Sex & Drugs

I’m high. Do I like myself? Do I like what I’m saying? Do I look okay? Am I being totally ridiculous right now? Am I a total asshole right now? Oh, yeah. This is why I don’t do drugs – the compounded anxiety is almost unbearable as I glide through moments that are lubricated with a sort of stardust and high pitched gleefulness. Sure, I’m high because I wanted to see if it would be more fun to fuck on drugs, but, honestly, after years of fucking and drinking and doing drugs, sex is only marginally better when on drugs. I don’t know. Have I loosened up? Am I being freaky? Am I feeling this too much? The weird thing about sex on drugs is it always makes me ask for waaaay too much kinky shit, and after years of experience, let me tell you, there are not very many people who respond enthusiastically to “Fuck me in the ass and choke me til I pass out.” And the people who do respond enthusiastically probably aren’t the type of people that I actually want in my life. Which is probably why I don’t do drugs and fuck – I don’t need any deeper access to that twisted sex and death fantasy that has defined me for my entire life. I have my inhibitions for a reason – to protect other people.

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