lot of days and nights, we had sex 2 times and we'd hang around alot.Meanwhile, from all the things he said and done, I knew I was so wrong for refusing him...but whatever I'd say or do, he was just so convinced I cannot have feelings for anyone. Never took me seriously again.
In October he got arrested again. And two weeks ago, his mother called saying he asked me to come. I went. Will go to the end of times. This is my second chance and I am not going to waste it.
But let's keep the details of this first visit for another post ...:)
Ghetto Tricks
Late afternoon, after clearing any chances any further money would show up miraculously, called the dealer, whom will be here called from now after, Kay. Kay was busy for the moment, said he'd call back (he's not very excited whenever I'm broke and ask for gear on debt), so I killed time by cleaning the room. 14 spoons, 4 plates, 8 glasses, 4 mugs. 2 bags of trash, of which 17 empty packs of cigs. Quite a collection.
Anyway, after cleaning all through, sweat was getting cold, Kay finally called and was fighting with his girlfriend (one of them 5, and he's married too) and asked me go to her place, which I thought was far, but was only 3 subway stations away. Met, bought, went with him to the mechanic coz the car "was making weird sounds" - he's damn well obsessed with his cars, changes them frequently, repairs any little shit on them, then sells them on lower price than he bought 'em, then starts whining around he has debts for buyin new ones - I suspect his cars are bought like with 70% my own and only money- he doesn't sell to too many.The mechanic lives in the ghetto, to mention, same ghetto thats the heart of the town's skag.
Sat around for like an hour, dude came, bought, left...I, being the friend, just layed there, sweat runnin down my back, all smily and nice to keep the maniac calm (he's histericall, like a friend of his once said, "like a premenstrual lady that just teared her stockings", yelling and gettin crazy nervous for any little shit). We finally got going, he'd just leave to the tram station as he didn't have 5 more minutes to actually take me home.
On the way, shitty music screaming, windows open...such a feeling of Freedom, with 100km/hour in the night...and I thought this must have felt a lot better for this man, that from his 44 years spent 10 locked up in a room, 4 walls and a ceiling, no women, no dope and just future lieing ahead, to take the best possible "revenge" for all that lost time, for all that lost life. That's a damn good reason for having 5 girlfriends + wife, shoot crack and heroin (but never speedballs, lol), changing cars like socks and generally having a personal mayhem on the world.
When he dropped me in the station,finally gave me my 4 small (but great, as I found out later) bags then ran off, wheels squeaking. In the station, there were 2 girls , definitely from the Ghetto but going out and tryin to look like "ladies", and then came 3 boys, the oldest must have been like 19 maximum. All of them gipsy, that was a gipsy tram station definitely. The guys start to try to pick up the girls, they makes faces and play "high society", guys start making fun of them for living "there in ghetto, in those trees, in some wrecked un-windowed building as your homes are there", point to which i couldn't help bursting into laugh time to time, as clearly they all were living in the same ghetto, yet probably the guys living in the better looking blocks. Of course, with my looks, I couldn't have gotten ignored and forgiven for laughing, so the eldest guy tried to move the fun-making on me. So he asked "hey...hey....are you emo?" "No, I don't live in the ghetto either. Now what?" . They all burst into laugh, the other 2 guys were like "hahaaa man, she got yaaa", then we all got in the tram. I obviously conquered the mind and heart of that eldest, coz he fought one other guy (literally almost) to stay on the seat in front of me. For like 2 stations he kept bugging me with something I hear EVERYTIME anyone talks to me in the ghetto "so, are you a punker? no...? rocker? no...? wooow, I'd love to have you as my girlfriend! Have a phone number? Wanna meet?" ...an avalanche of questions and affirmations that I could only laugh subtly to , as my bags were in my mouth and could have fallen out did I laugh too hard or talk too "openly". They got down, he was still talkin to me long after the doors have closed, with the final attempt "hey, let's meet!" "hey, we just met! byeee!" ...and I kept goin on my way home.
