No Need to Lie

A commentor suggested I was fabricating finding a pack of fentanyl under the couch.  They suggested I practice better fiction writing.  I took offense to this.  I have had my share of mean comments before, but never have I been accused of lying.  Is it this new age of internet trolls?  Why would I need to lie to a handful of strangers on the internet?

For the record a pack of heroin/ fentanyl is the size of your fingernail.  When you you purchase in bulk the way Billy did $300 to $400 at a time at ten dollars a piece, occasionally some would go missing.  Billy never knew the value of a dollar.

This is what it was like dating Billy in the early days of our relationship.

Originally Posted February 18, 2013
And We Are Broken

I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Goodbye...


I watch Netflix episodes of Alias off my phone in bed.  I watch the pounds creep up on my bathroom scale.  I have been reading, searching for a place for my voice among other novels-- still I strain to put anything new together here.

My inner circle comes and goes from the condo.  I even went out with Jay and Alexis for a night of drinks at the bar.  They reminisced about their childhood sexual experiences together.  It was awkward.

Alone in the darkness of my room thoughts of being content with the limited perceptions of sight, taste and sound without the pains of a physical body start to become appealing.  It can't really be called depression.  In accent times it was one of the original seven deadly sins that affects me-- acedia. 

I get that text message, "Hey".   One word--

I'm packed and I'm holding 
I'm smiling, she's living
She's golden, she lives for me
She says she lives for me ovation, she got her own motivation
She comes 'round and she goes down on me
And I make her smile
It's like a drug for you
Do ever what you want to do
Coming over you
Keep on smiling, what we go through
One stop to the rhythm that divides you
And I speak to you like the chorus to the verse 


It is Saturday morning and Billy wants to hang out and I agree-- to all it will entail.  I pull my Challenger from the garage.  The weather has kept me from driving it the last few days.  The sky is clear but a few light snow flakes float on the wind.  I haven't checked the weather but I don't feel like switching vehicles and suffering the hour and a half drive to Billy's house and back in the truck.

We talk on the phone as I drive her direction.  I am anxious to see her; she is anxious for other reasons.  I tell her so.  "You feel the same way I do right now.  There is anticipation running through your skin accept not for me, it is for your drug of choice."


I make good time till I get into the city.  I hit a snow squall.  The roads turn slick and visibility is reduced to a quarter mile.  The Challenger's 22 inch wheels and low profile tires are like pontoons on icy pavement.  I am reduced to twenty five miles an hour in the slow lane.   There are cars spinning out around me. 


The snow is not the kind that will accumulate into inches on the roads.  That would be better for the average northern driver.  The freeways remained slick slowing traffic, causing the heat from the under carriages to make the roads icier.  My hands are clenched to the steering wheel.

Billy comes to the car carrying a large purse and two bags filled with clothes.  "Have you been kicked out again?"  I ask her.  


"No."  When I express my doubts she assures me.  "You can call my mom if you want."


Physically she looks good.  She is the heaviest I have ever seen her.  I can tell her mind is not clear.  She tells me she is on Xanax, and that her stomach is in knots.  She has been using another addict to acquire heroin, getting them hooked then piggy backing off them to get her own, until her patsy went to the dealer by himself and figured it out.


The snow in the city has gotten worse.  I'm sliding around the streets of Southwest Detroit in parts of town we have no business being. Billy can't remember half the stuff she is told or does when she is high but she knows every street in the ghetto.  We come to a stop in the middle of a snow covered street.  Cars line both sides.  I look out my driver side window.  A burned out home and an abandon house are on my left.  Several house on the right don't look much better. 


Billy steps out of the car and meets the dealer on the sidewalk.  This guy has sold to us before but has never seen my car.  We usually buy from one of his runners on a different side street. She is back within seconds.  I catch a glimpse of a black guy walking back into a house.  I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up.  I am not sure I would be able to get back to the same location.


Billy gives me a series of right and left directions that get me back on the freeway, while she unwraps eight foil squares the size of your index finger nail and pours the off white powder onto her phone screen.  


The amount of heroin looks small.  The effects, combined with the Xanax, can be seen  immediately.  She snorts the powder.  Within minutes she is 'nodding.'   It takes an hour to get out of the city and the snow squalls.  Billy appears to be sleeping for the ride but I can rouse her with a nudge.


