Date: Sun, 12 Sep 2004 05:30:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop; Chapter 7: Guilt

I was high. Not high in that pleasant, relaxing way, but high in that
out-of-control, think you're gonna fall of the edge of a building way. I
was so high I couldn't trust my actions and even walking around was
difficult to manage. I was blitzed. In hindsight, I'm amazed I didn't kill
myself on the way home.

In the apartment, I took a shower and my body was so ultra-sensitive that
it felt like I was being pounded by fists the whole time. I washed off all
the sweat and cum and, in front of the mirror, gingerly tried to see what
was happening to me. My body felt sick, nauseous, achy.

The first thing I noticed was that the tattoo on my bicep had expanded,
sending spikey tribal patterns up the ball of my shoulder, onto my shoulder
blade, around onto my pec. They were black, deep blue, tinged with red. It
was colorful. The fucking tongue piercing was clicking around my mouth. I
checked my nipples and they were completely healed, if they'd ever even
been "damaged." The metal rings had just somehow fused with me, rather than
pierced me.

I gingerly touched my nuts and found that were still just as big. It was
like having a water balloon attached to my body. My testicles were floating
around somewhere in there and they didn't hurt or anything. I was so high
and tired, I just accepted it at face value and went to lay down.

I started sweating and my body started aching even more. It felt like I had
the flu, complete with fever and night sweats. I started to convulse
slightly, with muscles all over my body contracting painfully, then
releasing as another muscle contracted to take its place. This was a slow,
tense process and it proceeded down my body in unpredictable ways, flexing,
releasing. I was so high that all I could do was lay there and take it; my
mind was overwhelmed and unable to think of what else I could do. I must've
still been very out of it, because several times, I thought I could
actually see my body get bigger. I watched my foot lengthen and widen just
a little. I watched my hands expand. I watched my chest pump up. Maybe
these were just hallucinations, brought on by the bad trip. I wasn't
sure. I didn't care. I couldn't worry about it.

When it subsided, I just lay in the bed, spread-eagle, cooling off from the
fever that broke. I just stared at the ceiling, unable even to adequately
ponder what was happening. I didn't care right now. I couldn't change
it. All I wanted to do was rest. Despite this, my cock took this moment to
harden up and start drooling on my stomach. Sexual thoughts entered my
head, but I was too blitzed to even fantasize about them. I let them pass
by my attention unhindered.

I must've fallen asleep because the sound of my bedroom door being open
startled me. I sat up a little, feeling only a little wobbly from the weed,
as my lady came in the room, dressed in a slinky black dress and heels. The
high had worn off enough to start being pleasant again and my body didn't
hurt as much. She came in the room and cocked her hip, seeing my naked and
splayed out on the bed. My cock was half-hard.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, "I've been calling you for hours."

"Fuck off!" I blurted, sneering at her, "My time is my own."

I rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, I had piss like
a race horse. I hauled myself up to my feet and went into the bathroom,
kicking the door shut as I did. I pissed about a gallon of liquid, all of
it orange and smelly as hell. I was brimming with annoyance, and my brain
was shut off, so I didn't much think about how weird this was. I realized
that my nuts had gotten smaller, started returning to a normal size. I
touched my sack and found them still large, but nowhere near as freakish as
before. I must be absorbing the liquid; maybe that's why I had pissed so
much.

When I came out of the room, she was naked, having slipped off her dress,
and was lounging on the bed seductively. I say that like I would be
interested in her body. I looked at it and remembered the soft curves, her
nice sized tits, and the beauty of her cunt. Memories of our sex together
surfaced; it had always been good. I'd always desired her.

But now, it was different. I was still attracted to her, but it wasn't as
overriding as it had been. There were different options now. I looked at
her and mentally compared her shape to Nick's and I found myself wanting
Nick's more than hers. Nonetheless, she was here, naked, obviously ready to
go, and my cock was already responding. It hardened up immediately. She saw
this and licked her lips, reaching out to wrap her hand around the shaft,
pulling my closer to the bed. I stumbled forward, my brain a haze of
weed-induced sexual desire. My own instincts were perking up along with my
cock and the thought of fucking her wasn't so bad - - it certainly beat
just sitting here and stroking.

