The guy looks totally hot on his pics. I’m horny and wanna meet him to fuck. The chat had a good flow, but then I became unsure if he was high or not. After all, it’s Monday morning in Berlin and almost everyone online now is high. Well, or at least half of them. So I write (and think really cool of myself): ‘DRUGS: YOU CAN. I HAVE BREAK.’ The answer comes promptly: ‘THX. NO. I PREFER TO BE ON THE SAME LEVEL’ Yes, and that’s that. Chat over.

I’ve been taking a break from drugs for half a year now, but it’s not meant as abstinence – just as a break – and you know what? The hardest thing for me is to have sex with guys who are ‘plastered’ and who don’t get anything. I’m totally open, though.

Even if the intimacy doesn’t seem real when you’re high, I still miss it.

The floor was full of plants. In the bathtub, in the kitchen, in the sink… The glasses and cutlery were full of soil. It was like an obsession. The door behind me fell shut. My instinct warned me that something wasn’t right. I was scared to death. The boy went to the bathroom, probably to wash up for a fuck. I took the opportunity to text my best friend on Whatsapp so she’d call me as soon as she could. I prayed that she’d have her cell phone handy and read my message. The guy and I lay down on the bed and he started kissing me. Suddenly my phone rings. It was my best friend. I then played what would have made me win an Oscar: I made up that my friend had fallen off her bike, that the poor thing had broken her leg and that she didn’t speak German. I ran out of the flat. The next day I got a message from the guy on Gayromeo saying that nobody could ever believe my poor performance. Maybe I’m not such a good actor after all, or maybe, like my grandmother, I’m incapable of lying. I blocked him immediately.

Would I be more honest today? I think I would. Sometimes I even feel it’s rather incoherent to ask someone for respect again, when I took it all from that boy that day. But at that moment I was overcome by fear, and perhaps also by immaturity.

The party just got started. Especially there, in the black room where I am heading to. Tens of bodies, squirming, grabbing each other, moaning, pleasuring, getting high, coming down. Some just smoke a cigarette, some others prepare a line on their phone. Someone is fully dressed, some others have never been dressed since they came. Some have a cock in their ass, some others in their mouth. Some of them have one in the ass and another in the mouth, the spitroast.

And then I’ll see you. I hug you, you hug me. I kiss you, you kiss me. I touch you, you touch me. I can taste your hole still wet from all those who came before me. Your eyes are blinking, moving in any direction. Your mouth cannot stop moving, but you don’t say a word. And on the other hand, what are the words for, in here? You’re so hot, possibly even more than high.

Your hole is soft and welcoming. It was just waiting for that, but I am pretty sure that I am not the first. In less than one second I was fucking you. Then someone grabs me. What the fuck, don’t you see I am busy? Unless you want to play with us, of course. But he doesn’t want to play. He just whispers to me “Don’t you see? My friend is not aware of what is happening.” Well, no, I didn’t see at all.

My Hilfiger underpants fly in a high arc across the street from one balcony to the other. I LOVE YOU BOTH I had written on them with Mariella’s eyeliner. It is summer. I had just moved from Brazil directly to Sitges, one hour south of Barcelona, to Mariella, who works there during the season. A holiday village full of gay guys, all looking for other guys. Homosexual energy everywhere. The Paradise.

After I had sex with them, I got totally in love with this couple from Manchester. One of them steps outside the glass door and paints a heart in the air: I read his lips: WE LOVE YOU TOO. I hope to meet them again. But it’s summer and there are too many hot guys in town. The gay carnival in the village rotates at full speed, but the balcony will remain empty. Then they will be gone. Departed.

A week before, the two move right under my nose, directly across the street into the holiday apartment above the gay sauna. Two northern English skinhead types, super-hot, blond and blue-eyed both. And the white swimming trunks! I can’t look away. My dream of Europe. So I go out on the terrace. Having a smoke. Looking. Then out in my gym shorts again to make a phone call. Smile. Then the cactuses, which shouldn’t be watered at all, says Mariella. It’s like cruising. Finally one of the two calls: HEY, WHY DON’T YOU COME OVER?! – I go over right away, excited, but more than ready for new experiences – sexual liberation: a threesome with a couple!