Chop another line like a coda with a curse
Come on like a freak show takes the stage
We give them the games we play
She said
"I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life
Baby, baby
I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Goodbye..."


When we get home I put in a pizza.  Billy gets comfortable.  We make a pot of coffee.  Outside the snow squalls have caught up to us.  Big puffy flakes fall in a whiteout of snow.  Looking out the windows from the couch the scene is picturesque.


We eat and play video games.  Billy talks of quitting next week again. Her movements are slow she has no concentration.  Watching her is like watching a person trying to keep themself from falling asleep during everything she does.  It is sad to watch. 

I ask her if she has ever seen herself before.  She says no.  I start video taping her with my phone while she is eating.  She doesn't notice.  I want her to look at the video tomorrow when she is straight.  She is compliant and mostly happy when she is on dope.  Her mind shuts down and she has a heightened sense of touch.

Billy snots another bump.  When it kicks in there is no use trying to play video games.  She suggests watching a movie and I agree.  We lay on the couch together.  I let my hands drift over her soft skin while the movie plays.  She get lost to the sensations of my touch.  Billy turns to me and we kiss.

I let my hands drift down between her legs.  Her eyes are closed, her lips are slightly parted.  She is awake and her breathing reacts to my movements.  She begins to rub me.  My need for her becomes urgent.   I am lying behind her we are spooned.  Both of us have on light pants on.  I pull them down and enter her from behind.  

It has been weeks since I have had sex and I can control myself long while I am inside her.  I cum quickly.  Billy is asleep before I get back from cleaning up.  I take up my position on the couch and hold her close.  I drift in and out of sleep with her while she snores.  I'm sure she doesn't remember we even had sex on the couch.

The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Some place back there
Smiling in the pictures you would take
Doing crystal meth
Will lift you up until you break
It won't stop, I won't come down
I keep stock
With a tick tock rhythm
A bump for the drop
And then I bumped up
I took the hit that I was given
Then I bumped again
Then I bumped again, she said
How do I get back there to
The place where I fell asleep inside you
How do I get myself back to
The place where you said
"I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life 


I wake her after midnight.  "Billy honey, let's go upstairs."  

She apologizes for falling asleep.  "In my defense, I usually am in bed by nine at home.  I have nothing else to do." 

Billy does her final bump before we go upstairs.  She takes off all her clothes.  I follow suit.  In the dark during foreplay she makes the comment, "You are not video taping me, are you?"  As if she had some disjointed recollection of my taping her earlier.


"How can I be?  The light is off."


We have sex earnestly in the dark.  I pound into her hard from behind, feeling my body slap against her soft ass with each thrust.  She moans with each stroke.  We finish facing each other and fall asleep tangled throughout the rest of the night.

I believe in the faith that grows
And the four right chords could make me cry
When I'm with you I feel like I could die
And that would be all right
All right
And when the plane came in
She said she was crashing
The velvet it rips
In the city we're tripped
On the urge to feel alive
But now I'm struggling to survive
Those days you were wearing
That velvet dress
You're the priestess, I must confess
Those little red panties
They pass the test
Slides up around the belly
Face down on the mattress


The next morning I have to take her home.  I have Tinkerbell, my youngest and The T-Rex coming over that night.  Billy is still involved with the other guy.  We don't try to figure anything out.  We have time for breakfast.  She picks a diner close to her home.


The drug haze is gone.  She is thinking clear.  I show her the video.  She is not happy with what she sees.  She doesn't think she is always like that, I assure her she is.  I tell her I could not believe her mom didn't know she was on Xanax yesterday.  This is the Billy I like, the Billy that is fun to be around. The morning after Billy.  She is not high but she is not yet affected by cravings or withdraws.  For a few moments, she is normal.


One, and you hold me
And we're broken
Still it's all that I want to do
Just a little now
I feel myself heavy on the ground
I'm scared I'm not coming down
No no
And I won't run for my life
She's got her jaws just locked now in a smile
But nothing is all right
All right


She asks the owner of the restaurant if they are hiring.  She charms him into allowing her to apply for an opening that doesn't officially exist. She tells me that she is going to go to her doctor on Tuesday to get on Suboxone, if she can't she is willing to go back to rehab again this week.  I hope she does.  She should never quit trying to quit.

I clean the house when I get home, erasing all evidence of her presence before Tinkerbell arrives.  I don't want to answer any of her questions.  When my son arrives I we make replicas of the perk a cola bottles for every perk they offer in Call of Duty.  This morning I weigh 4 pounds less.