I engaged with her without much preamble. She made a token attempt at some
foreplay, but I brushed it off; I wasn't in the mood for touchy-feely. I
inserted myself and pinned her to the bed, taking my time getting myself
properly seated inside her, wriggling my hips, rotating my cock in her. She
was gasping and writhing on the bed underneath me and I had never felt so
powerful as when I trapped her beneath the weight of my body. I was in
control and I knew it. She didn't have even half the strength she might
need to stop me.

A huge wave of . . . something . . . surfaced in me. I can't say exactly
what it was, but fuck, I felt aggressive and pissed off and horny, all
mixing together. I had felt this way before in my life, usually in
adolescence when sexual need had overtaken my ability to control myself,
but never had it been so strong and palpable, never had my mind been
totally blotted out by it.

I thrust into her several times, pivoting my hips and spreading my legs. I
collected her legs onto my shoulders and folded her over with my torso, my
face moving just above hers. I was angry and I sneered at her. At first,
she didn't seem to notice, but then, she looked at me sensually, as if she
were still in control of me. Her expression pissed me off even further.

"You did this to me," I accused.

She seemed to consider a moment, as if weighing her options. She wanted to
admit it, I could see it in her eyes, but she was thinking better of it. I
made several more thrusts into her, planted my hands on either side of her,
pinning her arms down. My massive biceps and forearms bulged and my huge
fists clenched. I was into her to my root, my huge nuts slapping against
her ass.

"Yes," she admitted.

There had been some part of me that had been rejecting her guilt, that
couldn't possibly believe I could be so betrayed by someone I had loved so
much. That part just shut off and went to sit in the corner of my mind,
while my anger flared up brilliant and powerful. I started fucking her for
all I was worth. At this point, I was worth quite a lot. I had the stamina
of a running horse and kept sliding into and out of her, using my new body
to pivot against her, twist her into new positions, to show her who was the
man here, who was in control. I did it all filled with complete rage. My
cock was completely hard the whole time and I worked it. Knowing I couldn't
cum, I never tried. Just like before, I rode the wave of her pleasure, her
orgasms, her screams and twitched, never trying to satisfy myself at all.

I knew what I was doing. I was unloading streams and streams of my narcotic
pre-cum into her and she was literally getting high on it. I watched her
eyes dilate; I watched reason leave her face completely.

At one point, I hauled her off the bed and, still fucking her, walked her
out to the kitchen. I set her unceremoniously on the edge of the kitchen
counter while I pivoted in her. My ass muscles were working on autopilot at
this point. I reached into the frig and got a beer, popping the top and
taking a huge swig of it. She was getting off on this. Never before had I
even had a portion of the physical strength I might need to pull something
like that off. It was intoxicating for me to be able to do it, and for her
to have it done to her. I put the cold beer can against her clit and she
started orgasming again, screaming my name "James James James" over and
over. I kept fucking. I walked her back into the bedroom the same way.

She pleaded for mercy and, after two hours, I'd had enough. I'd made my
point. I withdrew from her, shoved her aside, and lay down on the bed
again, spreading my legs, sitting up on my pillows. I grabbed the remote,
took another swig of beer, and toggled on some late-night wrestling. I
wondered if they were what I was becoming? I was larger now, I could tell
from how her body fit against mine. I think I had grown another couple of
inches in the last few hours. I must be 6'5" by now. I was heavily muscled,
but nowhere near as literally big as a professional wrestler. My frame had
grown larger, but not much thicker than before. For my size, I still had a
medium build.

My cock was still hard and drooling. I watched her at the side of the bed,
naked, maybe even a little embarrassed, but she kept looking at my cock. At
some point, she couldn't stop herself from sliding on to the bed and
sucking me. She was lapping up the pre-cum like a dog, then, sucking my
cock to produce more. I just kept watching the wrestling, letting her go at
my cock at her own speed. Like I said, I was surfing the wave here. I felt
good . . . no, it felt GREAT . . . both the literal sensations and the fact
that I was controlling this bitch who'd done this violation to me; payback
was wonderful.

I planted my heels in the bed, grabbed a knot of her long hair, and plunged
into her face, down her throat, made her gag. I held her there, just to
punctuate who was in control, then I released her. She came up, spitting
and gagging.

"You asshole!" she yelled.

