Drugs and Sex

“Not that much cough syrup! You need to save some. Just put in more Sprite!” I said, moving my hand to cover the cups.

“You wanna lean or not?” J said, knees bending and body bouncing to the beat of the music.

“Yeah, but that stuff’s prescription. I can’t get any more very easy! I only have any ‘cause my sister had bronchitis. Besides, I already had three beers,” I said, noticing that the floor was already slightly wavy.

“C&P is so fucking everywhere. Don’t worry about it.”

“Whatever. I’m not going to the doctor faking a cough to try to get more, stupid.”

“You don’t have to, Teresa. I got you.”

“You always talk like a badass, but you’re a frickin’ marshmallow. You don’t got anything!”

“Yeah? Well you’re a bitch.” I couldn’t read her expression.

“Takes one to know one,” I said with a grin.

J took out two more cups, put some ice in the bottom, then dropped the cups containing the concoction into them. She dropped a few Skittles in each cup and handed one to me, gulping down half of hers immediately.

“Jesus, J. Slow down! You’re gonna be on the floor!”

“I got this.”

“I told you already. You don’t got anything!”

I wasn’t proud of this–double cupping–but I either needed drugs or a whole lot of alcohol to be able to do what I was about to do. I didn’t have the nerve without it.

“Drink up!” J told me. I could see her eyes beginning to feel the effects.

I took a big sip. It didn’t take long to kick in on top of the alcohol. I stumbled to the couch and plopped down next to a couple making out. I watched the lean emo guy sliding his tattooed hand over his skinny-jeaned partner’s ass.

J straddled me on the cushion as I took another drink. They called it leaning for good reason. The house might as well have been a ship at sea, languidly rocking back and forth. As the floor tilted, J’s lips met mine. Was I messed up enough to do this now?

I kissed her back hungrily.

I guess I was.

I slipped my hands between her calves and hamstrings. I loved J’s legs. Especially in leggings. Which is why she had worn them tonight. She knew me. Her hands cupped the back of my head, fingers sliding around my ponytail.

My hands slipped up to her ass and pulled her toward me, forcing her lips harder into mine. I could taste the purple drink on her lips, my inhibitions fading by the second. Everything else in the room began to fall away into oblivion. The feel of her soft, wet lips were my entire world.

My hands roamed upward along her back, under her top, digging into her satin skin. My fingers clenched, relaxed. Fuck! Her body felt so good. I trailed kisses along her cheek to her ear, whispering huskily between each touch of lips to flesh.

“Want… to go… to… your room?”

“Yeah… Fuck, yeah.”

I began to get up, and she slid off me. We staggered and stumbled our way upstairs, hands copping feels as we supported each other.

She pushed me to the bed, and I bounced on my back a few times before she pounced on me.

I knew what she liked too–my small, pert breasts and toned stomach. I pulled off my top, squirming to create sufficient room to move the fabric. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and her hands found their way to my breasts quickly, massaging sparks into them. Her lips suckled and sucked. On my breasts… then abs… then lower. I vaguely felt my jeans being unbuttoned, but my impaired mind made everything hazy. Everything except the sensation. My chin rose, head tilting back. I heard moaning. I think it was me.

Time moved quickly; my perception of it moved slowly, as if lagging by a few seconds. I felt. And felt. Rapture. My hips were bucking, inner muscles clenching. I writhed. Holy shit! I was orgasming!

The whole thing had been a blur.

J flopped beside me, breathing heavily.

“God, Teresa! You’re a real wiggler!” she said.

I didn’t reply verbally. I rolled on top of her and kissed her desperately, biting into her lower lip. The room was spinning, vertigo infecting my stomach. I nibbled at her ears, then her neck. Her beautiful body twisted and contorted in pleasure.

“Who’s the wiggler now?” I growled, feeling so sexy right now that I knew I could, and would, play her body like an instrument. This is why I loved the drugs. I could never feel like this without them. Sober, I could never let go in this way.

I peeled her leggings and tasted those luscious legs with my tongue before I drank from her. I gave her three climaxes before I was finished with her. She passed out on the bed.

I wanted more.

I slurped more of my drink, then swam to the hall, the walls bulging with serpentine motion into vaguely spherical shapes that undulated as I moved. My hands dragged along the walls for balance. They felt flat, though my eyes knew they weren’t.

I found another room. There was a guy I didn’t know. I watched his sculpted chest move under his shirt as he turned to face me. I saw nicely muscled arms. I licked my lips. I knew all I needed to about him tonight.

I realized I was topless, jeans unbuttoned. I didn’t care. I knew I looked good. His eyes told me. This is why I loved the drugs. I didn’t fucking care.

I crept toward him, giving him a show with my rolling hips. By the time I leapt on him, he was hard. I was relentless, drinking his saliva, slithering under his muscles. He was quickly inside me, pumping. I bounced up and down, the motion disorienting. The room had been moving before. Now? I couldn’t tell which direction was floor and which was ceiling.

It didn’t really matter.

I felt him explode in me, and I milked him through it, my hips making his pleasure last.

I never even knew his name.


“J, I need to tell you something,” I said. I tried not to hyperventilate.

The party had been six weeks earlier, and J and I were living together now. I had never told her about my secondary escapade that night. Now, I had no choice.

“I’m pregnant,” I said.

“Very funny,” she said, not looking up from the cutting board, where she was slicing a green pepper to go with our dinner.

“No, I am. Seriously.”

Now she did look up. She found my eyes. I couldn’t read hers.

“It happened the night of the party. After we… did our thing…” I searched for the right words to say next. They didn’t come. 

“After?” J asked. I could see the wheels turning in her mind. She was processing. “You fucked a guy? A goddamn guy!”

She put her hand to her face, still holding the knife. Tears began to fill her eyes.

“The fuck?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an expression of how she was feeling. She sounded hurt.

“I wasn’t thinking. You know… the drugs…”

“The fuck?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. She sounded angry now.

She took a step toward me, the knuckles that held the knife growing white.

“Calm down, J! It was an accident.”

“You fucked a guy by fucking accident?

She took another step.

My hands extended and pressed downward in a useless, nonverbal attempt to ask her to calm down. I swallowed hard.

Her lips twisted in rage.

“I thought you were gay!?”

She took another step.

“What am I? What is this? What the fuck, Teresa? Is this just like an ‘experimental thing’ for you? ‘Cause for me, it’s pretty fucking real.”

Another step.

“I don’t know, J. It’s not like I planned this. I mean… I don’t know what I am!” I was crying now, desperate to soothe her anger, but too confused and emotional to be able to do it.

I watched J’s anger boil over. I knew she had a temper. It had just never been this bad before.

She leapt on me, stabbing the knife into my chest, my stomach, my neck. Over and over. I didn’t even feel the pain of the knife. I was consumed by the pain in her eyes–pain that I had caused.

I felt warm liquid on me, around me. The room began to spin. My mind began to drift.

Had I taken drugs again? It sure felt like it. I was floating, the room spinning. It felt good.

Suddenly, one thought brought me back to reality for the briefest of moments. I felt my eyes widen in terror.

The baby!

My vision faded to black.

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