Lying Here, Totally Fucked

I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me. I know. I’m lying here, totally fucked.

Ok, let me tell you what the fuck I did to myself.

Of course, I can’t tell you, but I’m thinking about it.

My name is Richard Strauss, yeah, like the composer, but I can’t play my way out of a paper bag even after three years of studying piano with Miss Meyers, that old wrinkled virgin prune of a biddy. You can call me ‘Big Diçk,’ which was my nome de plume in high school and my claim to fame. Yes, the name was descriptive.

So yeah, I was always into dope. It started with airplane glue, a gateway to weed ( I couldn’t get enough), then hash, and even a shot of Heroin on occasion. Yep, cocaine, and then those fucking Oxy tabs. They made me feel great-wonderful, not a care in the world.

How did I get into Oxy? Well, I heard about that fat fuck Rush Limbaugh. I figured if he could be doping and still running a nationwide radio program, maybe that was the way to go. But it was Stan, the cock sucker, who really turned me on.

It started when I met that gay guy in the park. The dude wore tight black shorts. You knew right away he was gay. His cock was very small, almost invisible through his tights. You could make out his ass crack. He wore a short yellow cape. Weird huh? Like he was Batman’s Robin.

I was sitting there smoking a cigarette and wearing my sloppy short kakis. In retrospect, the shorts were too short. One of my big balls kept slipping out the cuffed bottom. I don’t wear briefs in the summer. Going commando makes you feel free. When I reached down to push my nut back up, the tip of my dick slipped out. That was when the caped guy sat down next to me and introduced himself. He looked like that slight fencing master in ‘Game of Thrones’ who got squashed after his opponent got up and hit him from behind.

In a circular conversation, I noticed Stanley’s classic gay goatee. He explained he worked in a wholesale pharmacy distributing drugs. His Pop’s owned the biz, and he was skimming the OxyContin out of the big packs that were to be divided up and farmed out to the CVS, Rite Mart, Duane Reed Walmarts, etc. He also reached over to squeeze my banana and added, if I’d let him suck my dick, he’d give me 30 Oxy a week, at half the going street price.

For some uptight guys, the dick suck might have been a deal-breaker, but I don’t care who sucks my dick, male or female. It feels about the same. Some guys are much better at cock sucking than the bitches.

I nodded my head, “Sure.”

Then Stan asked, “You ever do Oxy?

I said, “Not often. Sure, I’ve popped a tab. That stuff is cool.”

“Here, take a freebie on me.” He handed me a single tab in a tiny plastic bag.

“But,” said Stan,

“Let me tell you how to take Oxy. First off, you don’t pop it. It’s a time-release capsule. That’s why you get a good 6 or 8 hour mild high if you pop the shit. We use it to relieve intense pain. If you want the equivalent of a heroin high, you gotta get past the time release.”

“How do you do that?”

“Well, it ain’t a brain teaser. You just gotta crush the pill or even chew it up. It’s a multi-purpose thing. You can swallow or snort or even inject the shit.”

“I don’t like needles.”

“Then just crush it and snort it up your nose.”

When I left Stan, I popped the freebie in my mouth and chewed it up, not a great taste but whatever. In a quarter hour, I was feeling no pain.

What does ‘feeling no pain’ mean? Maybe you’re curious about the effect of Oxy. The first tab is just fantastic. After that, you’re just chasing the high. The second time is still great, but never as great as you remember, but it is still worth the chase.

Any feeling of depression, which was one of my hang-ups, was gone. So what if I’d been fired? Who cares if my parents were divorced and my Dad was fucking a girl I knew in high school? I felt no discouragement even though life had treated me like shit. I felt at peace with the world. I was content, just to sit there and stare at the cracks in the wall which were telling me the secrets of the ages.

You know how good it feels when you get your rocks off? Well, that feeling comes on with the Oxy, without having sex. I rarely smile, but on Oxy, I couldn’t stop an idiot’s smile from coming on my face. If I looked in a mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself. The world seems to be a better place, a happy place. Even the crummy stores, the filthy buses, the dog shit on the sidewalk I just stepped in didn’t seem so bad. And the big tittied bitch whore I approached in the bar, who told me to ‘fuck off,’ her nasty mouth just didn’t matter at all.

Suffice it to say; one crushed tab was enough. I was sold on Oxy. Stan gave me a card with his phone number penciled on the back, saying,

“Come to the corner of 33rd and 10th and give me a call. I can see you from my balcony. If you look cool, I’ll text you my apartment number.