"Asshole?" I said incredulously, "I'm an asshole? Really? Let's see just
how much of an asshole I can be, then, you cunt." I stood up off the bed,
grabbed her wrist. She struggled against me, but I was so fucking strong
now. I grabbed her clothes and dragged her to the front door, ejecting her
out into the hallway of my apartment building. I dropped her clothes in
front her.

"Here, bitch," I said. I grabbed the base of my cock and waved it at her,
flinging the last drops of pre-cum she'd get from me on the open door. "I
don't want to see you again, bitch. You betrayed me. Turned me into this
fucking freak! You can just fuck off and suffer withdrawal from it."

I slammed the door and stalked back through my apartment. I was restless
and energized now. Unfortunately, the sexual need I'd built up by fucking
her for two hours and from her blowing me started to crash back to me. I
contemplated having another week of not shooting and the concept of it was
painful in my head. I couldn't do it. I'd go crazy. They'd have to lock me
away.

I realized though, I had to piss again. I went to the bathroom and let
loose another huge load of piss, still that weird burnt orange color. It
felt incredibly good to let it go. I must've been holding onto it while I
had been fucking; "piss hardon" and all. My stomach growled mightily and I
realized that I hadn't eaten all day.

I went to the kitchen again and pulled out some sandwich turkey and ate a
couple of slices. I tasted foul so I spat it back up. I downed some orange
juice and that tasted like battery acid, so I poured it out. I was still in
that pleasantly high stage, still flying. I'd been dosed huge by the mask,
and I wondered how long this high would really last. Everything I pulled
out of the frig was either spoiled, or fucked up or something. I threw it
all out and hit the phone, ordered three pizzas.

I hit the shower after that, just to wash off the "woman" from me. This
shower felt a lot better than the previous one and I really got into
touching my body. This got me hard again, but I was at that stage that just
about anything got me had. I gave myself a huge load of pre-cum and downed
it. It was tasty; I could see how everyone was so addicted to it. I
wondered briefly if it were possible for ME to be addicted to it.

My nuts had "gone down" again, this time leaving me with standard,
human-size, low-hangers. They were still a lot larger than they had been,
but both testicles together filled in my palm, even if my sack was hanging
about two inches lower than it had been. In the mirror, my nuts looked
disproportionately larger than my cock and I wondered idly if Sarge had
plans for IT too.

I dried off and slipped on my sweat pants. This pair had come before I
started changing at all and they were very small on me, accentuating the
level to which I'd grown large. The legs only came down to about mid-calf
now, so I just let them ride up to my knees. The waist band was stretched
and cut across my belly well-below my navel, barely covering my
pubes. Needless to say, my bulge was pretty apparent. Whatever, I thought
to myself.

About that time, the doorbell rang. Ah . . . Pizza! I was so fucking
hungry. I grabbed some bills and headed to the door. I opened it. The same
19-year-old fresh-faced pizza boy from the other night was there. I looked
at him. He looked at me. Up and down his eyes went. HE was registering the
changes. He was probably wondering if he'd noticed them before. I flexed,
hardening my abs for him, letting him see the size of my bicep. I clicked
the metal in my tongue around my teeth . . . click, click, click.

I shifted forward a step and held out the money. He juggled the pizzas I
had ordered and, once he took the money, I took the boxes from him. I
touched his fingers with my own and felt him tense up a bit. I reached out
and touched the back of his hand and I smiled at him.

He was young, with tousled brown hair under his pizza-boy cap. He was
obviously athletic with his broad shoulders. I wondered what his body
looked like under his pizza-boy shirt. I watched his eyes move over me,
seemingly discretely, but I caught every glance. I saw his nose flaring, he
was . . . smelling me? Weird. He shifted around on his feet, digging in his
pockets for change. I put the pizzas on the credenza.

Fuck this foreplay, I thought to myself. I reached out and put by big hand
on his neck, and drug him into the apartment, into my kiss. His mouth was
hot. He was tense and startled. I sucked his tongue into my mouth and
gently chewed it, while I pressed him up to me. His hands were on my chest,
gently pressing back, his feet, trying to find purchase. As I kissed him,
turning my head back and forth, his resistance intensified and we struggled
a bit. It reminded me of horseplay with my brothers, that increasing test
of strength against strength, until he started to panic and press harder. I
let him go. He dropped back panting, his cap disheveled.

