On a Saturday in Venice, California

You don’t really want to fuck on heroin. The drug is enough. You’re slack, slacker than you’ve ever been. You’re okay with the world around you. The world around you suits you just fine. Friday night is becoming Saturday.

All good things must come. Come and then come to an end.

At the end of the high, it’s time to come back.

The best way to come back is to come. But it’s hard to come with your body broken like this. As the good feelings of Friday night came to an end, the pass out takes over. Now it’s Saturday and the good times have ended and you’re hoping she’ll come. Come over at least.

Detoxing is not sexy. Hard drug toxins have a special, special touch. The sweating starts. There is no appetite, the body wants the poison out but you’re not ready to live yet. No food for you.

The sheets are soaked through with sweat and you’re cold. It’s cold but you still sweat. You have the chills but you still sweat. It’s hot outside but you’re cold and sweating.

And then she arrives. You’re in agony but you’re young enough where lying in bed is somehow acceptable even though it’s four in the afternoon and the world is outside, just outside your window. She ignores the wet sheets. Notices them, yes, but decides to ignore them after she pushes them away. You pull them back to you.

You have only a futon. The futon is unfolded and it takes up most of the space in the room. The apartment is small. It’s a nice day outside but the blinds are drawn. It’s four in the afternoon and you’re glad to see her.

You reach your hand out. You caress her breast. Cup it. Something about the pain changes in you. There is a restlessness there. Warmth. You’re not as cold anymore.

She sits up then and reaches for the bong. She has her own weed. She smokes and you try to but it’s painful and you don’t want to be stoned, it just makes the pain worse.

But now she is high and that makes her horny. You don’t know why it’s called that, horny, but smoking weed makes her happy and horny and you don’t care why people call it that. You can barely think straight, thoughts are still all floaty but it’s not pleasant anymore.

She tucks herself in next to you, you ramble half-coherently, rattling off the fragmented thoughts that drift about in your mind. Your mind is resistant but your body is stirring. Your cock awakes. You’re young so you slip your hand in her panties right away as you kiss her. You’re young so you don’t think about how your breath might be or how your saliva must taste. She loves you and she ignores it, at least she doesn’t say anything. You’re young and she’s young too.

Before long she’s riding you. You don’t have the energy to move your body on top of hers so this is perfect. You’re surprised that your cock works at all since the rest of your body is broken. This makes you happy. Your cock is not as hard as normal but there’s something satisfying about this too. You’re young and you felt like you were dying just minutes before but now she is riding you and you know you are alive.

So this is what sex is after heroin. You fuck her and grab her tits with your hands and you’re happy. You’re turned on and it’s not exactly like regular happiness, but you’ve never fucked after heroin before and you’re glad to be alive because you felt like you were dying.

She is fucking you and making those noises that she makes. She’s going slower than normal because you are. You’re going slower than normal because your bones hurt and you’re just happy that your cock is hard and it’s staying hard.

She is cooing and you love her. You’re glad that she came over, and you’re glad when she says, “I’m coming, Babe.” She says that a lot and it makes you happy in that certain way every time you hear it. You fuck and sweat and breathe strangely since your body is still in shock and then you stop for a couple of minutes and then you start fucking her again. You know that you’re alive. And if you’re alive today, you’ll be alive tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow you’ll do more heroin but probably not, because that would be stupid. But you’re glad for her. You love her and you love fucking her and you find the energy to get behind her.

Raymond Burns is an esoteric indie film professional living in Los Angeles. Raymond is a social animal who loves every inch of the female form. He comprehensively appreciates the quiet aftermath of a woman’s orgasm. He hangs a bit to the left.