I got there a few days later, amazed at how tall the building was, A fairly new luxury condo, a swanky high-rise a block from Madison Square Garden. Stan must have been the favorite child and making a mint off selling Oxy.

I went to the corner of 33rd and 10th and texted Stan. I looked up. Some naked guy way up high was waving at me from his balcony. The text arrived post-haste.

As I walked into the building, the glass door opened by itself. I was feeling a little out of place. The doorman gave me a dirty look. He asked where I was headed. I gave the apartment number. He took off his captain’s hat and pointed at the middle of three shiny elevators. I went up to the 21st floor. As I exited, Stan popped out of a door down the hall waving.

Stan was wearing only a red jockstrap. He looked happy to see me. He embraced me like I was his long-lost brother and sat me down on a white leather couch.

Stan took out a bottle of red wine from the stainless steel mini-fridge and poured the ruby liquid into a giant crystal goblet he handed to me.

“It’s Cabernet, $48 a bottle, French shit.”

It was incredible, smooth, and very alcoholic. As I’m sipping from the giant wine goblet, Stan got down on his knees and unbuttoned my pants. I lifted my ass to facilitate his design. He pulled my pants right down to the floor, fitted himself between my legs, and started right in massaging my balls.

“The oxy?” I countered.

“First thing first, and your big dick comes first. I’ve been anticipating it in my mouth for days. Sorry bud, but I can’t wait any longer.”

He got to work sucking. I’d washed my dick before arrival and sprinkled some after-shave lotion on the pubes. There is nothing worse than offering a pissy dick’s head to a cock sucker unless they are really far gone or you don’t like them. In that case, the dirtier your dick, the better. I had no intention of offending.

With Stan’s goatee moving in and out, I felt like I was fucking some bitch’s hairy pussy. He was a very good cock sucker. I patted him on the head and twisted his ears as he deep-throated me. I let him get the rhythm, and after about three minutes, I couldn’t control myself. I shot a full cum load that he quaffed with only a pearly drool sliding off his cheek.

I had my eyes closed as he sucked me off, so I didn’t realize he’d pulled his dick out the side of the jockstrap and was jerking himself at the same time. Just as I ejaculated, he took my hand and pressed it to his cock that erupted all over my palm. I hadn’t expected that action, but no biggie. I wanted to be polite. He pointed at my swollen dick as he sucked up the sperm drool,

“That’s mine. Don’t you let anyone else suck that big thing.”

“Ok.” I smiled at him. He looked very pleased.

I went into the John and washed off my hand and dick. When I came back to the living room, Stan was counting out 30 tabs of Oxy.

“What do I owe you?”

He said the figure and popped an extra tab on the pile, saying,

“Here’s an extra one for your dick.”

“My dick thanks you.”

I got back to my apartment, crushed the extra oxy tab. Soon I was in paradise. I downed one tab each evening, but I made a serious mistake. I fucked up. I started selling off the extras in bars and clubs downtown.

Pretty soon, I needed a refill. I gave Stan a call. He said,

“Come on down. Bring that big dick I own with ya.”

This time the doorman didn’t ask any question, just nodded. I got in the elevator that smelled like honey blossoms and was whisked upstairs at the speed of a jet plane.

Stan was nude and very happy to see me. His tiny penis was hardly visible. I knew the routine, so I dropped my pants almost immediately.

Stan was drinking a cup of coffee, “You’re gonna like this, ever have a hot blowjob.”

“No, what do you mean?”

He took a deep draught of the pleasant-smelling coffee, and he got right to work. Mr. Penis was hard in a minute,

“You sure you’re not gay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Well, your cock looks pretty happy to see me?”

Stan proceeded to suck me off with his mouth, hot from the coffee. It felt great.

I relaxed with his mouth around my prick. I was about to shoot my load, and rather quickly. He’d already squirted some lotion in my hand, so I took his little stiffy and tried to reciprocate. I finished him off with rapid wrist action, catching his cum in my palm. I was surprised by how much cum he produced. It was milky and not very sticky.

While he was swallowing, I looked around. It was a fancy place, with nice furniture, walls of glass, and pop art on the plaster walls. Finally, I got up and went into the bathroom to wash my hands and dick in the bathroom sink.

The warm water tempted me to piss, but Stan shouted,

“Please don’t piss in the sink,” so I moved to the left and let the piss rip with a loud noise into the toilet. I flushed the commode and walked back into the living room while zipping my fly.

“Jesus, you’re hung like a horse and piss as loud as a horse,” he shouted. “There ain’t no chance your prostate ain’t perfect. Your cum tastes as sweet as lemon meringue.”

“I guess.”