I drug my hand down my chest, flicking my nipple ring as I did. I wanted
the pizza boy. I don't know why - - because I KNEW I couldn't cum - - but I
wanted to touch his body and unwrap him from his clothes. In my head, this
contrasted heavily with seeing my lady naked on the bed; I was becoming a
fag, that much was certain now. It wasn't just an idle compulsion to have
sex with men anymore, not just a fleeting effect of the weed. Despite that
I was still high, my base sexual desire was being replaced with men. And
even then, the pizza boy was just that . . . a boy, barely old enough to be
considered an adult.

He went back to getting my change from his pocket, obviously uncertain of
what to do next. He was freaked out. I wondered if he knew he was gay or
not. His eyes kept going to my bulge, now forming a bit of a tent. I opened
a pizza box and hauled out a slice of pepperoni, taking a bit and chewing
it. God it tasted good. I realized how fucking hungry I was.

I picked up the boxes, and headed into the living room, dropping them on
the coffee table. I looked back at the pizza boy who was holding out my
change. I held out my hand and he walked over and put it in my palm. I felt
the heat of his fingers again.

"Why don't you stay?" I asked him.

"I . . . I couldn't," he said.

"Why?" I said. I sat down on the couch and spread my legs, showing my tent
to him. "Close the door," I ordered him. He considered this for a while as
I ate my slice. Then he closed the door and stood by the end of the
couch. I gestured for him to come over and he did awkwardly. I grabbed him
by his belt loops and drug him in front of me, my hands on his hips. I
guided him, moved his hips a bit, tested his balance.

I look up at him and he's rapt, his mouth open, looking down at me with
obvious lust. I press my face into his crotch and nuzzle it, awakening his
cock. I slide my hands up his body, under his shirt and find his warm skin
there, unexpectedly furry. I run my hands through it, pulling on it
lightly. He sighed as I found his chest, ran my palm over his nipple. It
hardened up immediately. I knew I had him now.

I pulled used my hands to raise his shirt up his body. I was so tall now
that even sitting down in front of him, I could reach his nipple. I put my
mouth on it and started sucking while I pushed his shirt over his head,
knocking his cap off in the process. He moaned as I did it. Once his shirt
was off, I moved my other hand to work his other nipple while I sucked on
the first. He bucked his chest outward and sucked in his breath.

I stood up then, taller than him by several inches and outweighing him by
about 50 lbs of muscle. I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him, working his
mouth with my own, pressing my naked torso against his, grinding my hips
against his. He wasn't prepared for this intensity, I could tell by how his
hands stayed at his side, never touching me, not know what to do with
them. I pressed against him, used the weight of my body to control him,
bending him backward until he gently lost his balance and sat on the coffee
table. I reached down, hooked my hands under his knees and raised them up.

I pushed off his sneakers and peeled off his socks, burying my face in the
sole of his foot, nibbling it while I got his other foot naked. He squirmed
and smiled a compulsory smile of someone being tickled. I had his ankle
firmly in my hand so while his foot twitched and writhed, he was
helpless. I nibbled his other sole just as much causing him to squirm even
more. I reached down and undid his pants, noting both the tent there and
the wet spot forming.

I chuckled at his wet spot and when he looked at my crotch, I had a wet
spot about the size of a grapefruit in the front my sweats. He gasped at
this and reached up to touch it. Pre-cum was soaked through the fabric and
he got some on his fingers. He brought it to his mouth and licked his
fingertips. I knew he was hooked now . . . the narcotic in them would make
him hornier than he had known possible.

I reached down with a hand and firmly grabbed his crotch, kneading his cock
and balls through the denim of his jeans. I unbuttoned them and slid them
off along with his boxer shorts. He was naked now, a tableau of hairy,
athletic flesh. I ran my hands all over him, keeping him bent over, his
legs on my shoulders. His hands went to his cock to start jacking it, and
he got himself very hard, his cock turning a deep purple color. I stood
back and dropped my sweat pants, freeing my erection and my low-hangers. He
looked at them hungrily, so I spun him around on the coffee table until his
face was near my crotch. I used my thumb to open his mouth and guided my
cock into it, while I 69'd him, taking his cock into mine.

The rightness of his cock in my mouth convinced me that whatever had
occurred, I was now totally a faggot. I got off on its hardness, the musty
smell, the beauty of the shape of the glans and the taste of his pre-cum. I
put it in my mouth and flicked my tongue against the frenum, causing
high-pitched squeals from him. He raised his legs and locked them around my
back, and I went deeper and deeper on his cock, taking all 8 inches into my
throat without gagging. I surprised myself to find I could hold it there
until I needed a breath. "Sweet," I thought to myself.