A little small talk, one of them pushes a glass of cola into my hand. Cheers to sun, holidays, men – the other one already has his hand in my pants. This is how porn goes, from 0 to 100: one fucks me on the edge of the cheap bed while I give the other one a blowjob. WOW, I think, two cocks inside me. I’m willing, but don’t know what I want and need anymore. This is way too hot and horrny. They make the program. At this moment I’m not aware that I’m high, I didn’t know that feeling. The sex is mega-hot. But how did I get back to my apartment? Later I reconstruct that the guys must’ve given me G without my knowledge. They didn’t ask me if I wanted that. My consciousness was then simply gone, no memory. What G is and how it works I will only learn years later. During the Sitges summer I fell in love about 12 more times: once I had sex with a guy and immediately lost it completely to him – until the next guy. Naive and happy. I go to the countryside for some days to visit Nicolette, a Swiss horse trainer with whom I have an affair in addition to my adventures with men. But I can’t get the couple from the balcony out of my mind.

That was the summer before I was tested positive. For years I have sought responsibility from others: It takes me a long time to realize: Yes, it could have been like that, but I could have infected them too. Because the months before I left Brazil were by no means safe: hidden sex, me depressed and full of guilt: no room for clear agreements. Also because of this fear I left for Europe at that time. Today I know that freedom always means danger. Less the danger of being unknowingly drugged or catching a virus. Rather the danger of burning up in my desire and the desire of others.

This story might not be true, as the few things I remember happened while being completely drunk. Probably, the incident I’m going to describe now, was not that dramatic, but it has left traces.
It was my 25 years birthday celebration: a Depeche Mode tribute party with cheap booze and my crazy friends – the appropriate night to overdo it. Expect the worst, or the best, whatever.
Being faithful to the alcohol, I got quite drunk quite early and I went to the smoking area to have a cigarette. A wild punk was smoking too. I could only see his leather jacket, his boots and his jeans. I told my boyfriend “I like that punkero”.
Drunken whimsy, bravery of a faggot willing to do anything, or a personal challenge, I went directly to him. Without hesitating I asked him to dance with me. His answer was NO. His negative response led to my aggressive insistence. I was asking again and got a clear NO again. This time, as if he wanted to avoid having trouble, he got up, pushed me back and left the smoking room. Right after that, I’m not sure of what happened. The push was not strong enough to knock me down. Probably my friends or my boyfriend intervened so I didn’t get involved in a fight. In my head just anger and the awful laughter of all my friends. Making fun of me for being rejected by a cute, wild punk who didn’t accept my invitation to dance. As offended as a heartbroken teenager in her school prom night! At least I was lucky neither my face nor my ass got broken.
My rage was fuelled by more liquor, more cigarettes, more gossip until I ended up under a table listening to Precious or Policy of truth.

He was not even that cute. Drunken faggot stuff.

we both take a lot of keta + talk + talk + right from the toilet directly to the floor. instead of dancing, we keep talking. we are very involved while everything around us is bending + twisting. in the middle of the dancefloor! hi-hats are rattling. it’s way too loud here right in front of the boxes. for hours we talk out this misunderstanding, from not long ago. on the couch, at the bar, then like gluing under the ceiling, from which the sweat drips, in the queue to the toilets. there’s so much to say. actually no argument, rather two perceptions, yours + mine. what it’s like: best friends, nothing can divide them. together high. totally keta twisted. everything done right. as if we were falling free. as if our words fade away like echoes. what does it mean?

then finally – finally – after hours + hours of endless clarification, deep talk, good talk: we are agreeing that we will do better next time. this cannot and will not happen again. we will learn from this. not waiting days to discuss a problem like this again.

