Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2024 18:14:54 -0600 From: Always Ready Subject: Pining for the Impossible part 2 Pining for the Impossible – Part 2 Please remember to donate to the Nifty Organization I had no words. Only total euphoria, no worries and the hardon from hell. "Told you this would do the trick." The guy just smiled at me as he pulled the needle out. "Damn never seen the shit work this fast. But good. Now that your cock is hard again, bring it over to me and put it in my mouth to suck dry and then fuck your ass before I put it back out on the street." He sucked me dry and then did exactly what he said he would. Flipped me over and shoved his cock up my ass and fucked me again until he was done, and then put me out on the street. At this point my head was just spinning. I had never experienced any feeling like this before. The only type of euphoria that I got was when I was in my brother's arms. That was it. But this. This was indescribable. I also knew I had to have more of it. It was perfect. Whatever it was. I needed more. All my depression was gone, my anxiety and the increase in sexual feelings was beyond amazing. I was hooked immediately. Only later did I learn that it was a small but strong dose of heroin that had been injected into me. At the age of 15 it was my introduction into the world of drugs. I didn't know it at the time, but it was also the beginning of the destruction of my life. After being thrown out of the house with nowhere to go, I dropped out of school. And made my way on the streets trying to find a place to stay each night. Also, after that first injection I was completely hooked not only on heroin but any other drug that I could get my hands on that would just make everything go away. I didn't care what it was. Cocaine, meth, alcohol, heroin, pills – anything that would take me out of what my reality was for a while. Also, while fucking around downtown, I'd hear a lot about how good the shit was across the country especially in Virginia. So, I came up with a plan to find a way to basically hooker my way across the country, hopefully not get killed in the process and get my hands on the good stuff that everyone was talking about. I also wanted to be as far away from here as possible. I didn't want there to be any chance of Mike finding out what happened to me and then finding me like this. And I was going to make damned sure that he didn't. As I slowly made my way across the country hooking up with anyone that would give me some food and a ride for as far as they were willing to take me. It was mostly truckers that were just looking to get their rocks off as they traveled along their routes that I ended up with. I would either suck them off get a good dose of cum or end up bending over and just letting them fuck my ass. I laughed because the response was always, "Damn I never knew an ass would feel so much tighter than a pussy". And the few that weren't willing to take me anywhere, paid me enough that I could go into whatever town and find someone who would know someone or somewhere to get drugs so that I could just `disappear' for a while. It took me about 3 weeks, but I finally made it to Virginia. I was not disappointed. The men, the drugs all so much better then what I had been finding in Sacramento. It was here that I discovered my nemesis – crack-cocaine. I thought the turning point to disaster was being injected with heroin. I was wrong. It was that first inhalation from the crack pipe. From that point forward, it didn't seem like life mattered anymore. As long as I was high on it, I was happy – I could pretend that I was in the world that I wanted to be in. Deeply in love with my brother and having those same feelings returned from him and just living a life of happiness together. The problem was, I had finally made it to Virginia, but had no place to live. I hooked as much as I could to make as much money as possible to get a little bit of food and buy as much crack as I could find. I also discovered that Virginia gets very cold in the winter with snow and all. Living outside was not going to be an option anymore. I finally found a `crack-house' as they call them where the rent was minimal, and it was at least warm enough to sleep and I could do all the drugs I wanted. If I wanted food, it cost more but all that took was more hooking, I was making money as a hooker and smoking crack, along with living with other crack heads that wanted just what I did. To just escape. The problem was, you always came crashing back down when the high was gone. Which made you want more – it was a never-ending cycle. That's what was so addicting about this shit. You always wanted and needed more. One night I was just laying in bed getting ready to light up again as the high was wearing off from the last hit, when I realized I didn't have any left. I also didn't have the energy to move at that moment. As the high continued to subside and reality came crashing in, I began to think about my life and how much time had passed since my father threw me out of the house and the path that my life had taken. I wondered if anyone even cared where I was, or whether or not I was OK. It was at that point that I realized over 2 years had gone by. I was still alone, no job, no education and addicted to every drug there was. What type of life was this? Was it even a life? And then I thought of Mike. I wonder what bullshit story my father came up with to tell him why I was gone or what had happened. It certainly would not be the truth or maybe it would. Who knows. But the more I thought about Mike tears just started flowing from my eyes. I loved him so much and I missed him so much, but I was so glad that he didn't know what I had turned into. A disgusting, filthy, hooking drug addict. And as much as it hurt, I was also going to make damned sure that he never found out what I had turned into. I was turning 18 next week and going to attempt to clean myself up, try and stay sober for at least 2 days and go change my last name so that no one, especially Mike, would ever be able to find me again. For 2 days I kept myself in my room as much as I possibly could to stay away from the crack. But it was a crack house, and you could smell it everywhere. I wanted it so badly and at the same time was absolutely disgusted with it and myself. I was almost 18 and had turned into a total crack head. This was not who I was. This wasn't who I wanted to be. For the first time in months, I cried myself to sleep. I hadn't done that since I started using