I'm with Mark and Phoebe. I feel a kind of guilty adrenaline rush because I know we're doing the forbidden. Mark has cocaine, a little vial of white powder. He puts some on his finger and snorts it. He encourages us to try some too. But Mom is somewhere in the house, looking for us. I know she would flip out if she found us. I'm scared.
NEXT, I'm out on the balcony of a building. It's on a high floor and a city scene is below. Others are with me. Tim B. is here. I have a plate of stale french fries on my lap. He really wants them -- not to eat but to use as ammo for some game he's playing with some other people. We're sitting next to each other. Our legs are wrapped together and our bodies are touching.
french fry ammo
"What do I have to do to have those french fries," he asks me. I tell him he has to spend some time with me. He says okay, but I can tell he had to think about it before agreeing to it.
NEXT, I'm recounting a story (telling the cops?), and it's playing back in my mind visually. I'm with M., showing him some pictures and postcards. They're cheesy pics of 1940s-style couples looking at each other, like in old black & white films. As I flip through them, they get a little racier, showing riske acts. I can tell they're turning M. on, and he mentions that they're hot. Suddenly we're in a "bed" together (out in the woods, on a big expanse of sleeping bags and blankets on the ground). Then I'm giving him a blow job. He comes quickly, and I can feel/taste the gooey liquid in my mouth. As I tell the story I notice a reaction when I describe this part. People seem shocked or something.
a blow job
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