I grinned as I walked back into the living room. Stan had already counted out thirty tabs plus one. I paid the fee.

“Why don’t you hang out with me. We could watch some porno, do some drugs and have sex again in bed.”

“Maybe, next time.”

I didn’t feel sufficiently gay to get into a love-making session with this guy, not today anyway. Another time I might consider it.

We went on this way for a few months, but I began to chew up my freebie right on the spot. I did stay and hang out a bunch of times. The tab cut any inhibition I might have had at doing gay stuff. I even butt fucked him as if he was a she. Easy to imagine as Stan liked to dress in women’s clothing. Afterward, I didn’t feel gay. It was me on top. I only had to blow him when we sixty-nined each other.

Who gives a fuck? Sex is fun, I was high, and ‘her’ ass was tight. Stan had this way of reaching back and sticking his fuck finger in my ass just when I was about to cum. Jesus, that felt so good. I’ll say one thing for Stan; he never tried to fuck me.

I was doing ok as a part-time oxy dealer, just a few tabs here and there. Then I got sloppy.

I was down at Sabo’s, a club on MacDougal Street. This bitch must have seen me dealing, or maybe someone sent her over to me. The music was deafening. She came right up to me and shouted in my ear,

“Hi, I’m Hannah. I need some Oxy. Can you deal?”

She was a doll. Nice tits, and ass, red druggy matted hair, and she had enough tats to be a tattoo parlor model at a tattoo convention. She smelled rancid. The halter she wore had trouble covering her tits. She was practically nude. As she talked, I saw she had lips like a fish, probably good for blow jobs. I noticed she was missing a front tooth.

Since I didn’t know her, I played dumb. The club was dark and noisy. Hannah moved so close all I could see the nips on her tits when the revolving light swung around. I could feel her reaching between my legs. Before I could stop her, she’d unzipped my fly, spit on her hand, and shoved inside. She grabbed my cock in a vise-like grip.

I guess she figured if she jerked me off, it would show she was on the level. I came right away, in my pants. What a fuckin mess. She even wiped her wet hands off on my pants like it was a towel.

“I did you, now deal me,” she said. “Afterward, you can fuck me,” and Hannah grabbed my hand and stuck it under her short dress–no panties.

I never heard of a cop who jerked off a drug dealer. I sold her five tabs.

That was my mistake. This half-naked bitch down in the Village tricked me into selling her. I didn’t know NYC cops were so sexy. She left me a fucking mess. My pants were all wet with cum. Then she arrested me.

Two big guys, laughing, came out of a dark corner in the club, grabbed me, cuffed me, and punched me hard in the stomach. I doubled over. They carried me out. Of course, they confiscated my stash and probably sold it.

I got dragged to the station, wet pants and all. Booked and mug shotted. That’s when I heard the cops call her “Handjob Hanah.” The whole station was laughing at me. Was I screwed! Of course, she never visited me in the can for that promised fuck. Did you expect she would?

My Dad hired a lawyer, a Dr. Gipper Smeckler. Where’d he get that name and title? He sure wasn’t an MD. I’ll never know, but he got me off as a first offender. Dad paid $10,000 cash. The trial was fast. The night court judge asked who the arresting officer was and laughed.

“Hannah sure gets her share, don’t she?”

The lawyer made no bail request. The laughing guy sentenced me to six months. The cops drove a few guys in a paddy wagon and me over to Rikers that same night.

In the morning, I woke up in a cell with five other guys. I figured in jail I’d catch up on my reading, but the big black guy who ruled the cell set me straight. He said he gave each of us the choice of blowing him or bending over. He strutted around the tiny cell, punching whoever was close to him, stinging blows on the arms. It was like being in high school again.

We rotated. I got Wednesdays. He always complimented me, saying I was the best white cock sucker he’d ever used. I would have bitten his sizable cock off as Doobie tried, but I don’t want to even talk about how Doobie ended up in the prison hospital. When it was my turn, the big guy’s cock smelled awful. I licked his dick in a circular motion as he ordered. With the old in and out, he usually came within six or seven minutes. I had to swallow his jizz, no happy feat, but he wanted the cell floor clean, and some cellmate was constantly shitting or sitting on the can while I was blowing, probably on purpose, so there was no place to spit.

Bossman, that’s what we called him, got so happy with my suck-offs that he started to brag about his white blowjob guy towards the end of my sentence. I ended up having to service a tight circle of his gang members out in the yard. They held me down after I blew three of them and butt fucked me till I bled. Gustavo said that was a lucky thing because the blood kills aids. I hope he was right on that. A week later, I was released.