It's funny, before starting the whole junkie thing, I used to think that my town ends brutally few stations after the place I lived 2 years ago - to find out later that there's a whole sector starting there. The sector of the most wrecked houses and buildings, not even asphalted much of it, with kids having their noses run down their chins, naked in the summer, with "ladies" ugly as shit and not coz of their nationality (I've seen gipsy girls waaay more beautiful than "white" ones), men mostly always dressed in old, ruined, dirty sportswear with elegant shoes though...but it's all so colorfull and full of life you cannot help but being fascinated about it.
First time I've been there, it was somewhat winter and was the first time in almost 2 years when no one was selling in my neighbourhood, so We had to go to the source. It was still in the times when I used to hang out with other junkies, shooting together, yet each for his own with the money-making...we'd usually shoot on some block stair, in summer even outside, usually not giving a fuck about people around. Which was stupid, coz not once happened having those people calling the police, yet everytime we managed to get away safe much before their arrival.
So, when I went to The Sector (which from now on will be called Gipsianade)the first time, I had this big jacket on, baggy pants, generally disguising myself to appear Not like a girl. I was scared shitless, as I knew the gipsy reaction to me downtown, where's safer though, but now I was going on their territory. So I had a cap hiding my weird hair color, the jacket pulled as high as you could only see my eyes (hiding the piercings gipsy so much hate) and tryin gto be overall invisibile. The others were laughing at me, everything went perfect, got our gear and I swore never get back there again.
The next summer I was going there all by myself, short skirt, transparent top, phone&money on, even make-up...and not even knowing where I'd go, from whom I'd buy. Trial and error. Which was exactly how it went : once I'd get my gear, twice I'd get stung, some dude running with my money, leaving me there dead sick.
In my country, dealers are paranoid, and like 70% of the junkies don't buy directly from the dealer, but through some other junkie who's the lucky one with "an entrance" (exact translation, meaning the dealer trusts him and knows others buy through him, but as long as he's not seen by anyone else, it's all good). You can get an entrance in two ways:
a) The lucky dude introduces you to the dealer, but he has to talk him through before, and
b) By some happy accident, you get to personally meet the dealer meanwhile the transaction, and he likes you and then tells you you can call him/come by yourself.
Now...(a) is the usual way to go around. It never ever happened to me. You see, the guy with an entrance has a lot of advantages he wouldn't give up unless he knows doing so will get him more: he gets part of what you buy, depending on your paranoia/kindness, but never under 1/3 of a bag and he always knows when you have money, therefor stick around, buy you gear and shoot with you untill you get broke. Since I am paranoid AND kind, I used to give them a lot for them to be happily available the next time (and not running away with my money), so one should be a total retard, incredibly stupid and ignoring junk-ass to ever introduce me to the dealer. I got lucky, instead, and got to meet them personally. Being "crazy", looking good, being funny and known to have lots of money, dealers tend to like me from first place and ask me come personally. I never was requested any sexual favours. Ever.
And whenever I get a good dealer, who always has enough skunk, who gives me on debt after a while, who's there even if I call him at 5 am, I stick to him. Untill his arrest, usually.
With one it got a hell of a lot more than this...but more about it in some other post. :)
Anyway, after cleaning all through, sweat was getting cold, Kay finally called and was fighting with his girlfriend (one of them 5, and he's married too) and asked me go to her place, which I thought was far, but was only 3 subway stations away. Met, bought, went with him to the mechanic coz the car "was making weird sounds" - he's damn well obsessed with his cars, changes them frequently, repairs any little shit on them, then sells them on lower price than he bought 'em, then starts whining around he has debts for buyin new ones - I suspect his cars are bought like with 70% my own and only money- he doesn't sell to too many.The mechanic lives in the ghetto, to mention, same ghetto thats the heart of the town's skag.
