Today: Time Unknown

1-Good morning starshine
You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
Our early morning singing song

-Oliver; “Good Morning Starshine”

The sun shone in on Damien’s nursery, the ephemeral beams of light only being blocked by the wooden beams of little Damien’s crib. The sky blue walls with painted clouds completed the illusion of an open atmosphere once the sunlight hit them. His mobile was long still since he had drifted off the night before. The only sounds that came into little Damien’s room were the pleasant sounds of the world waking up with him. Birds were chirping their happy songs and squirrels were chittering their merry conversations as Damien’s eyes fluttered open.

He gave his pacifier a thoughtful suck or two as he resumed consciousness, departing the land of dreams from which he had stirred. His gums, naked save for a single tooth that was rising from the front, chewed on the rubber nipple. Damien smiled and cooed at the feeling of the soft teat massaging his gums. It was a great day to be alive. He rolled over and looked at his stuffed dog beside him, before babbling incoherently about the wonderful dream he had just had.

“Wakey wakey, little one,” a sweet and familiar sounding voice called out from above Damien. Damien looked up and saw his whole world right there. She was beautiful. Damien recognized that even at his age. Not sexy, perhaps, but beautiful. The sun made her blonde hair shimmer, even as it was tied back in a tight pony tail. Her bone structure was a little angular and on the lean side, but not gaunt; her complexion wasn’t tanned or radiant, but neither was it pale. Her breasts had become larger than you might think when looking at her frame, but not comically so.

This woman, leaning over Damien’s crib in her June Cleaver dress and pearl necklace, could be described not as a woman, but as a classically idealized form of a woman. She belonged more as a statue, or immortalized on canvas than as a centerfold. Her beautiful blue eyes shined with complete and total affection for the little guy. Any man could get lost in those eyes, like the knowing eyes of a certain painting with an even more famous smile; but that man would not likely be thinking of bedding her as much as snuggling with her and just being with her rather than being inside her.

She had the air of a veteran mother many times over, but the expression of a new mother still reveling in her first child. And her voice, Damien instinctively knew, was that of a goddess. Her pronouncements were not law; they were simple fact. If you were bad, you were bad, and if you were the best baby ever, you were the best baby ever. In short, she was-

“Mmmmaaa ma!” Damien squealed in excitement.

“That’s right, baby boy!” Mama agreed. “It’s your Mama!” Damien held his hands up in the air to greet this most welcome sight and to request that she pick him up.

“Does my boy want up?” Mama asked. “Does he?” Damien, for his part didn’t so much as nod as babble his affirmation. Her hands grasped around his waist and Damien flew through the air to his mother’s hip, resting comfortably there. He immediately became aware of the saturated diaper between his legs as he squished wetly against his mama’s side. He gyrated his hips against her in a primitive form of masturbation, even though the word “masturbate” meant nothing to him yet.

“Num-nums first,” Mama said, pecking her boy on the forehead. “Then, diaper change.”

Recognizing the tone, if not the words, Damien found a modicum of patience as Mama carried him over to the big rocking chair where she fed him every morning. She repositioned Damien so that he was sitting in her lap. Hungrily, perhaps even with a hint of lust if you listened to Freud, Damien stared at his Mama’s breasts. Instinctively, he knew that the delicious milk was there. Damien leaned forward slightly, his mouth opening to receive his mama’s tits. From there, he knew, he would suck and suck and suck and suck until time lost all meaning. Then when he was done, it would be time for a new diaper.

“Uh-uh, big boy,” Mama said, gently pushing him back into a sitting position. Damien whimpered pathetically. He really wanted to suck on his mama’s titties. He really wanted to. They were a source of food, a primal symbol of sexual stimulation, and toys; and therefore the greatest things ever.

“I know, sweet boy, I know,” Mama gently stroked Damien’s head. “But you’ve got a big ol’ toof now, and Mama doesn’t want you to bite her.” Damien’s head drooped. He hated having toof. They made Mama’s titties go bye bye.

“Buuuut”, she reached over and dangled a bottle in front of him, its white contents sloshing about “I still have milky babas”.