“days?” – we look at each other + then we both suddenly realize it: something is subjectively and logically wrong here: “oh well, you’re not talking about tonight, when we left for the club. – “no, why? i’m talking about our conversation two weeks ago!”

When we both get that, we’ll be on the floor laughing for minutes. OMG, how could something like this happen to us?

today, years later, neither of us can remember what it was all about back then. what we felt then, however, we still remember exactly.

Night. Boredom. Loneliness. I am here, and I am elsewhere. I don’t know anymore. Fighting against you. You – my inner voice, deep inside me.

It’s been nine months since I took anything, the time of a cycle, my little pregnancy. It is far away and very close, a question of point of view and the time in my mind has burst: it doesn’t look like anything anymore. I know it passes but sometimes I feel like I’ve missed several months.

A dinner with friends that has transformed into a ‘before’ on the cocaine tracks. My friends will understand that I don’t take it and then I can have fun without drugs.

I’m not out of business, because this balance is fragile. I will not be alone, but this fight is mine and I’ll be the only one to hear you taunt me and I take a line to ensure your silence.

We end up in this club. Immediately I don’t feel in my place. I see bodies dancing, swaying, waving. I see jaws clenched and muscles tense, eyes closed, lips dry. It mates, sticks, brushes, comes in contact or avoids. I don’t know where to put myself, what is expected from me.

Finally, one of us decides that we have made our time and that there is nothing more to hope for this evening. You take advantage of this moment to start waking up despite the powder in my nose.

I sneak into the cloakroom, hoping it will not be too long and you’ll fall asleep again. I take my stuff and leave. I don’t know what to do. An unknown girl and I share a taxi. On the street once again alone, I still don’t know what to do. Walking, smoking, you’re awake. Once at home, I go around in circles.

You win the first round: I download, profile and drag on the apps. I wish to find no one to satisfy your urges. Too late, chatting fast and effective. Find excuses to give you reason and they become credible, tangible. I finally cave in.

He doesn’t live far, I come over. I pass to the ATM for money to participate and play.

I walk, always this dilemma ready to leap on the slightest doubt to give up and shut you up. My body does not want but never wanted. He tries to keep my mind from listening to you by hurting me: acid reflux, nausea, cold, tremors. My stomach contracts but nothing comes out. I give up, you won, this night is yours.

A shabby apartment that a few years ago I would have left as soon as possible. I don’t really like him but it’s mutual: a minimum attraction and the gleam in the look. Things are clear: no details, we are both looking for someone to accompany our hobby, another body to project our fantasies and train in lust. Go further, trained by the substances that liberate our most sordid imagination.

It’s not about sharing, it’s about feeling something. With someone. But not with you anymore.

After 1000 years back to the Läbble. I’m on my own. Entering excited and overwhelmed. I just don’t get my head switched off and self-reflecting all the time. One guy was fucked by six other muscle men. Bare. A secret thought of: I would also like to be able to do that – banging my brain out for hours. How do the others do that? I drink a few beers and draw a line of coke alone. Gotta get me up to level first. Then I meet this guy. Topless, strong muscles, good kisser. Suddenly everything is very easy. Cock out, make out, form a team, fuck another one in a threesome. Another drink, another line. How should you end such a great night? I ask him: “Do we go to your place?” In his apartment he asks me: “Do you want Tina?” For a moment I am overwhelmed with it, but at the same time slightly high and therefore: “No, not me, but you go ahead.” I want it cool – I want it to be ok. It’s his thing and if he’s up to it now – why not? The guy gives himself an injection, we fuck, but I notice that I actually can not handle it at all. The cinema in my head rattles. How did I get in here? What am I doing here? The thoughts circle. I suddenly feel incredibly shitty and have to think of S. He collapsed in the club on his birthday last year. The funeral was a week later, in a small town in northern Germany. An electro track is playing in the chapel. It was so sad. – So: What am I doing here with this guy who just used CrystalfuckingMeth? And why do I have such a problem with other people’s consumption? Somehow I just want to get out of here, my stomach contracts, everything is too much for me. Out at the street, Karl-Marx-Allee, the sun shining way too bright. The street as wide as I am. A walk of shame on a usual Berlin Saturday. Come down and think about me and my life. What do I REALLY want? And a few days later I’m back in the toilet with a few people, the smartphone with the lines on it and I think: luckily I’m not as fucked up as the slamming guy that other day.