Sat around for like an hour, dude came, bought, left...I, being the friend, just layed there, sweat runnin down my back, all smily and nice to keep the maniac calm (he's histericall, like a friend of his once said, "like a premenstrual lady that just teared her stockings", yelling and gettin crazy nervous for any little shit). We finally got going, he'd just leave to the tram station as he didn't have 5 more minutes to actually take me home.
On the way, shitty music screaming, windows open...such a feeling of Freedom, with 100km/hour in the night...and I thought this must have felt a lot better for this man, that from his 44 years spent 10 locked up in a room, 4 walls and a ceiling, no women, no dope and just future lieing ahead, to take the best possible "revenge" for all that lost time, for all that lost life. That's a damn good reason for having 5 girlfriends + wife, shoot crack and heroin (but never speedballs, lol), changing cars like socks and generally having a personal mayhem on the world.
When he dropped me in the station,finally gave me my 4 small (but great, as I found out later) bags then ran off, wheels squeaking. In the station, there were 2 girls , definitely from the Ghetto but going out and tryin to look like "ladies", and then came 3 boys, the oldest must have been like 19 maximum. All of them gipsy, that was a gipsy tram station definitely. The guys start to try to pick up the girls, they makes faces and play "high society", guys start making fun of them for living "there in ghetto, in those trees, in some wrecked un-windowed building as your homes are there", point to which i couldn't help bursting into laugh time to time, as clearly they all were living in the same ghetto, yet probably the guys living in the better looking blocks. Of course, with my looks, I couldn't have gotten ignored and forgiven for laughing, so the eldest guy tried to move the fun-making on me. So he asked "hey...hey....are you emo?" "No, I don't live in the ghetto either. Now what?" . They all burst into laugh, the other 2 guys were like "hahaaa man, she got yaaa", then we all got in the tram. I obviously conquered the mind and heart of that eldest, coz he fought one other guy (literally almost) to stay on the seat in front of me. For like 2 stations he kept bugging me with something I hear EVERYTIME anyone talks to me in the ghetto "so, are you a punker? no...? rocker? no...? wooow, I'd love to have you as my girlfriend! Have a phone number? Wanna meet?" ...an avalanche of questions and affirmations that I could only laugh subtly to , as my bags were in my mouth and could have fallen out did I laugh too hard or talk too "openly". They got down, he was still talkin to me long after the doors have closed, with the final attempt "hey, let's meet!" "hey, we just met! byeee!" ...and I kept goin on my way home.
It's funny, before starting the whole junkie thing, I used to think that my town ends brutally few stations after the place I lived 2 years ago - to find out later that there's a whole sector starting there. The sector of the most wrecked houses and buildings, not even asphalted much of it, with kids having their noses run down their chins, naked in the summer, with "ladies" ugly as shit and not coz of their nationality (I've seen gipsy girls waaay more beautiful than "white" ones), men mostly always dressed in old, ruined, dirty sportswear with elegant shoes though...but it's all so colorfull and full of life you cannot help but being fascinated about it.
First time I've been there, it was somewhat winter and was the first time in almost 2 years when no one was selling in my neighbourhood, so We had to go to the source. It was still in the times when I used to hang out with other junkies, shooting together, yet each for his own with the money-making...we'd usually shoot on some block stair, in summer even outside, usually not giving a fuck about people around. Which was stupid, coz not once happened having those people calling the police, yet everytime we managed to get away safe much before their arrival.
So, when I went to The Sector (which from now on will be called Gipsianade)the first time, I had this big jacket on, baggy pants, generally disguising myself to appear Not like a girl. I was scared shitless, as I knew the gipsy reaction to me downtown, where's safer though, but now I was going on their territory. So I had a cap hiding my weird hair color, the jacket pulled as high as you could only see my eyes (hiding the piercings gipsy so much hate) and tryin gto be overall invisibile. The others were laughing at me, everything went perfect, got our gear and I swore never get back there again.
