If April was worried about staying at a lesbian’s apartment, she didn’t say anything. Either you don’t know your fellow junkies at all or you’re like brothers and sisters with them. The life is like that, and Sandra was like a sister to me. We’d just always clicked, always knew each other deeply. We’d both been special toward each other and special toward the drug, able to maintain a certain distance from it. I’d like to say it was because we both had sense, but I think it was actually because we both were cowards. We’d seen too many people go over the edge. Sandra was strange. She had an iron discipline in some aspects of her life, practically no control in others, as if it were an all-or-none proposition. She discipline her use strictly. Me, I just got scared, backed off and left whenever I wanted more. I’d known Sandra back in the days when she was struggling to make ends meet, working at a fly-by-night insurance agency and living over a Polish deli on Fullerton. The agency had. I couldn’t get them out of my mouth. What he was doing to me had totally jumbled my brain. For all the banter we had earlier hinting about who could out-dominate each other, neither one of us was in control. There was no top or bottom in this situation. When he finally had to thrust his dick inside of me, I was on top, on the bottom, and even upright pressed against the wall. I was afraid we were going to break the glass of the sliding doorway when he had our hands braced against it as he rammed me from behind at full throttle. I thought my legs were going to give out just before I could feel him tense and brace himself just before the onslaught of a fierce and fiery spray of hot, creamy cum that filled me and then dripped down my legs. We fell back on the floor and he held me as we caught our breaths. Even though the air was cool, we were cloaked in the residual sweat and warmth we had generated. “I’ve waited a hundred and forty-five days to do that again,” he said. I counted back.
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