The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Some place back there
In the place we used to sta-a-a-a-rt.... Semi- Charmed Life, Third Eye Blind

Afternoon Antics

My stomach pains seem to be vanishing as quickly as they came.  It has been three days in a row since I have had any discomfort.  Does this mean it was the holiday stress? The holidays did suck, but the most stressful part was my stomach pains.  I have not returned to a normal diet. I feel like I have the pains under control by eating lightly.

I am happier now that the holidays are over.  The new year has me feeling somewhat relieved.  I am feeling old.  I am beginning to understand what Billy thought in the back of her mind about our age difference (28 years).  Eight years of common history together helped to lessen the gap.

Friday night, the Gymnast came over.  She allowed me to restrain her to the bed with a set of straps I bought for Rose but never got to use.  After, we fell asleep watching Suicide Squad.  She thinks she should be Joker next year for Halloween because she has a similar hand tattoo, but I remarked she is the spitting image of Harley Quin.  While she is usually subdued and quiet when she is around me, I think there is a matching wild side when she has had a few drinks in her.

Saturday after The Gymnast left, I went to Tinkerbell's to help her frame out the opening of a bathroom closet and install some shelves inside.  Tink thinks the Gymnast is plain, but she is a harsh critic.  I spent the afternoon helping Tink.  I was tired when I returned home.  The stomach issue has kept me from eating and exercising through December.  I was out of shape.  I settled into my bed early and turned on the movie Avatar in an attempt to make the most of my Disney+ subscription.

Around ten, I noticed the Gymnast had texted me earlier in the evening.

The Gymnast:  I am horny as fuck, but I am on a time schedule.  Are you free right now?

I did not bother replying till the morning.  I figured she was never in one place too long, and a hot twenty-one-year-old girl can always find a way to satisfy those needs.  I told her she could come over later Sunday if she still had the itch.  I didn't hear from her again until Monday.

The Gymnast:  Still on for tomorrow?

Bathwater: Of course. I hope you will still be as horny.  Although I think your libido is more financially driven.

Ours is a mutually beneficial arrangement.  She gets paid for spending time with me.

The Gymnast: I don't know, I have been really horny these last couple of days.  I could come over today for a bit or just wait for tomorrow.

Bathwater:  We should make the most of these next two weeks.

She is leaving for Europe in two weeks and will be there for three months, thus the reason for her need for money and the reason we met.  She has some time available in the afternoon.  My boss is out of town, so there is no need for me to make an excuse to leave early.  We decided to meet at my place at 3:00 pm.  After 2:00, I get another text from her.

The Gymnast:  Make sure to clean the cock ring, and then after I suck your dick, I want you to tie my hands behind my back and eat me out until you slide it in me, and then we can make our way so I'm laid over your bed, and I want you to fuck me slowly and hard.   Sorry really horny.  I'll see you shortly.

 When she arrived, we wasted no time going upstairs.  I tied her hands first and had her sit on my face while I licked her so I could watch and roam my hand over her body.  We ended up having sex in several positions, including over the side of the bed, before she ended up finishing me orally.  She is fun, and that is something I needed.  Something I am willing to pay for right now.  It beats paying a psychologist to complain about my life.

Low

The night before New Years Eve a dusting of snow covered the ground.  The Gymnast came over, late as usual.  The sex with her is good.  She does not lift my spirits, though.  I want more.

New Years eve the snow flurries continued throughout the day without any accumulation.  It was a bitter cold day.  I forced myself to Walmart to pick up a few things.  Once I got home I made myself some broccoli and noodles.  My stomach didn't care for them though and it bothered me for several hours after eating.

All my tests are coming back negative.   My gallbladder is fine.  I do not have an ulcer or acid reflux but something is still very wrong.

In the beginning of 2019 Billy and I were looking at houses and talking about moving.  We were making plans for the future.  What a difference a year makes.  What a difference a few months make.

Before Thanksgiving I thought I was making progress.  Now I feel like life is at its lowest.  I took my health for granted.  I bragged I was the healthiest in the family.  I don't even have that anymore.

Will 2020 bring better times?  I  need to find my way again.  It would be easier if I was healthy.  I wish I could erase Billy from my thoughts.  My resolution, is to try.

