CALL OF THE DAY: making a meth user come

A new guy, but not a brand-new-to-the-company new guy, as I have cause to be grateful for when the dispatcher fills me in: he wants a party girl, “someone who does ice.”

Does what?


What the… I don’t… what does that even sound like?

“I don’t know, I guess real wired? Here you go, 15 minutes!”

Eeep, wait!

Drug calls are rare for me to get, which is GREAT, because actually I am extremely naive when it comes to drug use and effects and side effects and adjusting the pace and energy of the call accordingly. Does the drug in question kill boners, like alcohol? Is it difficult-to-impossible to come under the influence, like cocaine? (I have reason to believe that Extreme Top is a coke-head.) I haven’t had a lot of face-time (genital time?) with guys who are doing drugs to the point of being noticeably affected—I just don’t run in those circles—but at least my dispatchers have dropped me hints here or there, so I’ve learned basic logistics over the years, things like giving the caller lots of time warnings, and preparing for the worse, i.e. they may not come before the end of the call and sometimes there’s nothing you can do because BIOCHEMISTRY YOU STUPID FUCK.

But I still don’t have a good sense of what the drugs FEEL like, you know, how I should be acting if I, too, am supposed to be getting high, so if the caller wants me to party with him, like this guy, I am totally making shit up.

“You like to party?”

Oh, yeah, yeah! I mean, if someone’s got something, I’ll do it!

“How do you do it?” (That’s not what he said, I can’t remember the word he used, but I got the sense of it. GAH! I am not hip to this jive! I am going to blow it! Please, please, can we just get to a blow job?)

Oh, I, uh… mostly I just smoke it. I had some friends over last night, I think we smoked most of it… but I have a half-glass of vodka left over by the bed! (Is this what party people do, drink whatever leftover alcohol is lying around? I imagine so. Whooo, party! Glass of vodka, so edgy!)

“Cool. I shoot up. I’ve got a whole [incomprehensible drug measure] right here, I wanna do it with you on the phone.”

(Ulp.) Oh, huh, I’ve never, uh, shot up. (Fuck.) So, uh, what does that feel like? (I feel like I am so obviously fishing, but he doesn’t get suspicious.)

“I get warm and buzzy all over, it just spreads, you know? And sometimes I can come without even touching my dick.” (O-KAY, now that is useful information. Go slow and detailed, and prepare for possibility of early ending.)

Ooh, wow, that sounds amazing! Do it, I can’t wait to give you a good fucking time!

I say it that way, but I’m hella nervous. I have never enjoyed hanging out with people whose chemical consumption puts them in a noticeably different headspace than my own. Even the easy-to-come-by stuff like pot or booze: if everyone’s on it except me, I’m outta there pretty quickly. It’s just too hard to connect, and I end up feeling like a stick in the mud. Injectables… this is a whole different category. Someone pushing drugs into their blood system via self-administered sharp object is operating with a level of … desperation? dedication?… that I will never know. But here, right now, with a guy preparing to shoot up a whole gob of meth on the other end of the line—okay, I don’t know how much, but it sounded like a lot—I gotta go with it.

I can hear it in his voice when the meth hits, and I let him take his time enjoying that initial rush. Then I offer the blow job, and go so so slow. I don’t mean my voice is slow, I keep that fast and excited, keep that stream of talk flowing, he seems to like that, but the pace of the described action, oh, I spend a full minute talking about how my fingertips feel brushing along the inside of his thighs.

He talks to me a little, and I try to match his energy, but it feels fuzzy and blurred, he is crackling like a cloud of electricity, voice getting higher and faster, and when he comes—not too much before the end of his call, I am pleased that I managed the time correctly—his voice is practically sizzling through the phone line.

“I’m totally calling you again,” he says over and over. I always take that with a grain of salt, especially with my drunk or high guys, but he remembers my name from 15 minutes before, which is a good sign.

I act excited, but I’m not. I really am naive. Drugs scare me.

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