OK, let’s talk about me. Ever since I moved back to Cologne, because my relationship ended—or better put, because my boyfriend ditched me, which left a large dark hole in me—I’ve been taking drugs very differently, even by myself occasionally.

When the dating apps are on and running, but leading nowhere, I start a little session with myself. The particular choice of drug isn’t really important – but no downers! I also slam every now and then. I’m managing; but being high is just alone-time for me. Nobody is telling me what to do. Quality time. I don’t have to be social with or for others. I really don’t find it problematic, actually. If my friends would find out about it though, it would become a huge problem.. So I keep it secret – a risky game. It can’t come out; and that adds to the danger. The pressure’s huge. Being high is for me completely hitched up with sex; there really is no being loaded without wanting to fuck around. Sure, it makes me wonder: What does it mean? Being on my own so that I won’t feel alone among others? Being high to imagine being together with someone – intensely and real? How am I supposed to find a guy who’s going to go along with all that?

The orgasm is mine. Although sometimes I loved giving it to someone else. A touchscreen. A person. A wall. A hand. A mouth. A face. I did not really know why I used to give it away. Now I have become more conscious of where it can go. So often I used to give it away for clearly no reason, and that is where the devil used to laugh.* Now, I prefer keeping it to myself, or someone and a moment that I feel can be a providence for something. I did not know that my orgasm was stolen right in front of my eyes. I was not even aware of such a process. Of theft. I am going to save up and see what happens.

*Devil’s laugh: The clarity you feel after you cum

We turn on the radio,
there is speed, there is lust.
So cold. And not empty.
You fuck me, you lie by my side.

There is a river,
more cocaine.
We feel the night.
and we have sex.

So hot
and now empty.
I’m sick,
red points everywhere.
You stay there.

Acid, acid, acid,
there are big buses and again.
Here is the night.
Then we dream, dreamt.
We both have each other.

There is the moon,
full moon.
All we can see are lights.
and we do not sleep.

And now,
there is the sea.
Are we walking or swimming?
I cannot remember.

Everything is faster,
electric.
Animals everywhere,
and the gloom.

The turn of the death.
The Big Sur cliffs,
and it felt like a kiss.
The days,
our love.

I liked you, I felt safe with you. You liked me. You lived with Mona, You killed Mona. First understand it here and yet in the clinic and how that has impacted me. How this early story almost strangled me.

How much blood can actually come out of the asshole? Come on, you can take it. Deep red, but surely that must just be the j-lube, I think, no? I think so.

With him it’s always like this, ‘I find it sexy’, he said.

He was my soul shepherd. My first slam, like nailed upon the cross, tasted like the moon. High. Higher. But I wasn’t horny.

No more veins open. Stick it in me again, whatever.

Placed on each arm is a guy. Wonderful monsters. So cold like me.

Let’s do something immoral. I say it and want it.

Flashing in my brain becomes the cramping in my stomach.
Also pretty pictures flashing by, flashing pictures of childhood, with friends, with flowers. Everything is madness. It’s not stopping or going away.

Shit in my mouth. I only want to do it with you, you said. Flying high. I was never so high like I was with you. For me, the price wasn’t worth it. Protagonist underneath protagonists. All of me, my entire life. From the odour will be perfume and from the perfume will be odour.Waking up is understanding and is dying.