The next summer I was going there all by myself, short skirt, transparent top, phone&money on, even make-up...and not even knowing where I'd go, from whom I'd buy. Trial and error. Which was exactly how it went : once I'd get my gear, twice I'd get stung, some dude running with my money, leaving me there dead sick.
In my country, dealers are paranoid, and like 70% of the junkies don't buy directly from the dealer, but through some other junkie who's the lucky one with "an entrance" (exact translation, meaning the dealer trusts him and knows others buy through him, but as long as he's not seen by anyone else, it's all good). You can get an entrance in two ways:
a) The lucky dude introduces you to the dealer, but he has to talk him through before, and
b) By some happy accident, you get to personally meet the dealer meanwhile the transaction, and he likes you and then tells you you can call him/come by yourself.
Now...(a) is the usual way to go around. It never ever happened to me. You see, the guy with an entrance has a lot of advantages he wouldn't give up unless he knows doing so will get him more: he gets part of what you buy, depending on your paranoia/kindness, but never under 1/3 of a bag and he always knows when you have money, therefor stick around, buy you gear and shoot with you untill you get broke. Since I am paranoid AND kind, I used to give them a lot for them to be happily available the next time (and not running away with my money), so one should be a total retard, incredibly stupid and ignoring junk-ass to ever introduce me to the dealer. I got lucky, instead, and got to meet them personally. Being "crazy", looking good, being funny and known to have lots of money, dealers tend to like me from first place and ask me come personally. I never was requested any sexual favours. Ever.
And whenever I get a good dealer, who always has enough skunk, who gives me on debt after a while, who's there even if I call him at 5 am, I stick to him. Untill his arrest, usually.
With one it got a hell of a lot more than this...but more about it in some other post. :)
Distraction
I refuse to follow the rules. Whenever I kept diaries, I would get pissed of the rules: having to write once per day, prefferably at evening, as a feedback for daily events. Now that I'm somewhat a grown up adult, I will write as many times as I wish per day. Any complains, fill a petition, sign it online and send it to the governor so they cut my head off.
This is just another day in a looong row of identical days. It's like there's some Round Table of The Gods, who are all histerically laughing, drinking coffee, having hookers stripping on the table for 'em... and planning as many pranks as they can to a poor human's life. Especially if the human has some fanatic passion for something.And I do belive there's a group of Gods for each and every one of us. For me, there surely is. Each God is chief over a group of little midgets in my head, which get to control my thoughts, in some maniac manner, while the God decides against them. As in, the midgets' mission for today in the SuckADick field is to make me despair for some car-parked-in-the-black-of-my-block action, with some unknown/known Dick Wearer. When the midgets achive the obsessing mission, all Gods vote against it, and the midgets grow horns and tails and some general satanic punk look with spikes and all and keep bugging my brains till they get me staring at the walls, helpless. More about this in some future post, a DXM trip materialising it all.
And this was voted, with 12 to 1 majority, to be the schedule for every day in the last almost 2 weeks. Of course, there are exceptions, when some God goes take a piss or has some diarheea, and things might go for me and not against me, and I get the flattering honor of cum spilling all over my face. In the happiest cases, I even get the high honor of having to swallow the bitter cum, due to respiratory impossibility caused by some divine hand pushing me in the man's groin.What a feast...! Ooooh, that's heaven! But I rarely got this lucky over these past weeks.There are good times in a junkie's life, and there are horrible times. I didn't figure out yet what exactly the Gods are doing during the good ones.