“Ooooooooh!” Damien squealed involuntarily. Milky babas! That was almost as good as titty milk. Maybe a little better now, that Damien had a toof. He could bite and nom on the milky baba nipple and it wouldn’t make the baba go ouch like he did when he nommed on Mama’s titties.

Damien opened his mouth wide and Mama inserted the milky baba into his awaiting mouth. Sweet nectar dripped onto his tongue, and his mouth went on autopilot, guzzling the white stuff down without a further conscious thought. Had he been nursing at his mama’s breast, he would have closed his eyes and let her warmth cover his face, but instead he let his senses come alive as he half chewed, half suckled on the milky baba. Each sense brought new and wonderful information. The smell of Mama’s breath, the beauty and love of her eyes, the feeling of the cold and wet diaper between his legs contrasting with the warm touch of Mama’s skin. The feeling of the soft material on his fingers as he absentmindedly stroked himself through the front of his diaper. (Maybe he wasn’t so patient after all.) The way his gums tingled and bubbled with pleasure at being coated with fresh milk on the way to his tongue. He was teething all right.

Then, something different happened. Damien had no context for “odd”, but he understood new and different. And this was definitely both. Damien didn’t blink, so much as the world around him did, and now the milk in the baba had changed color. It had gone from a creamy white to a kind of deep pink. It was pinker and thicker than strawberry milk Damien thought, despite never having been allowed to have chocolate or strawberry milk in his life. He was much too little for that. No, this pink was almost ghastly in its hue- like a certain medicine that grown-ups take for tummy troubles. Based on the color, this milky baba belonged more in the medicine cabinet. But, the new color didn’t affect the taste, so Damien kept right on gorging.

“That’s right, baby boy,” Mama encouraged Damien. “Drink it all up. Good baby.” She tenderly caressed his cheek while he suckled.

Suddenly, Damien’s toof felt funny. It tickled, and not in the same aching way- the itch that needed to be scratched- that it had when it had first popped up. He stopped suckling and probed the offending object that had taken up residence in his mouth with his tongue. He pushed at it and… it moved? It moved! It moved back up into his gums where it had been living. Then it stopped; a shorter, but no less hard and intrusive object in his otherwise pink and smooth mouth.

Damien kept suckling at the milky baba, its newly pink contents slowly and surely draining into Damien’s waiting mouth and tummy. Again, Damien’s toof felt funny. Again, Damien stopped suckling and pushed up on the toof with his tongue. Again, the annoying white intruder slid further back into his gums.

The pink milky ba-ba was making the toof go back home! Damien began to practically inhale the pink milk from the ba-ba, creating a steady river flowing past his toof and over his gums. As the milk drained, his toof receded deeper and deeper into his gums, till finally, finally, his mouth was as empty as the baba his Mama had been holding. He smiled, a big toofless grin up at his adoring mama.

“Oh?” Mama inquired as she ran her index finger around her precious baby’s smooth gums. “Is Mama’s baby boy even more littler now?” she teased him in motherese. “Is he?”

“Da-ba-da-da-ma-ma” Damien babbled earnestly.

“Well then,” Mama said cupping her breasts, “that means that my little boy can suck on Mama’s titties, doesn’t it? Yes it does! Yes it does!” Damien’s mouth opened greedily again and he began to unconsciously lean towards his mama’s breasts.

Unfortunately, Damien was also full, and he knew it. Bubbles churned around in his tummy, making him feel bloated and gassy. His hands went to his tummy and held it as he mewled weakly. It hurt. Make it stop! Make it stop! Tears began to form.

“Oh, does my baby boy need to be burped?” Mama asked shifting the baby to that his head was resting on her shoulder. Obviously that was a rhetorical question. She began gently patting his back and rubbing it in circles. A pat here, and rub there. Damien felt the bubbles in his tummy stirring now and starting to move back up his throat until-


“Good baby!” Mama praised as she continued to burp Damien.

“Uuuuurp!” A second burp came. “Baaaaaar”, then a third. “Uuuuuuuurrrrrk”. Then a fourth. Finally, the bubbles in Damien’s tummy were either at rest or spilled out into the open air.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Mama said rising from the big rocking chair. “Maybe Mama will get her titty baby back a little later.” She walked across the nursery to an awaiting changing table. “But for now, let’s get you into a nice clean diaper.”