We got cookies from someone, Roland Schulz and me, we were joining the coming-out group at the local gay centre, he 17, me 19. Neither of us had a plan, somehow the cookies were supposed to “preglow”. Neither of us liked alcohol – and hash, that sounded good to us. We went up to the old city wall, made out at the Schlüter Memorial, it was still bright, midsummer, everybody could see us, everybody liked us. All of a sudden everything was easy – we got under the clothes, really wild. The cookies worked, fell in love right away. In the Nikolai Church, that was ’96, there was a gay and lesbian disco, in the Protestant Student Union, we went in straight, dancing was out of the question. It was so hot, Roland was so hot. So up on the gallery, the choir loft, behind the organ, the perfect hiding place. Jeans down, tongues everywhere, no idea about fucking. It didn’t matter. No holding, everything was so fun, everything was so right. Nobody knew me like that, me neither.

When we woke up, the music was off. All the people: gone. – Shit. The heavy wooden door locked and we, alone in the cool side aisle. Broken bottles still on the dance floor. I don’t remember how we finally got out. I only had eyes for Roland. That was my first sex.

GuiLty aS Dream
Sitting on the stretcher
He asked me
What happened? How do you know what he did?
The judgement was stronger than his bad English
I’m sorry for you
But did you ask for drugs?
Do you know him?
You should buy your own drugs?
Can you see what they see?
I’m guilty for I am a victim
May I ask for LSD in the drinks?
May I ask for trauma?
For all the hallucinations?
Are they following me?
Hurting me?
Judging me?
They are
You are
What did he want with that?
I am broken nor I neither will know why.

[14:22, 9.4.2019]

The thing I find most exhilarating about shooting up is the risk we willingly take every day. Each time I stick that needle in my arm, I put my entire life on the line and – in a sick way – being so close to death makes me feel more alive than ever. Time seemingly slows as I wait anxiously for the burst of scarlet red that comes when I’ve hit my mark. I find the vein with ease – I’ve done this many times before. As I push the plunger down further and further, I can feel my heart tremble. Any second could be my last, and yet I keep pushing all the way to the end. Because in that moment – when the final drop enters my bloodstream – the world slips away and there’s nothing but bliss. It literally takes my breath away; I cough. As I pull the needle out with shaky hands – my breathing shallow and irregular – I teeter on the edge of life & death. This is where WE belong.

[Last Fetish Easter Monday, in Berlin
on Grindr]

Should I come over
to you or not?

if you make it to dump 3
loads you are the king.

put me coca in the cunt,
to open her like a barn door.
And I’ll be a rocket.

But bring something
to make me super high. 

Sorry, what?, I’m
not your drug cab.

[Hours later]

yeah, sorry. was not
really clear in mind. 

wait a moment, I skype
with Colombia right now.

Colombia?
Drug mule?

[I am outraged.]

Nooo. Nonsense.
Have to organize my trip
to COL starting next week.

i’ll pay you for that. What
uppers do you have still?

[My interest in this guy is
now almost at zero]

So what? Not coming?
I’m kinda stoned.

no, sounds stressy.

3 cumshots in an hour would be
also pretty exhausting.

that’s not what i meant, but,
that you want me to be your drug taxi.

should have called mine.
we can do it next week as well.

no, i’ll be on my travels then.

yeah, bring me the good 
stuff from there.

[End of the conversation]

Pandemic. Crisis. The whole country on lockdown. The party was cancelled as an act of social responsibility. In bed, one last look at Grindr. “Hey, I’m with another guy, are you coming?” The same guy my friend showed me, whom he was falling in love with. So what? Nobody belongs to anybody, plus this doesn’t change anything, it’s just sex. “Where?” – “In my flat.”

Two boys are waiting for me naked. Both consume, I don’t. They offer me, I don’t want to. We fuck, we hug, we fuck again. I feel a perfect balance between the three of us. A fourth guy joins in after a while. My personal freedom is at this moment more important than the imposed social distance. The sun comes in through the window. It’s already daylight? How long has it been? We finished. A fuck I’ll remember for a while. We treat each other oddly well for a group sex date.