Punishment

Each day away from Billy feels like I am being punished.  I want to hold her tight, cry into her shoulder and not let her go.  That has not happened.  Friday before Christmas my stomach was hurting pretty bad.  I tore the house apart looking to see if I could find any dope Billy may have left behind.  Even though I looked through the couch before that is where I found remnants of her.  There was a rolled up twenty dollar bill in the cushions.  It was her preferred tool for snorting dope and under the couch there was a rolled up ball of dis-guarded foil and and one pack of dope. 

I consulted her over text messages.  "If it is white then it is the strong stuff."  She texted me.  She meant it was fentanyl.

I placed a few granules under my tongue to take the edge off the pain.  The shit is strong but I am careful.  My stomach pain has subsided some since then.  I keep it at bay with heavy doses of Mylanta.  It is the only thing that seems to help.  All the testing has come back negative.  Perhaps I am doing this to myself.

I did not text Billy during the holiday.  The memories are fading but I miss her presence.  There is no going back.  I thought I did not want to go back.  Now I am not so sure.

The Gymnast II

The Gymnast says hello as she comes through the garage door.  She is getting comfortable around my house.  This is what I want.  The cat takes off in fear as the Gymnast appears.  The cat hides in the basement so well that I cannot find her.  She does that now whenever anyone comes over.  I wonder if she would come out if Billy came for a visit.

The Gymnast has thin shoulder-length blonde hair.  The last four inches are lighter than the rest.  The result of having it colored long ago.  She is soft-spoken but a hustler who has taken care of herself since the age of fourteen.  She is young, twenty-one.  My age doesn't seem to bother her.  Our arrangement works for both of us.  I like the Gymnast.  We are comfortable together, but I do not have to worry about developing romantic feelings for her.  My warped sense of what is okay knows better than that.

She wears a full-length black Calvin Klein winter coat over black work pants and a yellow sweatshirt.   She seems bulky when she is in clothes, but when she is naked, there is no denying her perfect figure.  I have spent too many years with Billy.  Billy has always been underweight.  Her body has given me false expectations of what a girl should look like.

We exchange just a few words of conversation before moving upstairs, not because I am anxious to have sex with her, but since Billy left, I spend seventy percent of my time in my bedroom.  I just find it more comfortable.  The Gymnast Removes her clothes and crawls under the covers.  She complains that the bed is cold.  I strip down and join her.

"Do me a favor,"  I tell her.  "Take out your belly rings."  She doe not argue.  She already knows I like belly buttons, and those rings just hide them.

The Gymnast has firm B-cup breasts with pierced inverted nipples.  She has several tattoos on her body.  They all tend to the morbid.  There is a large set of roses hiding a skull on her upper abdomen with the words "Live To Die" beneath.  A small pair of angel wings are on her right side ribs, and a large floral pattern adorns the outside of her right upper thigh.  Several more are scattered over other areas of her body.  My favorites are on the backs of her hands.  They are clever pieces.  On her left is the lower portion of a skull.  On her right is a wide joker-inspired grin with red lips.  They are done so that when she places her hand over her mouth, the tattoo completes her face.

I debate whether to turn on a movie or pull out the new vibrator I bought for us (her idea).  The vibrator wins out.  I  know she is more likely to fall asleep if we start watching a movie.  I bring out the new toy, and we try out the various settings.  She admits to me she is a horny girl and has one at home.  Watching her passion swell quickly gets me going, and soon I am inside her.

She likes to make out while we are having sex.  I find it unusual, considering we are not lovers, and I am paying her to be there. It is the kind of detail that blurs the lines of our arrangement.  Sex with the Gymnast is good.  We do not have feelings for each other, but the same comfort I spoke of early makes it easy to be naked and open with her.

Late after we are spent, she curls up next to me to watch the Matrix.  She has never seen it.  The bed is no longer cold.  Her body, where it touches mine, is almost too hot to be next to.  Halfway through the movie, she rolls over and closes her eyes.

In the morning, I am up before her.  I stroke her soft skin beneath the covers before leaving her in bed and starting my day. I want to stay in bed with her, but I have a doctor's appointment.  I go downstairs and make a decaf cup of coffee and return to jump into the shower.  She is dressed and sitting in bed when I get out.

"I'm sorry.  Did I wake you?"  She gives me a coy look that says I did.

"I have to do Christmas shopping today anyway."