A guy buzzes me on messenger. Demands more pics. I obey, midgets gone wild by then. Pictures seen, evaluated, dick decided: come pick you up in 30'. Good. Get dressed, bit of make-up, cover the needle track on my neck, some lipstick on, one more useless sting with filter rich-bacteria traces of skunk. Dude's young, but pissfull, that kind of guy you see all the time in the subway, with very poor synapsis and due, little conversation. Park the car, get the dick out, push the head in. Suck, suck, suck, deep throat, suck, suck, lick. Dude's watching some leaves. Suck, lick, suck, deep throat,deep throat,lick. Dude bursts into laugh "there were some kids staring". Dick goes soft. Again. Suck...suck...why the fuck am I here, why can't it just go right....suck...suck... dick goes back hard again. Dude sees a dog. Dick goes soft again. This goes on for like 7 to 10 minutes, lips go numb, mind goes dumb..."You know...we better leave this for some other time". Red blurred vision, black little dots. Car door slammed. No gain. But pain.Mental one.Heart breaks at the thought of the hopefull little vein, that already popped up for some. Some other time...
This is just another day in a looong row of identical days. It's like there's some Round Table of The Gods, who are all histerically laughing, drinking coffee, having hookers stripping on the table for 'em... and planning as many pranks as they can to a poor human's life. Especially if the human has some fanatic passion for something.And I do belive there's a group of Gods for each and every one of us. For me, there surely is. Each God is chief over a group of little midgets in my head, which get to control my thoughts, in some maniac manner, while the God decides against them. As in, the midgets' mission for today in the SuckADick field is to make me despair for some car-parked-in-the-black-of-my-block action, with some unknown/known Dick Wearer. When the midgets achive the obsessing mission, all Gods vote against it, and the midgets grow horns and tails and some general satanic punk look with spikes and all and keep bugging my brains till they get me staring at the walls, helpless. More about this in some future post, a DXM trip materialising it all.
And this was voted, with 12 to 1 majority, to be the schedule for every day in the last almost 2 weeks. Of course, there are exceptions, when some God goes take a piss or has some diarheea, and things might go for me and not against me, and I get the flattering honor of cum spilling all over my face. In the happiest cases, I even get the high honor of having to swallow the bitter cum, due to respiratory impossibility caused by some divine hand pushing me in the man's groin.What a feast...! Ooooh, that's heaven! But I rarely got this lucky over these past weeks.There are good times in a junkie's life, and there are horrible times. I didn't figure out yet what exactly the Gods are doing during the good ones.
A guy buzzes me on messenger. Demands more pics. I obey, midgets gone wild by then. Pictures seen, evaluated, dick decided: come pick you up in 30'. Good. Get dressed, bit of make-up, cover the needle track on my neck, some lipstick on, one more useless sting with filter rich-bacteria traces of skunk. Dude's young, but pissfull, that kind of guy you see all the time in the subway, with very poor synapsis and due, little conversation. Park the car, get the dick out, push the head in. Suck, suck, suck, deep throat, suck, suck, lick. Dude's watching some leaves. Suck, lick, suck, deep throat,deep throat,lick. Dude bursts into laugh "there were some kids staring". Dick goes soft. Again. Suck...suck...why the fuck am I here, why can't it just go right....suck...suck... dick goes back hard again. Dude sees a dog. Dick goes soft again. This goes on for like 7 to 10 minutes, lips go numb, mind goes dumb..."You know...we better leave this for some other time". Red blurred vision, black little dots. Car door slammed. No gain. But pain.Mental one.Heart breaks at the thought of the hopefull little vein, that already popped up for some. Some other time...
Hands
These hands....they do so much, and much of it amazes me, it's like they have this life of their own. Actually, many lives of their own. They did homework, they fired rocks in childhood wars, they scratched So many backs in just as many pleasurefull lovely or purely kinky moments...Now they rub cock foreskins, take money, they give money, they take heroin, they open heroin bags, they shoot it up my blood gettin the wold so sweet and slow and numb...I don't even have to think to do anything I do. It's just here, within, where it's always been, ever since these hands were playing in my grandma's blacony with toy-soldiers and imaginary princesses, always gettin raped or abducted in the end for building the next fantasy rub-on-edge-of-the bed-kinda-orgasm-thing...Ever since then, I knew. They knew. My hands were raised all this time just to get here. To hold an insulin syringe and aim for the biggest, best vein that could bring in the whole symphony of beauty, from the ugliest afghan labs in the world. They're a world of beauty and a world of extreme suffering, my hands. And I love them so...