Damien recognized that last word and began cooing and gurgling again as Mama laid him down on the changing table and pulled a strap across him. He loved getting a diaper change almost as much as he loved getting milkies from Mama. Mama got out some wipes, some baby powder, and a new diaper before resting her palm on the front of Damien’s old wet one.

“But first, baby boy,” Mama began, “let’s get all the accidents you can have out of your system into the old diaper before we put a new one on you. Okay?” Damien felt her hand squeeze his penis through the thick wet padding. Then, Mama started to rub him through the diaper. Back and forth. Back and forth. Slowly at first, but as Damien’s gurgling became a kind of pleasured moan, she began to speed up.

“That’s right baby boy” Mama coaxed Damien, her sweet voice filling his brain. “Make cummies for Mama. Good boy! Make cummies in your diaper! Good boy!” Damien arched his back, trying his best to hump Mama’s hand. He started bucking right there on the changing table, thrusting his pelvis against Mama’s hand. His hands pinned down by the strap, Damien’s lips puckered in the air looking for something to suck. He felt the pressure beginning to really build up. He would explode soon and make cummies for Mama, just like she was telling him to. He was such a good baby.
Today: Morning
2-Trying to connect the dots
Don’t know what to tell my boss
Think the city towed my car
Chandelier is on the floor
Ripped my favorite party dress
Warrant’s out for my arrest
Think I need a ginger ale
That was such an epic fail

-Katy Perry; “Last Friday Night”.
Damien woke up on the floor of his apartment, having rolled out of his bed while sleeping, again. The alarm clock woke him back into the real world at either the worst possible moment or just in the nick of time depending on one’s criteria. Damn it, another one of those freaky dreams.

He looked down at his hands, covering his urine soaked sheets and underwear, his member pulsating as it began to weakly ejaculate into his underclothes. Looks like the alarm hadn’t woken him up in time, after all. Even though he had stopped humping his hands in his sleep his dick had been aroused past the point of no return without the few finishing strokes at the climax. Now his semen just sort of leaked out over him instead of outright shooting out. He had ended not with a bang, but a whimper.

Damien picked himself up off his floor and disentangled himself from his pissed bedsheets. They were cold and reeked and matched his equally piss stained mattress. He’d have to break out the spray cleaner and Febreze when he got home from work today unless he wanted to go to sleep smelling of urine instead of just waking up reeking of the stuff.

Gingerly he poked the carpet where he had woken up for wet spots. It wasn’t too bad, Damien thought. So the sequence of events last night were that he had peed the bed and then fallen out, instead of the other way around. That seemed like a small mercy at the very least.

Maybe he should buy a plastic bed sheet if this was going to keep happening. Most people would have done at least that much by now- within the first two weeks- of nighttime accidents. But Damien had been living in a state of denial for the last few months. Each time he woke up wet, he told himself, would be the last time. Now, he had woken up after having a wet dream after wetting the bed that same night. Damien had had a double wet dream.

A gurgling from his bowels told him he had more problems to deal with at the moment and he rushed off to the bathroom, urgently tugging at his strangely thick underwear. He began to fart a little as he waddled his way to the toilet pulling and yanking, but his underwear wasn’t budging.

“Oh fucking hell!” Damien cursed. He had sewed himself in! What had once been a set of children’s bedsheets decorated with images of Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends had been mutilated and cutup last night and now was sewn around Damien’s buttocks and crotch.

Clinching his teeth and butt cheeks to stem the tide, Damien found the crudely sewn together seams on either side of him and ripped them open with his bare hands. Now that he was sober he didn’t care about how the trains had looked “cool” the night before and he wasn’t about to go for the hat trick on soiling himself.

Damien tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his newly acquired tighty whities, all six pairs of them, and yanked them down to his ankles so that he could sit on the toilet properly as God intended. He hadn’t even rested fully on the seat before the sounds of solid waste hitting water and rude noises coming out of his backside filled his ears.

