The way he looked at me every time our gazes met made me realize that I was going to give it up eventually. As I flipped my long blonde over my shoulder and giggled at some mindless joke, it did not even occur to me that soon the Jose Cuervo Margarita would not be the only pleasurable elixir to touch my lips that day. I walk into the kitchen to grab just one more because the sunrays were soaking up my hydration and voice of reason that spring afternoon.
I look away from him as my bare feet walk across the fresh-cut grass with a proud arrogance knowing that his hypnotized eyes were watching my sundress be lifted up by the light breeze. He retreated to the kitchen with me, as we both fill up our cups, before everything would go down. We left to grab a bite, and as I got out of the car when we arrived at our destination, it happened. He pushed my fragile body up against the back of his car. Somehow he made my lips feel like those of a virgin, like I had been kissed for the first time. It was a rush of pure innocence and promiscuity at the same time. A feeling of pure ecstasy.
We went back to his place and he kissed me again. I had my voice of reason on my right side saying that I shouldn’t, but another voice of passion, youth, and curiosity was arguing the exact opposite. So I kissed him back and he fucked me. He fucked me so hard. All of my inhibitions were gone, and now I can say, anonymously of course, that I’m sleeping with a drug dealer. And no one knows. Somehow this has turned in some secret affair, and it is one of the most freeing but soul-chilling experiences I’ve had to this day.
I wish I could say that’s the end, and that it was this perfect, passionate, one-time tryst that ended without zero regret, but it hasn’t. This little affaire de coeur is much more than the mind-blowing sex and the magnetic feelings our bodies have when we are in each other’s presence. It’s soul-destroying at times, because in many ways sleeping with a drug dealer is like snorting that cocaine he keeps hidden in his desk drawer or swallowing that Ecstasy that is stashed in his “school backpack.” You do it once to just see how it is and you experience this incredible high. You feel this euphoria, a very intense pleasure in everything that you see and do.
When he touched me, I wanted every part of him. When he looked at me, it was entrancing. My mind would go numb sometimes with him because I was so overwhelmed with pleasure, just like my nose and throat would go numb after I snorted the white powder. But after those first five or so times of snorting cocaine, you needed more to get high, and when you lost your high you felt like shit. It only took me a week after that Monday afternoon to hit that low point. The downfall came, and I realized how manipulative and selfish he was. Night after night, he fucked me like no one had ever fucked me before. He physically fucked me and emotionally fucked me. I was addicted to him.
So if I had to tell you what sleeping with a drug dealer is like, it’s no different than being addicted to drugs. And even when you know you’re addicted, you still can’t stop. There’s no happy ending to this story quite yet, because I’m still sleeping with him. I wish I could understand why. I guess somehow there is a thin slice of raw beauty in this inconceivable pain.