That time I smoked crack with my friend's mom...Submitted by monkeyswithguns at 2012-06-08 11:33:50 EDT
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Way back in the annals of history, I had friends. Amazing, I know, but it's true.
Among this group of friends, was a young girl named Anna. Anna was a virgin, and the first night I met her, she'd gotten her tongue pierced. Despicable young man that I was, I convinced her, in lieu of taking her virginity, to give me head after drinking a few shots of vodka (the girly girl's liquor). The same night that she had gotten her piercing. She was a real trooper,kept on going despite the pain, and I even managed to convince her to swallow the resulting body fluid at the end. Afterwards, she passed out thinking she had a relationship, but by light of day she found out otherwise.
Needless to say, being a younger girl, and demanding defense from our mutual friends, this irritated some of my companions. I pleaded my case, which in essence was that it was just a drunken fling thing, and I never stated that it would lead anywhere (all true, might I add), and that I meant no harm, and I didn't know she was a virgin, or so vulnerable (all false, might I add.)
Her brother later married a former girlfriend, and I always wanted him to start an argument with me so I could point out how my dick had been in two of the important females in his life, and if he didn't shut up it'd soon be in his mother as well.
Now that little story has no real bearing on the meat of the matter, smoking crack with matriarchs, but I just wanted to throw that out there because like many men I enjoy bragging about my sexual conquests on the internet, and it's a good introduction to how I became friends with Timmy.
My excellent defense placated the situation, but still left something lacking, so in my great wisdom, I set her up with another guy friend from the group, Timmy.
A red-headed step child, in the most literal sense of that term, Timmy had grown up in a largely broken home. He once confided to me that his sister had been gang raped, and he had his life threatened on more than one occasion by the culprits. I guess that's what happens when you grow up in Richmond ghettos as a white boy. So poor, miserable Timmy was more than willing to go along with my plan. My plan however, was to simply have him date her awhile to take some heat off of me. A great friend, right? Well, Timmy fell in love, and they dated successfully for several months.
They both moved back to their hometown, about an hour away, and while we kept in touch, I didn't get the opportunity to visit often, but I did when I could. At the time, I was a very likable guy, so Anna eventually cooled her hatred for me, and we became friends again, and everyone else accepted it and life went on within our group. We partied, hooked up, caused a little mayhem, did some crappy graffiti, all the things you do as part of life in a small town with nothing else to do and no route for escape. Basically, everything I've written about as my history in the past.
A few months passed, and Anna got pregnant. Timmy was not ready for this, neither was Anna, being only 16. She had decided to give up the baby to an adoption agency that her mother had set up, and everyone agreed it was the best option for them, but it still didn't sit quite well with Timmy. At this point, Timmy had been living again with his mom, in an old beat up single-wide in the country. A vast improvement over the city ghetto, but far from comfortable by any means.
He was working construction with a guy his mom dated off and on, and they kept the rent paid, but he was still pretty despondent, given his lot in life, and so it wasn't a huge shock when I visited him out of the blue one time, and he admitted that he had begun smoking crack on occasion.
At this point in my life, I had some experience with drugs, but had largely confined myself to pot, acid, and pills, but I was feeling pretty crappy, had some spare money, and decided why not, so I asked him to let me try it out. Actually, he offered it and I accepted it, it wasn't a hard sell. We rode off in my old beat-up jeep, and I waited at a corner while he went and bought a $20 piece of crack, and we then drove to an abandoned grocery store, and pulled around back. Timmy went up to a vending machine, bought a soda, poured it out, and fashioned a pipe for us to use.
I thought it strange that he should put cigarette ashes on the filter, but apparently that was how it was done. It is indeed, as the stuff melts upon ignition. The ashes capture the melted crack, so it can continue to be smoked, and that's a lesson nobody needs to know. He took a hit, and passed it to me. I took my first hit of crack parked in my jeep behind a dumpster behind a long closed grocery store. How apt that I should begin a road to wasted nowhere, behind a wasted business, in a wasted community, in a wasted town.
Something nobody really mentions about crack is it's smell when smoked. It's a sickly-sweet smell, and how appropriate it is for a sickly-sweet drug. Makes you feel sweet, then fucking sick of your actions. I've noticed the smell a few times when walking into stranger's houses, it's quite distinct and unmistakable for anything else other than just-smoked crack. I've smelt it in the strangest of places too, like a lawyer's bathroom during a party, and just out back behind a DMV office, which explains much of that government office.
I inhaled, held it in as long as I could, and upon exhalation, felt a huge rush. Nothing in the world comes anywhere near it, not even other drugs, and I'm well experienced enough to have basis for comparison. I felt like a god, and said as much. In fact, I began talking all kinds of shit, about how great I felt. I wanted more, and so we went off to get some. That's what happens with crack, and is why it's such a great investment for hood rats, like most addictive drugs, it sells itself with no need for marketing and the customer base is loyal to death/incarceration (and often, beyond. Incarceration that is, no crack-heads are coming back to life, as far as I know, and if they begin, we're all fucked.)
We pulled up to his guys house in the hood, and walked inside while they did the deal, apparently he owed money, so it took awhile. While I was waiting, still quite high, I went over and sat down with a 300 lb, 6'5" black guy who reeked of prison, and started a conversation about how I had just tried something great, and couldn't wait to do more, which was exactly what my friend and I were here for, and, and, and.... the guy cut me off. He was apparently the security, and was used to this crap, said as much, but said he didn't have time to chit-chat, I was distracting him from his work, which was in essence to keep an eye out for police and other problems. We went back to his trailer, smoked it, and 30 minutes later, felt like crap. I twitched myself to sleep, which only came around 4:30am.
So that was my first foray into the world of crack-cocaine. I didn't do it often, as it was expensive, and I've always been tight with money. It was the only time I actually paid for it, as after I came down, I just felt dirty, and guilty and rightfully so. I had been smoking crack with the father of a yet to be born child of a good friend, who needed the money to pay for the delivery of said child.
The only times after that when I used crack were when it was on offer, which at Timmy's house, it always was. I had only met Timmy's mom a couple of times, and while she seemed trashy, I had no idea she got high, or anything like it. Then one day, I visited, and Timmy's mom showed up with some old black dude. I don't know for sure, but I can only assume that she was turning tricks for rocks. I assume that because when they came in, they both sat down, and she pulled out a crack pipe. The old black guy pulled out an 8 ball, and proceeded to get everyone blasted while flirting with the old skank.
For some strange reason, probably because I wasn't demanding it like they were, the old guy kept pushing little piles of rocks over toward me. Maybe he fancied me more than the old hag, who knows, but he was more willing to share with me than he was with them, which to a couple of hard-wired crack fiends caused some major friction. They started getting pissed at me, so I got pissed right back at them. I had a small pile of crack in front of me, and for some reason, right at that moment, I decided this was bullshit, I was better than this, and I was better than them. I had made up my mind to quit hanging out with them, so when they started talking shit again, and asking me for my pile, I said "Fine, it's yours." I then flung the pile of crack onto the linoleum of their kitchenette. All 3 crackheads dove for the floor, mother, son, and john were scrapping, punching, and kicking for the little pebbles, though as dirty as it was, could have just been dust, ramen noodle bits, or dried cat turds.
I laughed and left, and that's the story of how I smoked crack with my friend's mom.