“Aaaaaah”, Damien sighed with significant relief. What the hell had he been thinking last night? Well, that wasn’t quite the question Damien wanted to answer. He knew exactly what he had been thinking the night before.

He had been wandering around Wal-Mart while high, as usual of late, and was wandering through the underwear section. Then, the brilliant idea had popped into his head about how boring grown-up underwear was when compared to little kid underwear. There was no point, really. Adults should get to wear Underoos too, and not just at Halloween or something. Then, in his manic state, Damien had decided to forego his toy habit that night, and instead bought a pack of men’s briefs, some Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends bedsheets, and a home sewing kit.

It turned out that having no practice really did mean that he wasn’t very good at it. But he figured out a way to cut the sheets up and stitch them around himself. After he poked himself in the hip one too many times trying to make his new underwear, Damien had gotten the idea to give himself a few layers of protection. So, he just layered the entire package of tighty-whitey’s over each other and wore them all at once. It created the problem of making his new homemade underwear too baggy without the bulk of all the extra pairs, but Damien didn’t mind at the time. He didn’t even mind how he had basically sewn himself into his own underwear making it harder to go to the bathroom. He had just sat on the floor, surrounded by his toys, binge watching episodes of Rugrats and Sesame Street on Netflix, while he ate three bowls of Captain Crunch. Finally, he had yawned wide enough to know it was bedtime, and trudged off to his bed, bravely falling asleep with a full bladder.

Damien was well aware of what he had thought the night before. Other mind-altering drugs typically just brought parts of yourself to the surface by reducing inhibitions. People tended to say what they really thought, albeit less coherently, when they were drunk. People who were paranoid while stoned were generally only a little less paranoid while sober. So why was this drug doing this to him?

Damien asked himself all of these questions as he got up from the toilet and kicked his soiled layers of underwear across the bathroom floor. He’d pick those up later, he told himself. He was probably lying, but it made him feel better.

He dragged his feet to his kitchen past the three to four garbage bags just waiting to be taken to the dumpster outside his apartment complex. They were all filled with empty plastic jugs, tubs, T.V. dinner trays, and cardboard packaging: The remains of previous meals, consumed in mass quantities. That was another side effect of his better living through chemistry: strange food cravings.

He grabbed one of the gallons of milk in his refrigerator. He had at least three in there, he knew. He kept them to the left of the gallons of apple juice and above the tubs of applesauce and Jell-O Chocolate Pudding. His freezer was fully stocked with Kid Cuisine microwavable dinners; mostly chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese. Damien’s pantry contained little else but different sugary cereals. The garbage bags contained the remnants after Damien had binged in the middle of the night.

If it wasn’t milky, fatty, or sweet, Damien had little interest in it these days. This fact was becoming more evident as Damien was developing a bit of a tummy. He hadn’t been to the gym or even taken a jog in months. He thought drug addicts were supposed to lose weight, not pack on the pounds. He took a swig from the milk jug as he high stepped into his living room over toys and packaging that he hadn’t bothered to throw in garbage bags yet.

With his free hand, he swept away the scraps of children’s bedsheets, thread and scissors that he had left over from his kindergarten Frankenstein experiments the other night and sat down on the couch. It had become a kind of workbench last night. When he was high, Damien was just more comfortable sitting on the floor. He had even praised his inherent genius to himself last night when the layered underwear made for a comfortable cushion, thereby negating the one advantage the couch had over the floor when watching television.

He turned on his X-Box and went to Hulu. He scrolled past episodes of “Fraggle Rock”, “Alvin and the Chipmunks”, and “Spongebob Squarepants” and put on “The Daily Show”, if only so that he could have some white noise of which to think. The new host wasn’t as good as Jon Stewart, but then again, who was? Damien took a swig of milk and looked around his living room floor.

Actually, he couldn’t see the carpet for all the toys scattered on the floor. There were Elmo dolls, teddy bears, cardboard books (some of them chewed on, just to see what it was like), Duplo blocks, rubber balls of all sizes and levels of bounciness, Mr. and Mrs. Potato head pieces, and a couple of toy cars designed for ages three and up. If Damien had looked at his living room with fresh eyes, it would have looked like a special episode of “Hoarders: Pre-School Edition”. Instead, he justified the clutter as “comfortably lived in.”