"You have a little time? I need to eat something before I go to the doctor.  Breakfast is one of the meals that never gives me pain."  I tell her.

We head downstairs.  I make her a cup of coffee.  She sits on the couch and scrolls through her phone while I make myself breakfast.  "I made a piece of bacon for you,"  I say, but she declines. She has decided she will go home and back to sleep before shopping.

We leave moments apart.  I get to my doctor's on time.  When the doctor gets to the room, we discuss all of my symptoms and the test I have already had.  He still thinks it is my gallbladder.  This was my initial theory, too, but the specialist had me doubting myself and thinking maybe a food allergy.  He schedules another test.  This one will induce gallbladder issues if they are present.  Sounds like fun.  It is on the twenty-seventh.  My Christmas vacation will be filled with more pain, and I will probably get my gallbladder out after the first of the year when all my deductibles rollover.  Life is not fair!

Pain

I have been having stomach issues for about three weeks now. They crept up on me suddenly. I suppose I was ignoring earlier signs. I tend to ignore symptoms. At fifty-five, everything hurts sometimes or other. I wound up in the ER a few times and at a specialist's office. The specialist was an ass. After several tests, they found nothing significant. Just some moderate irritation of the stomach and small intestine.

I find it hard to believe moderate irritation has sent me to the ER and keeping up every night in pain. The tests do not offer any alternatives. So much for my high pain tolerance. I reached out to Billie last week. Frustrated and in pain, she is all I wanted. I cannot explain why. The comfort, I guess. Right now, she is less tangible to me than Rose or the Gymnast. But the relationships I have with Rose and the Gymnast are superficial, based on sex and money.

The stomach issues have set me back. I felt like I was making progress. Expanding my mind and getting over the past. Now I am not so sure. I have hated the holidays ever since the divorce. I find myself alone, emotional, and in pain this year. Just another crappy ending to a crappy year.

The Gymnast

I found the Gymnast on Seeking Arrangements.  Another disappointing site where you can't even seem to pay for what you want.  We arranged to meet at a dive bar that was conveniently located for both of us.

I arrived first.  There was a group of regulars around a pool table in the back and a couple more regulars at the bar.  Someone was feeding the jukebox eighties metal selections.  I did not dare select anything.  My music tastes tend not to be for the bar crowd.  I was on my second beer before the Gymnast arrived with a friend in tow.  The Gymnast is young (21 yrs old).  She is a mix of good girl and bad girl that I like.  She is blond and reminds me of Billy with the fifteen extra pounds that give her a healthy look.  She coaches kids gymnastics and works at a bar in Royal Oak.  She is covered with tattoos, some of them dark. 

Her friend is also young.  Ironically the friend goes to the same yoga studio as me.  She is in a mixed-level class, so we haven't crossed paths, but we discuss meeting up to do so.  The friend is darker complected and reminds me of Tinkerbell.

The girls order drinks, and we talk at the bar.  The Gymnast is refreshingly open and candid.  She has one of those hard life stories that sucks me right in.  Her father died when she was fourteen.  Her mother took little responsibility.  Her ex-boyfriend recently overdosed and died.

I like her.  She would be the perfect distraction for the holidays.  I am not talking about a relationship.  She is a paid companion, but she is natural, and I can be myself around her.  We decide to meet the following night after gymnastics practice. 

The next night she is late.  I feel like that is just one thing I will need to expect from her.  When she arrives, she is dressed in leggings and a bright blue tee with her name across the back under the word coach.  We sit and talk about ourselves.  We are both open books, and we discuss the twisted things in our pasts.  She is depressed.  Her ex's death was this week, and she is still processing it.

I tell her, "This arrangement is what you make of it.  If you want to go to a concert or a play, I will make it happen.  If you just want to come over and hang out, that is okay too."

Later, when we go upstairs, It is initially awkward, but she is at ease, and I am soon at attention.  The sex is good.  She has firm small breasts with pierced nipples.  She says she pierced them because her nipples are inverted, but it didn't really help.  She is surprisingly affectionate during sex.  Something you don't always see in these situations.  It tends to blur the lines between relationship and arrangement, but I like it when things are a bit blurred.

I'd like to see her again, but it has been hard to pull her out of her depression.  We are on opposite sides of the pendulum, but both dealing with our own issues.  I am hoping we can brighten each other's lives up during this season of misery.  Time will tell.