sex and drugs

A Story Written for My Youngest Child

“Ok, baby, what are you on now? You are dry as the Sahara, and your lips are all chapped. I bet is is that damn Meperidine again, huh?” Gerald Poolskate asked his wife, Linda Riverstone Poolskate. He knew that she was on something, because she was usually ready to fuck by now.
“Nuthin dearrrr..”
“Slurring, huh? Where’s the bottle? I wanted to have some sex tonight.”
“I don’t like sex, ‘cause it makes me feel like a liwtle girl and I don’t like feeling like a liwtle girl no more, and the whole banana peel that you slipped on years ago, remember that one time when you wore that big ol’ grumpy hat…..What was I talking about?"
Gerald smiled and searched for the bottle. He was so sick and tired of his wife taking this damn pain medication. He wanted to take it from her and throw it down the fucking toilet where it belonged. All of it and the rest of the opium poppers out there. He was sick and tired of those dumb fucks breaking their fingers on purpose just to get narcotics, and coming into his clinic. He was a nurse. They always asked to see the doctor right away, because the pain was “So fucking bad..man…I think I’m going to die!” He always said the doctors gave them what they “needed.” Although it was becoming clearer now to the medical community that the law was cracking down on doctors who prescribed the medications just to fulfill their patients wishes so that they would keep coming back for more.
“Here it is, right where I thought it would be. It is your little back pack. Forget about going back to school honey. You are all fucked up drugs, every other night. What you do in the day at your job at Perkins is your own business, but when you come home and make some decent dinner—of which you’ve not done in ages—and fuck me good, those are the times that matter. But, you don’t even want to fuck no more. I wonder why? You junky bitch.
“Who you callin’ junksky?” she babbled through her haze of a narcotic, similar to morphine but works for a shorter duration.
“I went to medical school, hun. Remember you always wanted to marry a doctor?”
“Yeah, I remember.” She said in more of a groan than anything. A groan from the lands of euphoria deep inside the mind, where there is no reason to commune with the outside world. Just dig deeper and deeper; throw your soul in the gutter. Throw your life in the gutter. And you just want to dig deeper and deeper, just to find them again, but after digging for years and years, you find nothing, but tolerance to the work.
“Well, I’m not a doctor, but you settled for me anyway. I loved you. I really did. Your hair, your white skin. Those eyes. That thick black eyeliner you always wore, and now I’m wondering whether or not that was to cover up the heroin dark circles under your eyes. I even loved the way that you talked, all raspy from smoking too many cigarettes. I just loved you. That was ten years ago. Now, I think that I really know what I’ve gotten myself into. This is a mess. Just a mess. I gave you three days to come clean and tell me where this shit was. All I had to do was look into your little red back-pack, filled with books that you were going to take to Penn State as a returning student. You are thirty five years old, baby. And you look like you are forty seven. Come on. I think that I can do better than this.”
“No you can’t. You don’t know how bad you smell.”
“Smell? Cologne honey.”
“That don’t cover it up.” She said.
“Ok, well, you have so many flaws and a character so tainted with junkyhood and lies and stealing. I’m so sick of it. I think the only reason that I stayed in this relationship was because we had good sex. Now it doesn’t even exist.”
“Whatever, can you get me a smoke.”
“Here,” Gerald handed her a Winston Light.
“Just be here with me, Gerry. You really don’t smell that bad, I am just trying to find some way to make you stay with me, but it is like, I’m married to two people. You and the drugs. The drugs are good in bed too. All I have to do is lie here for hours and hours, staring at the television or the floor, it don’t matter.”
“Honey, I still love you, but you really need to get cleaned up.”
“I know I do, but I know something else. You are leaving me for some bitch named Kelly Aubuchon.”
Gerald smiled and brushed her hair away from her delusional eyes, that were peering out through her delusional brain. “Don’t be silly. I am all about you.”
“Well what about those stories you’ve just written, about Kelly and you and Wal-Mart or somewhere doing things with each other that we have not even done. The hand-stand fuck? That is some kinky shit.”
“That is fiction.”
“But fiction is reality in the sense that reality is fiction, and the town went beep beep beep.”
“Shut up.”
“Ok,” she said as she rolled over and went into a coma.
“Now what? “ he asked himself. “I guess I can go down stairs and call up Cindy. She’s the Kelly Aubuchon…heh..heh…”
“What’s that, baby?” She said, through the murky opiated waters.
“Nothing.”
“Okie dokie, but maybe, maybe I’ll go to the methadone clinic next week.”
“I really don’t care anymore.”
“And I really don’t care about you anymore.”
He didn’t really care about that threat at all, since he knew damn well that she depended on him for everything. So he didn’t reply. Instead he went downstairs to get a drink and make a phone call.
He pulled out his Android and called her up. “Hey,” he said after she answered.
“Hey, this is Gerry , right?”
“Yeah, and this is Cindy right?”
“Yeah, I was thinking about you all day today.”
“And I was thinking about you,” he said, also thinking about his wife upstairs, sighing in her pain-killed sleep.
“What are you wearing,” she asked.
“Nothing, you?”
“Not a thing aside from your cum dripping down my firm titties. You like my little twenty five year old tits don’t you. You want to fuck them. You want to lick them, suck on their hard little nipples, huh? I bet you want to see them, huh?”
Gerald’s cock started to grow, “Yeah, let’s meet up, shall we?”
“Where?”
“How about at your place?”
“My parents are home.”
“Oh,” Gerald said, “How about that motel down by Perkins?”
“Sure.”
“Great, “ he giggled like a little girl, “later.”
“Late.”
The conversation ended, and he was about to make a very firm decision, whether or not to fuck some other girl other than his wife. He stood there on the linoleum floor of his kitchen and pondered the thought of a divorce. That would mean allot of bullshit. The lawyers, the papers. Shit. What was he to do? He gazed up at his room, listening to his wife snore, thinking, drugs don’t do much for relationships do they, honey? I’m going to get laid. Sex is better than drugs, well, sometimes drugs are better than sex, but right now, sex is better and right now, sex is better than you.