One corner of his living room now had a darkened stain on the carpet from when he had accidentally knocked over a bottle of bubble solution and hadn’t bothered to clean it up. Was it even possible for soapy water to cause mold and mildew? It was beginning to smell like it, but Damien had lived like this for long enough that he had become smell-blind to the stuff. He was used to it, so his brain just filtered it out now. His nose may have twitched a little bit when he first came in from work, but then the smell quickly “went away”.

That was thing about this drug; this “Re-Lease,” as Levi had called it. It didn’t affect Damien’s fine or gross motor skills, but it did greatly enhance certain parts of himself while reducing his inhibitions. While high, Damien still thought just as quickly as he normally thought; nothing was dull, but his thoughts drifted in unpredictable directions.

First came the almost manic high, when everything was great and even the worst parts of his life either had an upside or just didn’t matter in the big picture. His senses were magnified shortly after. Colors were brighter and more vibrant. Music was louder and more upbeat, even the sad stuff. Fluffy, furry, smooth, hard, and soft all became things that mattered to Damien. Sex and masturbation were just the best. Masturbation might have become even better than sex because he didn’t have to worry about pleasing anybody but himself.

Then, came the amazing ideas and the impulse buys and the cravings.

Shitty comfort food like mac 'n cheese and Jello-O pudding cups became the best thing ever. Steak? Why have steak when you could have a McDonald’s hamburger and fries? Especially a Happy Meal that came with the free toy. Vegetables? Fuck vegetables! If he wanted to eat healthy, that’s what milk was for. He didn’t even need chocolate to enjoy his milk like some of those other losers with no willpower. And apples? Don’t even get him started on apples. Damien had found himself able to comment on the taste, texture, and consistency on a spoonful of Mott’s as if he were a judge on a Food Network show.

In the last three months Damien had spent way more on all this kiddie shit, food included, than on the rest of his living expenses combined. He had had to call out of work sick so he could go pay his power bill twice because he’d been past due and he had had similar problems with his landlord. But that’s just how he was when he was high on “Re-Lease”.

After the manic high of energy and great ideas, came the self-satisfied sloth. Damien always ended his night on the floor, cuddled up with some stuffed animal or another, or eating crappy kid food, binge watching T.V. that was cheerful, easy to follow, and fun. It felt good, like he was slipping into a warm, lazy, bath. He even had an idea of binge watching the Wiggles until he could recite every lyric of every song by heart. That could be fun.

It was only in the mornings, when Damien woke up, wet, from some strange dream about being cared for as a baby by some weird lady he’d never met (“Mama dreams,” as he’d begun to think of them) that he’d felt there was any real downside to popping the pills that Levi had given him. Then, comfortable sloth had been replaced with a kind of sick, cynical apathy. Right now, Damien knew that his apartment looked like hell and that he should clean up after himself. Had there been an actual child living here, protective services would likely be taking the kid away. Damien just didn’t give a shit.

He’d clean up later, or save some money and pay a cleaning crew to do it for him all in one big sweep. Three months of living terribly could still be scrubbed away in an afternoon by a team of professionals. But later never came. It was easier at this point in his life for Damien to just pop another pill and make the world go bright again for another few hours. Usually, he’d just stumble through the day at his office job, do just enough to make it seem like he was being productive, and then drive back home and pop another pill to get his “Re-Lease”.

Speaking of work, Damien realized, he’d better get ready for another day of drudgery. Toys weren’t going to buy themselves. Damien stood up to get dressed, feeling a slick, yet sticky feeling as his cheeks slid together. He turned around and saw the brown stain on the couch cushion.

“Fuck,” Damien cursed at himself. Or more appropriately, “Shit.” After emptying his bowels in the toilet, Damien had forgotten to wipe himself. He stared down at his crotch, noticing that a few beads of urine still clung to his pubic hairs. He hadn’t cleaned himself up at all. There’s no way Damien could show up to work like this. He set the half-empty milk jug down on the floor, promising himself that he’d remember to put the milk back in the refrigerator so it wouldn’t spoil, and trudged back through his bedroom and into his bathroom.