My sentence was up. I walked out, legs spread wide, shuffling from the pain. My Mom picked me up in her old Plymouth station wagon. It was cold, but I folded up the winter coat she’d brought and sat on it. My ass was sore as shit, but I was lucky they didn’t knock my front teeth out. I’d seen that happen.

After a few weeks and a visit to an ass doctor who said I’d survive, but he cautioned me to getting an aids test within six months. In a few weeks I began to feel more like my old self and moved out of Mom’s into a fleabag apartment with two buddies. The place smelled like a skunk patch, but I never disliked the skunky pot smell like some guys. I’m sure if one of the marijuana plant guys could breed a pot plant that didn’t stink, he’d conquer the world.

So I was back smoking pot and then was getting anxious, so I called Stan. I told him I’d been on vacation at my Uncle’s place in the Poconos. When I got up to his apartment, he almost ripped my pants off. I was back doing tabs of Oxy. Stan welcomed me, he said,

“You don’t have to bullshit me. I know you got arrested. I appreciate that you never squealed on me.”

So I went back to petty dealing. But I was careful not to sell to any ‘Handjob Hannahs.’

It was July 4th, and it felt like a dizzy dream. I had taken three tabs. I think my body was getting used to the stuff. I crawled out on the fire escape. The bright full moon was out, and I could see stars twinkling beyond it. I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I tumbled down two flights of steel stairs. I was bleeding and had beat the shit out of my back.

My roommates called an ambulance, and the Doc at General Hospital gave me X-rays and an Rx for painkillers, but it wasn’t working. I figured a shot of Heroin would do the trick. I had some shots from Jamie, the local dealer in the past. This time he gave me some awesome stuff guaranteed to kill the pain.

I figure it must have been mixed with Fentanyl. I fell asleep on my back, must have vomited, and when I opened my eyes, or should I say they opened themselves, I was paralyzed from my ears to my toes. I can’t talk, blink, or squeeze Mom’s hand when she puts her finger in my fist. I can’t do shit.

I tried for days to wiggle my ears, no go. The doctors cut a hole in my stomach and inserted a kind of port or button for a feeding tube. The nurse squirts some mushy shit into me, and it keeps me alive. I shit and piss in bags. I hear myself fart, but I don’t feel anything. They hooked me up to electric machines that tell my vital signs. I still sneeze and cough as if I was normal, but it’s a reflex. I don’t even feel when it’s going to happen.

And here is the joke, I still get erections. One of the nurses, who takes the new nurses on tour, thinks it’s a big laugh to play with my balls until I get an erection. Then she jerks me off in front of her friends. She calls me her big dicked boyfriend. What a joke. When I cum, I don’t feel a thing. The gals just laugh and comment that my big dick is going to waste.

My Dad rarely comes to visit. He brings his girlfriend, who I knew, and badmouths Mom. He tries to get my attention. Dad says to Mabel, “Show him your tits.”

She hesitates, but he insists. She lifts her sweater and then her bra and shows me her big tits, no reaction from me. Dad pushes her down on the empty bed. My roomie, Mr. Moto, got a stroke, and the family disconnected him.

Dad whips out his dick and fucks her right in front of me. I give no reaction.

‘See what your Dad can still do.”

He wants me to give him a sign I’m alive. Mable’s busy wiping her crotch with some of my Kleenex.

“You piece of shit,” Dad shouts at me. “If it weren’t for your mother, the bitch, I’d disconnect you myself. You couldn’t stay away from the hard stuff, you ungrateful shit.”

Mabel says, “Stop Murray, leave the kid alone.”

Dad shouts in my ear, “You give us a sign you are alive, and you can fuck Mabel.”

Mabel cracks up, “Oh no.”

“It’s ok, babe. We’re gonna keep your pussy in the family.”

“No, Murray. If we get married, I’d be his Mom.”

“That’s ok. It’s legal to fuck your stepmom.”

And then the door opens, they are gone.

The heavy door slams shut. I’m alone as if it matters.

It’s Saturday. Mom shows up at her weekly visit. She cries, then tests me for blinks, tongue movements, all an attempt to see if I’m aware on the inside of this body prison. She’s looking for some sign.

I hear. I see it all, even though my eyes hardly turn. Mom finally gives up and kisses me on the cheek. I can smell her. She finally leaves, resting a chocolate muffin she brought for me on the tray table. A half-hour later, a cleaning man comes in and steals it.

,

An hour after she leaves, oh shit, it’s the horny blond Latina nurse who usually shows up at 2 am. She comes in and slaps me. I have no idea why. I feel nothing, but I snap out of a dream,