Sex always comes first, then everything else: my obligation as a citizen, as a friend and to myself, with my body. I could have lost the friendship from someone I was falling in love with because I wanted to be selfish. I could have transmitted the coronavirus and worst of all, I want to regret it, but I can’t. I wouldn’t do it again, though. I’m still paying the debt. Maybe too high a price.

Touchdown. Home sweet home and already high as a kite with three tongues up my ass. Knowing myself it was pretty clear that I’d take the first chance to: Get fucked. I had been looking forward to this for months. A session at the AL PARKER AnthropoCenter. They now offer Sex-O-Balance chem-retreats, and not only in VR, you can bring up to 6 people and it even counts as working hours: regenerative utopia training. At last! Fucking again, it’s insane! The latest kick they got are pheromone shots, you can even do historical chemsex reenactments. My long time companion Faust came along, which was especially great. He’s so attractive this guy, still after all these years. The seven of us agree on the antibodies shots and throw a dice to see who’s going to be looking after the others. That’s the new rule; one person stays sober during the session. Should something go wrong, that person would be there to provide assistance and document the events for later evaluation. That doesn’t mean they can’t be fooling around with us. After all, we’re all here to have fun. We had to practice this ritual for years. Everybody’s always got the hots for the sober trip attendant: that person is somehow always in the heat of the action, never excluded, but rather part of our collective horny body for the next 24 hours.

My sex is on fire: the nylon gym trousers I’m wearing are about to burst. I’m making out wildly with a gay Amazonian, and the others are joining in. Is that a dick or a homogram in my hand? The shots are induced and already kicking in. I find myself drowning in Faust’s chest hair, right in front of my nose, I can smell, taste, lick, gasp. It’s all so fucking real …

Eight long weeks on the way back to earth and alone on the flight this time. I spend days on the narrow panorama deck. Sometimes hanging out in the ejection capsule. There’s not much to do. I reflect a lot about what comes after communism, and I count the dark stars. Sure, there are all these interstellar cam groups, sex streams, live forums. Even had a sexbot as a fuck buddy for a short time. But it all bores me. There are also all kinds of psychoactive substances in the onboard pharmacy. Yesterday I took some Sensu Ketamine DR. It’s not supposed to get you high outside of darkrooms on earth. The rush was so retro and my horniness completely fragmented. “At some point you can’t jerk it off anymore”, I say to Faust on the video phone: “What’s the fun of shooting up alone?” he answers. It’s good that I can talk to Faust when I feel lonely. It’s different on the space station. For months there are only four of us there, but still I never feel alone. To be honest, it’s the flight home that’s always an ordeal for me. Quarantine is a fucking torture!

The first thing I’ll do on earth is a session! Still weeks to go but I’m already logged in on ChemZoom looking for guys to join me. All this planning is driving me crazier and hornier every day. But I guess I’ve got to learn to enjoy the anticipation. Pleasure delay. I’ve already got three matches and we’re all going on dates.
It’s been a long day. I’m going to sleep it off in the milky way fog.

I get off the space shuttle, breathe in the air of the earth. It’s summer! The first person I encounter is a tight body type from the ground crew. Black hair, short-sleeved brown uniform, grippy thighs and a shirt almost unbuttoned up to the belly button. Too hot. I can’t look away. This hotness deserves an invitation to our chem-retreat to share the naughty fun with us! As my luggage is handed to me, this radiating figure comes towards me and puts her hand on my chest. I return the gesture and put mine on hers. It flows warmly through me, from one to the other and back again. It recently became common practice on earth to greet each other by laying a hand on the heart of the other after the last great pandemic was over. He looks deep into my eyes and says: “Welcome to Planet Earth, Commandix Mephisto!”. His words ravage me. I immediately get a boner and think: At last, physical contact!