is liquid E in it: it makes me feel sick again. Danny tries to feel me up, but his hand is too fast and clumsy. Shit, I really don’t feel good.
I lie down on the red couch and listen to the laughter and the music and the hard smacking sounds of the balls on the pool table. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Eventually, we leave, but not before Dean has captured the cell numbers of two hot young guys at the bar. Dean is very obnoxious and I decide I don’t like him. In the cold parking lot, at half past 4 in the morning, he sees a young skinny queen shivering by the entrance. `Come here,’ he shouts `I want to fuck your ass.’
We piled into a sleek silver Mercedes that is cool and leathery and new. I feel a lot better; I’m actually sober.
In the car, Dean keeps saying to me: How big is it? Come on – show us your fucking cock.
Then he would laugh like he’d said something funny.
We arrived at a house built into a cliff, a huge house that Colonial written all over it. The garages were blasted into the mountain: the sky was already turning a thin shade of blue and birds were singing. The birds were fucking singing, I tell you.
Dean was talking into his cell to the two guys he’d cruised back at Rampage: `You can call me on this number. It’s a dual-SIM.’ What the fuck is a dual SIM anyway?
There were two sets of stairs leading up to the terrace above. Shall I go left? Right? Somehow these minor decisions seemed important. I went right.
The house was huge inside, like something out of a movie, with marble and wood floors and wooden staircase taking up much of the double-volume foyer.
The entertainment room was a long room with a lounge area on one end, opening up onto a bay window that looked out over the green and blue morning and most of Orange Grove and Bruma and Kensington.
Sunday morning and here I was, snorting khat and listening to Akon and Britney on high and watching soundless porn on a TV screen as flat and big as a monitor in a war room.
I did two grey/white granular lines of khat: they burned in my nose and left a bitter glow at the back of my throat.
On screen two blond muscular hulks were getting it on. Maybe it was the plasma screen or the effect of the drugs, but their cocks looked unusually large. Massive. Turning me on.
I asked Guy what he did to afford a grand pile like this. `I sell motor bikes,` he told me. Read: drugs.
Danny is unusually chatty – the drugs make him hyperactive. On the other hand, I was feeling very relaxed and detached. I didn’t feel drunk and I didn’t feel sober. I was thinking maybe I should stick to drugs, they don’t make me physically ill.
I did another line and lay back against some pillows on the L-shaped couch and started playing with my cock as I watched the flick.
Dan was standing by the TV, dancing, Dean was sprawled on the opposite coach and Guy, Guy was playing with cock through my jeans. He shouted to Dean: I have your answer. It’s eight inches, bud.