Dogs

Once upon a time in a land far, far away from where I currently reside, I accidentally ingested GHB. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, GHB is commonly known as Roofies or the Date Rape Drug.  I was outside of a small gathering at a friend’s house finishing a cigarette when suddenly I felt parched. Spotting a Gatorade bottle in the hands of a friend’s cousin, I asked for a sip to quench my thirst. He agreed, thinking that I knew the liquid substance lurking inside was in fact not the sports drink labeled on its container. Unfortunately I did not and unknowingly ingested GHB. I took a big sip and shortly thereafter went inside to masturbate.

Flash forward 30 minutes: After masturbating senselessly in the bathroom to lingerie catalogs, I got on the phone with a sexual acquaintance of mine and tried finagling her into letting me come over. But she was tired because It is 3 in the morning.  I didn’t care because I was horny. I was so horny that I wanted to stick my dick into anything breathing.  Barry (standing next to me at this point) is in hysterics. He couldn’t believe my enthusiasm and neither could I. I normally have the sexual motivation of an 80 year old woman but that night, I wanted to fuck. That was the only thought inside my head. Who will fuck me because I must fuck something. My powers of persuasion proved uncharacteristically powerful. I even convinced her to let Barry come over as long as he stayed in the car. Yeah right.

I carelessly got behind the wheel and set out in search of the elusive pussy. On the way there, Barry had a stroke of genius.  We discussed a basic strategy and practiced his method for the remainder of the journey that would end up getting us both something from the female. By the time we got to her house, I was so horny it was getting annoying and my up-tuck was starting to give-way. My dick wanted out.

Once inside, we made short the pleasantries and got right down to business.  As planned, Barry began to spin a web of lies about how I’ve had psychic abilities my entire life. This girl did not believe in my clairvoyance and required proof. We agreed to her demands in exchange for sexual favors should my future-telling ring true. She accepted the terms and for the next 30 minutes I dazzled her.

Over and over again, the unbelievably simple two-man psychic trick left her speechless.  Here’s how it went: Barry and the unidentified female picked a number between 1 and 1000.  In order to convince her that Barry and I were in fact not on the same team, I bet them both a few hundred dollars (Barry lent me the cash to use for our show) that I could guess their 3 to 4 digit number on the nose.  If they were right, the two of them split $300 dollars.  If I was right, well… let’s just say there was no way to fail.  A scratch of the nose, wait 3 seconds, a blink in the left eye, wait 3 seconds, and a bend in the knee meant 394.  We had made a series of 10 signals that Barry would deliver while the female kept her focus on me. 

After six or seven times, we conned our way right into a pair of blow jobs.  It was awkward sitting next to my best friend during his blowjob, but the Roofies kept my blood pumping and I kept my focus on her.  Barry was taking too long.  To be honest, Barry was getting in the way so she stopped getting him off and started in on me.

The combination of booze and Roofies made it tough to climax.  It was like running a race where the finish line kept extending further and further away.  After about an hour of debauchery, I finally finished.  Barry had already made his way outside during my session and to show his appreciation for the female not finishing him off, he decided to leave a steaming pile of human feces on her front walkway.

From her house, we decided to get breakfast at a local diner and spent the next two hours talking about what had just happened. By the time our meal concluded, I was getting a headache and Barry looked like death. Reality had set in. We made our way back home exhausted. No words were spoken. The Pink Floyd mix in the car began to play ‘Dogs.’ We listened in silence to the 16 something minute-long ballad while reflecting on our adventure together. “What song is this?” Barry asked. “Dogs,” I answered. An appropriate title for the night. A pair of dogs we were.