My First Time Doing Rails and Fucking Like a Degenerate [MF]

Here are a few notes, before I begin:

This is a true story, and the only artistic license involved is the clean and exact tallying of hours. Timekeeping was messier than portrayed, for reasons that anyone who's partied on stimulants will understand.

The "X hours later" stuff refers to the TOTAL time elapsed after my first ever line of speed, which happened about 3:00 am. The tale begins in the honeyed flytrap that was the San Fernando Valley in the mid-to-late 1990s. The Valley was awash in cheap and omnipresent stimulants, as well as cheap and adventurous young women from all over the country. There's a reason it was the heart of the US porn industry until the mid 2000s, after all.

So, yeah, I definitely remember my first time getting spun. I remember it in bright technicolor, with full surround-sound. Shit, I can remember the sound of the gluck-gluck-glucks in this story better than I can any of the glucks that I've heard in just the last year or so, because the event made a fucking impression on me. Here goes:

I was working a tech support line in LA's San Fernando Valley back in the mid-1990s. I'd started a couple weeks before, but this was my first day working the graveyard shift. I'd just clocked in and grabbed a cubicle when this absolute smokeshow of a girl dropped her immense purse onto the cubicle next to mine, claiming it with a THUNK. Somehow, I managed not to just stare at her for a couple of minutes, whispering "holy shit" to myself, but it was a close thing. Let me describe her, so you can understand why:

She was a short girl, bout 5'3" maybe, with what I can only call "slutty eyes"— gray-green, sort of half-lidded most of the time, and predatory enough that you could feel when she was looking at you. She had straight, bright red hair piled on her head(she was a natural redhead, but amped to comic-book levels of crimson via hair dye), and was curvy in a "body type: fuck-doll" sort of way, and a make-grown-men-drool way, and definitely NOT in a a chunky-in-the-middle way. She couldn't have weighed more than 120 lbs or so, despite that curviness. She wore a pair of black daisy-duke shorts, and a leopard-print baby-tee. I found out pretty quick that she was 18 years old, and just a few days away from turning 19.

But beyond her looks, she just carried herself in an enthralling way that wouldn't let you take your eyes off her. She was master of the deadpan comeback, and was absolutely too mature for her years, with a way of moving between insinuation and startling declaration that would legit make you think that everything you said, or everything that had just happened, had gone exactly according to her plans. She was brilliantly sarcastic;Lll and could roll her eyes loudly enough to, if not drive away the constant mob of men ogling and salivating over her, then at least keep them at enough of a distance that she couldn't hear them muttering "…bitch" to themselves after she shot them down.

We hit it off really well, flirting and chatting in between calls. She mentioned that she caught a bus into work that day, and I told her it was out that she couldn't catch one home afterwards, because nothing ran at 2:00 am, when our shift ended. "Well, shit," she said. "Can I catch a ride back home with you tonight?" I told her "yes," becauseI'm not an idiot, and because it was impossible not to notice that any time spent with her was pretty damn electric.

So 2:00 am rolls around, and we clock out. I start driving towards her place, but she gets kind of quiet, and pretty soon I'm confused about whether I should take the next off-ramp, or the one after that. And when I ask her where to go, it's like she just came to a decision about something important. She said "fuck it. Take me to your place instead."That didn't really surprise me, since we'd been hitting it off so well all night. But you can be damn sure that my brain was full of high-fives and triumphant cheering. I asked if she needed to stop at home to pick up a change of clothes, and she rolled her eyes and said, "yeeeeeah, I kind of doubt that what I'll be begging you for tonight will be clothes."

Hoookay, that one definitely DID surprise me. Flirting continued for a good 45 min. until we got to my neighborhood. She went quiet for a few minutes, and when I had parked and killed the engine, she looked over to me with a bit of the devil in her eyes.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," she answered. "Do you want to do something really bad?"

Now, I (M 23) was a few years older than she (F 18) was, but I was still a man in my very early 20s. And given that testosterone was already making about 50% of my decisions for me at that age, there was zero chance of me not stepping up to that challenge. Still, I managed enough of a survival instinct to ask "so, how bad are we talking?"

"Like, it's a felony if we get caught with it bad," she said. Did I mention that her eyes were irresistibly slutty? Because they were. And besides, shit, that sounded like a hell of a good time. So when we got inside my place, the little red-headed girl pulled out a mirror and a razor and lined us both up. She made to go first, putting a straw to one nostril. "Now, you've only done coke before, right?"

"Yeah, I've done coke before, I said, my pride a little hurt. "It can't be too much different, can it? I'll be fine."

"It is a little different," she said. "It'll sting more than coke, but I'll help you get through it."

I scoffed, thinking that she was just being weird. She snorted her rail in one go, then tilted her head back and sniffled. There was a tear in one of her eyes, but she was grinning at me as she offered me the straw. "You know, you're kind of looking at me like I'm juuuust about to walk into your trap."

"Do that line, and then we'll both find out together," she said.

Well, challenge accepted. I put the straw to the rail, snorted the damn thing, and then immediately threw my head back like I'd been punched in the goddamn face. I managed a strangled sort of "aaargh!" sound (hey, the shit going around LA in the 90s hurt like hell when snorted, so sue me), and then she was on me, jamming her tongue into my mouth, and kissing me like she was starving. She pushed me back onto my bed, straddled my right arm, and started grinding down onto my hand, so I certainly wasn't thinking about the pain any more.

More kissing, more grinding, and and we were staring into each other's eyes again. "So, it was a trap after all," I said.