Pizza-boy tried to blow me, but he just wasn't as adept at it as I
needed. His efforts concentrated on about the first third of my cock and
were basically him holding it in his mouth and flicking with his tongue. He
was milking my pre-cum and I let him, knowing that the more he ate, the
more he'd be able to be controlled. The thought of enslaving this pizza-boy
should have been repugnant to, in fact, part of my mind rebelled. That part
was a small quiet voice, however, in a brain that was screaming for sexual
release and which was high as a kite.

Not getting satisfaction, I withdrew from him. I left him panting on the
coffee table while I fetched some condoms and lube. When I came back, he
was sitting up on the edge of the table jacking off. I unceremoniously
reached down and flipped him on his back. I put the condom on and lubed up
my cock. I lubed up a finger and angled it toward his hole.

"I haven't done that before," he breathed.

I jammed my middle finger into his hole, sliding it inside him in one fell
swoop. Here was the end of my becoming a fag. I had my finger up another
man's ass and was about to put my cock there. I was going to fuck him. I
had reached "no man's land," that frightening, never talked about place
that all straight men secretly fear (yet wonder about). After tonight, I
could never again claim to be straight in any fashion. His hole wrapped
around my finger with a strength I hadn't expected and he grunted
loudly. He was tight - - far tighter than any hole I had ever fucked before
and my desire to put my cock in him grew exponentially.

I fucked him with my finger until his feet were clenching and unclenching
and his hand returned to jacking his cock. I put another finger in and he
grunted again, whipping his head back and forth. He never said to stop. I
withdrew the finger and lined up my cock. I grabbed his hips, mounted his
feet on my shoulders, and spread his ass cheeks with my finger.

"ohgod," he moaned. I pressed inside him, burying my cock one inch at a
time, sliding it in. He stopped breathing and his whole body tensed up,
causing the muscular ring around my cock to tighten even further. I let
loose a sigh of my own as my most sensitive organ penetrated his furnace,
finding its way inside him until my pubes were touching his nuts. His
erection faded, no doubt replaced with sensations more intense than could
be contained by them. I was penetrating another man. I had power over
him. He was powerless underneath me. If I hadn't already been high, this
would've put me there, as it was, I was nearing orbit.

I fucked him. This is, of course, an understatement. Despite having fucked
my "lady" for a couple of hours earlier, my new body was full of stamina to
lay into the pizza-boy. He moaned and thrashed just like she did. He even
reached a point of orgasm like she did, jacking his cock so hard that I
thought he'd pull it right off. He squirted out a big load that shot over
his head, like only a 19-year-old could do. I kept fucking and it was
obvious he hadn't expected that, because his face churned up and he kept
moaning. Like most 19-year-olds, he was probably used to jacking off - -
once you cum, you're done. He wasn't ready to go for round 2. But he sure
went there.

I reached down and thumbs his cock head, sending shivers through his whole
body. He tried to pry my hand off his cock, but he couldn't, my grip was
too strong. Eventually, he just took it, riding where I was driving him. He
got hard again and I kept fucking. I fucked him hard too, not like I would
fuck a woman. He was a man - - well, a boy-man - - and could take more than
a woman. I seemed like my duty to put him through his paces, to take his
athletic body farther than he expected, farther than he might've really
wanted to go. "Too fucking bad," I thought, "I'm in control."

I fucked him. After about an hour of constant pistoning, I reached down and
grabbed a slice of pizza. I was intensely hungry. I ate it while I fucked
him. I don't think he even noticed. This position was getting tiresome, so
I slid him to me and hauled him up on my hips like I had done my "lady"
previously, and, still hard inside him, walked him to the bedroom. He was
disoriented, no doubt high on my pre-cum by now. I flopped him down on the
bed, corkscrewed him as I turned him over on his belly, and laid him out
face down on the bed. I did pushups over him as I fucked him. Sliding him
into a position I liked better.