drugs. It was the reason that I did the drugs – the reality of my life. The drugs got rid of reality. It was that night that I decided I was going to try and turn my life around. On my 18th birthday, I went down to city hall to change my name, but as I was walking up the steps with my driver's license in hand and the hopes that they would let me change my name without my birth certificate or Social Security card. Somehow, last year in the midst of my drug induced haze, I had managed to pull myself together well enough for a few days to go and take my driver's test and get a license, I looked at it and laughed, the address on my license was that of the crack house. God I really was disgusting. I walked into city hall and found the form that I needed to change my last name. I read the top of the form and what was needed. It was one form of ID and your Social Security Number. Well, I had both of those, so I was in the clear there. And then as I was filling out the form I came to the question of, "What is the reason you are requesting a change in name?" And there were two options. `Marriage' or `Other', if other, please explain below. In my mind the answer to that question was "I don't want the love of my life, my brother to be able to find me." But there was another answer that I could give that was true – "I no longer want to be associated with my family name." And that's what I put, and hopefully they would accept that. In an instant it was done. I was now Christopher Kingston. I have no idea why I picked that name, but it just felt right for some reason. And now that that was done, I wanted to go and get myself good and high and celebrate. I then slapped myself. NO! I was not going to do that anymore. I promised myself that I was going to clean up my act stop doing the fucking drugs and become part of society again. As I walked back to the shit hole that I was living in, I also decided I needed to get out of there too. I would never be able to kick the drugs if I was living in a fucking crack house. At the same time, I had nowhere else to go. And I just broke down on the street bawling like a freaking two-year-old. And before I knew what was happening, I was being carried back into the crack house by one of the other guys that lived there and given the pipe and all he said was, "Suck" I took that first puff, and I was fucked again. All the work I did over the past 3 days to clean myself up was just thrown to the wayside. The high was back, and all the fears, depression, and unhappiness was gone. It was the best and worst feeling all at the same time. Because I knew what I was going to have to do again to get more. Go out and sell my ass on the street for cash and buy more crack. At least I liked getting fucked. That night, I went out and headed down towards my usual stomping ground and into one of the clubs to see who was out tonight. Maybe I could find one of my regulars and just get it over with quickly enough and go back to bed. I was actually impressed – there were quite a few descent looking men out tonight. Definitely not what you usually find out on a Wednesday night, but who was I to complain. I was high, I looked good (or as good as I could look in this state), I might actually be able to charge more than my usual $100 and have a better time than expected. As I was scanning the room and the bar to see who I'd try and hit up first, I caught a glimpse of someone sitting at the bar who from afar looked vaguely familiar. However, again I was high as a kite, so I was probably just hallucinating- but the longer I looked the more he looked like who I thought it was. From where I was standing, maybe 50 feet away it looked like my brother Mike. But it couldn't possibly be him. Not here, not in Virginia, not in a gay bar. As I did my best to focus my eyes on him better, his head started to turn, and I saw his left eye. HOLY FUCKING SHIT! It was Mike! I had to get out of there. I didn't want him to see me like this or in here. But I couldn't move. I was frozen in place. His head had finally completely turned towards me, and he was staring straight at me blinked a few times and then got off the bar stool and slowly started walking towards me. He was even more beautiful than I remember him. Even in my drug induced haze I couldn't take my eyes off him as he walked towards me. As we were now standing face to face, he very quietly said, "Chris?" And that was all it took. I just fell into him and started crying like a freaking baby. And at the same time, I felt his arms start to come around me. "Oh Mike, how the hell did you find me? I never wanted you to see me as the disgusting piece of shit that I've turned into." "Shhh..it doesn't matter how I found you. What matters is that I did." "I'm sure I'm just as much of an embarrassment to you as I was to our mother and father." "Chris, stop. Lets go talk." He just led me over to a table and propped me up on a bar stool. As he was putting me on the stool a pipe fell out of one of my pockets. "Mike please don't look just leave it." I had intended on filling it up with crack later that night as soon as I made my money and was able to buy more drugs. "Chris look at me." I just couldn't "Mike please, just.." "Chris, I want you to know that when I came home for my first break from college and found out what our father did to you, I cursed and beat the shit out of him. And then walked out of that house to go looking for you. I went to the school, to the few friends that I knew you had, and no one had seen you. I even put a missing person's report in for you to the police. I don't care that you're gay. Big fucking deal. You are my brother. My flesh and blood and I love you." "But why? I'm a fucking drug addict living in a crack house. I wouldn't even want to be with or near me I'm disgusting." "No, you're my brother who I love, and has an addiction problem. That's who you are." I just looked at his beautiful eyes and started feeling dizzy and felt like the room was spinning. This happened sometimes when the crack was wearing off. I needed more. "Mike please I can't do this anymore. Just forget you have a brother. Just let me be and go back to whatever you were doing and forget about me. I'm not worth it, trust me." As I finished that sentence, I started to fall off the stool, but again before hitting the floor Mike jumped up and caught me. "Nope. Sorry I can't do that. Now come with me." With one arm around my waist, we slowly walked out of the bar and off to an area that I didn't recognize. Comments welcome at: Alwaysready123@gmail.com