I was 21 years old. I’d broken up with my long-term boyfriend and was on what can only be described as the mother of all benders. It was the kind of break up that wouldn’t be out of place in a horror film. He rang me sixty times in a day, told everyone we were still together, and once scared me so much I hid in the shower with a knife. It wasn’t the most healthy relationship, but the break-up took dysfunctional to a whole new level.
My answer to dealing with a stalker ex was to drink. A one night stand with Jack became a year long relationship with the bottle and, true to form, it was a fucked up relationship. I’d down half a bottle of Jack before heading out to a pub or club. I was lonely, yes, but mainly I was horny. I wanted to fuck him out of my system.
On this particular night I think I had been at a club, although the details are blurry. At some point I found myself in Soho, guided by the spirit of Keith Moon. For those who don’t know, Soho at night is filled with drunks and druggies. The sex shops’ lights illuminate the faces of people who’ve seen better days and if you land in the gutter, you won’t see any stars. It’s a depressing scene for those with clarity of mind, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone in that state at 4am.
A man seemed to appear from nowhere and began to woo me with wandering hands. It was hardly romantic, but I was in the middle of a breakdown. Seedy sex with strangers was exactly what I wanted.
He held me up as we wandered back to his place, stopping to plant kisses on my dehydrated mouth. I didn’t know where we were and I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be fucked by a man who cared as little about me as I did about myself.
He showed me to his hovel. I took off my fuck-off boots and laid down on the bed, praying to Saint Martin of Tours to stop the room spinning.
He took off his shoes and fumbled in a drawer. I assumed he was looking for a condom but instead he pulled out a pipe.
“Do you smoke weed?” I heard him say.
I have never really liked cannabis but I welcomed anything that took me away from my mind.
“Yeah, sometimes”, I replied.
He placed a white lump in the pipe. Part of me knew it didn’t make sense but I was so drunk I assumed it was some strain I didn’t know and some weird way of smoking it. He smoked it and then passed it to me.
As I inhaled the smoke I felt my skin come alive. My nerve endings snapped to attention and my heart began to race, bringing a flush to my face. My cunt was pulsing from the increased blood flow. If I was hungry for sex before, I was now ravenous.
He laid down beside me, letting his hand explore my thigh and slip under my skirt. Each touch was a spark, every movement a cascade. This was like no weed I had ever smoked before, but I didn’t care. For the first time in months I wasn’t numb.