God Gets Throaty
There passed not one, but two buses! Just now! So, I'm gonna be here for a while. Going to P, his place. Haven't seen him in a while, and he's a regular. A beast regular. Hopefully not so beasty this time though...
I really don't know...Unfaithfull (unbelivefull) me, I don't really know if was it God or some other outer force in there , in my mouth...the last fuckdate I had. He started like an animal, very brutal and sick, my money on the desk, so no way out of this (couldn't just leave those poor money there after they hoped coming with me, it's a childhood thing, feeling mercy for unliving "creatures"). Therefor...after pulling my foamed hair up to twice its lenght, he kept trying to get his dick up my cunt, I was terrorised at the thought of how much time lied ahead, so I just kept silly saying "condom, condom baby, condom". He finally went out of the room to get one, and when he came back I started to plead him to let me suck some more (that really gains time).
While he was away for the condom, I started praying that I get through easily with this fuck, after all, I'm just some girl dreaming to her heroin bags back home...all innocent and not desirving such Sisif works. So I prayed pretty convincing, made some cross signs and waited for the doom. And... he got my head in his dick (not viceversa) like 4-5-6 times, he was retardly pushing in the sides of my throat, I could feel my tonsils breaking...then I take a grasp for air, gettin out of his cock. And...the miracle occurs...in like half a second, I see cum spilling all over his fine costume, a bit on my lips, a bit on my face...White, thick, bitter, salty reliefing cum! I take it, lick it, play with it, stay with it, etc. I go to the bathroom, grin the winning whore grin, then get back to the office room, to see him....dressing. Hm. Resigned with the blinking-at-me 100e that bought 2 hours of my body& tonsils, I asked him "jokingly" "Hey, dude, why get dressed?" . The answer stoned me more than 2 bags at once : "Well...that was it. I got what I wanted. Haven't felt this good in years. We go now."
Meaning, he takes me home, I make my so beloved dealer call, and my bags come sensual and smiling at me in about 30mins.
Was it God...?
I really don't know...Unfaithfull (unbelivefull) me, I don't really know if was it God or some other outer force in there , in my mouth...the last fuckdate I had. He started like an animal, very brutal and sick, my money on the desk, so no way out of this (couldn't just leave those poor money there after they hoped coming with me, it's a childhood thing, feeling mercy for unliving "creatures"). Therefor...after pulling my foamed hair up to twice its lenght, he kept trying to get his dick up my cunt, I was terrorised at the thought of how much time lied ahead, so I just kept silly saying "condom, condom baby, condom". He finally went out of the room to get one, and when he came back I started to plead him to let me suck some more (that really gains time).
While he was away for the condom, I started praying that I get through easily with this fuck, after all, I'm just some girl dreaming to her heroin bags back home...all innocent and not desirving such Sisif works. So I prayed pretty convincing, made some cross signs and waited for the doom. And... he got my head in his dick (not viceversa) like 4-5-6 times, he was retardly pushing in the sides of my throat, I could feel my tonsils breaking...then I take a grasp for air, gettin out of his cock. And...the miracle occurs...in like half a second, I see cum spilling all over his fine costume, a bit on my lips, a bit on my face...White, thick, bitter, salty reliefing cum! I take it, lick it, play with it, stay with it, etc. I go to the bathroom, grin the winning whore grin, then get back to the office room, to see him....dressing. Hm. Resigned with the blinking-at-me 100e that bought 2 hours of my body& tonsils, I asked him "jokingly" "Hey, dude, why get dressed?" . The answer stoned me more than 2 bags at once : "Well...that was it. I got what I wanted. Haven't felt this good in years. We go now."
Meaning, he takes me home, I make my so beloved dealer call, and my bags come sensual and smiling at me in about 30mins.
Was it God...?
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