Something unusual happened, though. When fucking my "lady," I had known I
couldn't cum and so I just rode the wave. Fucking the pizza-boy, I tried to
do the same thing, but I started to crest. I was so over-sexed at this
point that I lacked the willpower to back off, so I picked up speed and
went for the climax. I knew this was going to drive me crazy later, but I
needed to get there. What I didn't expect was to actually crest. I came. I
shot off in pizza-boy's ass with a force that was unknown to me. I let
loose grunting scream of pleasure and buried myself into him, thinking I
was going to break his pelvis with the force. I came, unloading shot after
shot of cum into his ass. It overflowed the condom and started leaking out
his rectum, and still I was shooting. He was screaming underneath me in
pleasure. I think I must've shot about twenty times, each one a full blast
of cum, my head growing light with the lack of oxygen since I couldn't
breath while it was happening.

In end, I collapsed next to him with my cock still buried. I turned him
over to his side as I fell. I wrapped my arms around his torso and my legs
around his legs. We both lay there panting. I could cum now! Holy Shit! I
could shoot without permission! Did this mean whatever Sarge had done to me
was wearing off? Was this freedom?? For the first time since this nightmare
began, I saw a way out. Right now, I could just leave and not see them
anymore and I could live my life. Holy Shit!

That was before pizza-boy groaned in pain, double-up, and started
shaking. With my cock still in him, he started to convulse. I withdrew from
him and tried to steady him. With my palm on his back, I could feel his
back muscles convulsing. This freaked me out so much I got out of bed. He
was jerking around, flexing and unflexing, bending and unbending with a
look of pain and terror on his face. He started to change.

His body hair flaked off as he was thrashing. I could see tufts of it
rubbing off on the bed. I grabbed his ankle and ran my hand down his
leg. All his leg hair fell off where my hand touched him, a wide swath of
smoothness. Something else subtle was happening, I couldn't quite tell. His
body seemed to get muscle definition, not really getting bigger muscles par
se, but they were standing out more. He was getting lean as hell and
ripped. But then I realized, he was shrinking. As he thrashed, I could see
his legs get shorter, his arms too. His feet shortened and narrowed. The
reverse of what happened to me was happening to him.

It passed fairly quickly, but there he was on my bed, passed out, a short
hairless, muscle boy. He retained only his eyebrows and a buzzcut. His
nippled were gigantic, pinkies standing out from his chest and his cock was
thick and long. I couldn't tell if it had grown larger, or maybe it had
stayed the same size as the rest of him had shrunk, but it looked long,
thick, and meaty.

I knew in my gut this was because of whatever Sarge and the proprietor had
done to my nuts. They'd changed my cum into some kind of virus carrier or
something. I was "Typhoid James," turning men into short, athletic,
hairless boys. OHMYGOD, my brain couldn't process this. I was high and
fucked out and tired. I just stood propped against my dresser, unable to
figure out what to do. As elated as I had been to learn I could indeed
shoot without Sarge's intervention, I now understood totally that I was
his. They'd changed me into something that was dependant on them; if I
left, there would be no cure. I wondered what would happen if pizza-boy got
another does of my cum? Would he shrink further? He must only be about 5'
tall now...he lost about 8 or 9 inches in a few minutes. God! I was a
totally freak.

A thick cloud of depression surrounded me. I didn't know what to do, but I
knew that pizza-boy needed to get away from me. He was probably also
addicted to me. If I fucked him again, and I didn't think I could KEEP from
fucking him again especially if he wanted it -- which he would -- he would
change further. Luckily, he was passed out.

I got dressed: jeans, t-shirt, sneakers. They all fit really badly, even
the new clothes I'd just bought, but I didn't care right now. I gathered
pizza-boy's clothes from the living room, fished out his keys, wrapped him
in a blanket. In the dead of the night, I carried him out to his car,
praying nobody noticed. His car had the little pizza light on the top, so I
found it easily, I opened it, placed him in the backseat, left it all
there, and went back to hide in my apartment.

I was so ashamed. Of all of this. Of ever wanting to get high in the first
place. Of going to that place, of getting blown in a glory hole, of blowing
Nick, of doing this to the pizza-boy. It was so intense, I thought I was
going to die from it. I got another blanket and curled up on the couch - -
my bed smelled too much of raw sex - - and just hid. I couldn't process
what was happening and I couldn't believe I could be so callous to dump
pizza-boy in his car, but I couldn't have him here either. I knew it. I
felt it. I just collapsed into a heap of guilt and wondered what the fuck
my life was going to become.