"Ooh, we're both trapped now, baby." Her voice was a hungry purr.

Ten minutes later, we had our hands down each others' pants, and were exchanging dirty stories about our past experiences, and getting really graphic while doing so.

Thirty minutes later, and we had to agree to limit ourselves to only going down on each other for 5 min. at a time, because each of us found ourself obsessed with the need to give the other one head. I mean, I'd always loved making girls talk to Jesus by putting my mouth on their pussies, but this was like a sudden, autistic-level, hyperfocused need. (Also, there was way too much of a height difference to make a 69 even possible).

An hour later, and we were taking turns standing in my shower and shaving all the naughty parts on each other completely smooth, to allow us both to indulge our brand new oral obsessions with each other with complete abandon, without having to stop to flick pubic hair off our tongues.

Two hours later, and she was on her back, with her right and left wrists saran-wrapped to her right and left ankles, begging for me to fuck her cunt with my cock and my ex-girlfriend's dildo at the same time. The only light in the room came from a strobe light overhead, plus the porn my vcr was sending to my monitor.

Four hours (and a couple more lines) later, and I realized how odd it was that getting something to eat hadn't crossed my mind. The redhead just giggled and popped a birth-control pill, saying that was all the food she needed. And then she pulled my head down between her legs, saying we both needed me to eat something, right there, and right now. I followed that bit of good advice right away. I swear to God, she smelled like Fruity Pebbles cereal, and she tasted like honeysuckle and honest sweat.

Six hours later, and I was on hour 3 of eating her pussy, just obsessed with how she could ramble about the filthiest things ever while my fingers and tongue wound her up tighter and tighter, then cum hard, usually with a noticeable squirt, only needing a minute or so to recover before starting the next roller coaster ride.

Eight hours later, and we had gone through every porn videotape I owned, and she was talking about stopping by her best friend's house to borrow some of her porn, though we agreed that I should probably fuck her ass first. A couple more rails were snorted.

Ten hours later, and she was half-moaning, half-chanting something about how I could fuck her ass forever, and that she felt closer to God than she'd ever been. I discovered that when I slowed down my rhythm or stopped stroking to delay my own cum, I was actually squeezing off a half-pulse of jizz that I couldn't feel, but only softening a little bit before stiffening up again as I picked my stroke back up. Every time she started urging me to cum because her ass was getting sore, I'd speed up my fucking, she'd feel me getting close, hear the obscene sounds of her ass getting pounded, and look at the mirrored closet door across from us, and blitz her pussy with a free hand until she came, followed by more babbling about God being anal sex, and more dreamy, contented, obsessive fucking for both of us. To this day, that extended, indulgent, glorious and transformative session of deep ass-ownership remains the best fucking I've ever put down on someone else. It was like fucking in the Avatar State.

Twelve hours later, and we realized we needed to be back at work in 2 hours, so she said we should try to get an hour of sleep before showering and getting dressed.

Twelve and a half hours later, and it was clear that we were far, far from sleeping. Unfortunately, every hole she had was sore, and on my end, my cock was tender from overwork, the bit of webbing under my tongue was sore from being stretched by hours of pussy-eating, and I'd somehow lost most of my voice, though I could manage a throaty, low, Isaac Hayes sort of tone, but only for short, painful sentences. And we were both still stupidly horny. Time for a couple more lines!

Fourteen hours later, and I called in sick to work (easy to do, with my voice shot). Then my deviant little corruptor had her friend (the same one she wanted to borrow porn from) call work on her behalf, so it looked like she was calling from home, in the Valley, instead of the pit of debauch that was my fuck-drenched LB bedroom.

Seventeen hours later (so, about 7:00 pm), we finally got our shit together enough to leave my bedroom… but only to hit the drugstore down the street for Gatorade, lube, mascara, and lipstick.

Eighteen hours later, and the headhead revealed that her jaw wasn't sore anymore, and proposed that I fuck her face "like a caveman that hated her fucking guts." When I said something about not wanting to hurt her, she told me in a very serious voice thatshe had gotten the sluttiest red lipstick they had, and was going to put on way too much mascara, "like what a high school girl would think looked sexy enough to get a college boy to fuck her. But I want it to end up running all down my face, like she ran into 3 or 4 college guys who decided to fuck her all at once."

Sweet Jesus, how could anyone be so perfectly fucking filthy?

Smirking, I asked the little red-haired wet dream if she knew how to cry on command. She stopped painting on the black mascara and stared at me. "No, Daddy," she deadpanned. "But you know how to make me cry for real, don't you, Daddy?"

My brain turned off at that moment. Just CLICK! and I didn't have access to rational thought any more. I was all instinct, and hard cock, and put me into girl NOW.

So yeah, I'm guessing that eighteen hours and maybe ten seconds later, we were just debauched animals doing degenerate gorilla-fucking or something, because we definitely cracked my box spring at some point. What I do know is that, by the time I finally blew what would be my last load for about a week down her throat, her lips were genuinely bruised, she'd definitely cried real tears, and her heavy, slutty makeup had given me sort of a Shroud of Turin-type reverse image on the newly-smooth and shaven area between my navel and my balls.

More depraved chemsex would follow in the months to come, and we were pretty much inseparable for the next half-year, until things went spectacularly thermonuclear. But that wicked, wonderful little redhead had already punched my ticket to deviance and debauchery for life, and that's what's important.

sigh

Anyways, thanks for the chance to share this story of misspent youth with all you freaks. Cheers!