The smell hit his nose immediately. He hadn’t even remembered to flush. Damien looked down at the present he had left himself, wanting to puke, and instead pressed the handle down. He went over to his bathroom mirror and took a look at himself. He didn’t like what he saw. There were bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he really was starting to get flabby around the middle. He sighed and then smelled his own morning breath traveling right under his nose. How revolting. At least he hadn’t vomited. When he vomited all the blood vessels in his face tended to burst at once, making him look like some kind of zombie from “28 Days Later”.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was still as a smooth as it had been a few months ago. Damien still didn’t need a shave. That was at least one good thing about this stuff: He hadn’t had any new facial hair since the night he started. Something in the hormones or chemicals or other “science stuff” he assumed that retarded hair growth. He hadn’t needed a haircut either, come to think of it. His dirty blonde hair just stayed in a permanent state of “mussed”.

The little prescription pill bottle caught Damien’s eye. The pill bottle was unlabeled and likely just something to store the little happy pills in. These definitely weren’t Vicodin or any other pill you could get from a pharmacy. Before Levi, Damien hadn’t even heard of the drug, it was so new. So technically, there was nothing illegal about the stuff. But, he’d left the medicine cabinet open last night and was now facing certain temptation.

“Fuck it,” Damien said to his reflection, as he reached for the bottle and popped the top open to pour a little red capsule into his open palm. He popped the “Re-Lease” into his mouth, and held it under his tongue as he turned the water on and jumped into his shower. He opened his mouth and let the hot water fill his mouth before swallowing both it and the pill. Then, he turned the temperature up to scalding and started using the water and his bare hands to clean his ass.

He washed his hands thoroughly in the shower and just let the hot water continue to cascade over him. As he felt the pill start to take effect, his thoughts becoming more positive and his body beginning to feel a certain glow, he popped his right thumb in his mouth while he scrubbed his crotch with his left hand using the bar of soap. He started peeing in the shower without realizing it as he scrubbed himself clean.

“How did it get to this?” His voice echoed in the shower as his urine stream mingled with the water in the shower.

Re: Addiction

This is a really unique take. A drug that gives the user an elated feeling, but with the side effects of vivid regression desires and dreams? Fascinating.


  1. The sun “shone”, not “shined”
  2. Similarly, Her beautiful blue eyes “shined”, not “shown”.
    In the first case, the intended meaning is to “emit light”, which makes “shone” the correct past participle. “Shined” , on the other hand, refers to something that gleams, like teeth, never to the sun.

Re: Addiction

absolutely fascinating and wildly different, and I’m avidly awaiting more

Re: Addiction

Free editing! Yay! Thanks! Hope that ya’ll like the rest as it comes. It’s gonna get a little weird and a little dark if I pull it off.

Re: Addiction

This is quite a change from the ballad of Chris that you’ve been taking us along on the last few years, but it is very interesting in its own right. I look forward to seeing how it goes, and will certainly be reading.

Re: Addiction

About Three Months Ago: Early that Evening

3-Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a man of wealth and taste
I’ve been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man’s soul and faith

The Rolling Stones; “Sympathy for the Devil”

“Hey kid,” the voice whispered. “New guy. C’ mere.”

Damien ignored the call, mostly because he didn’t think he was the one being called to. He was standing in line at one of the newest clubs on the scene. Eden hadn’t even been open for a year, and already it had garnered the reputation for being one of the places to be if you were part of the under 40 crowd.

Damien now waited in a line that wound around the block to get in, dressed in khakis and a button up shirt, his hair gelled and smelling slightly of cologne. Standard club attire; nice but not too nice.

The place used to be a bank at the turn of the twentieth century, but had been renovated into a variety of businesses over the decades past. Eden was just the latest, most refurbished, and by far the most successful incarnation of the locale. The rocky cement walls had been fitted with a stone mural filled with carvings of lush forests with birds and deer. Above the towering oak doors at the entrance was a stone carving of an apple. To the left of the apple, a stone snake coiled around a branch, eyeing the fabled forbidden fruit. If music was playing inside, none could be heard through the thick walls that had been used to guard money and jewels a century ago.

“Dude, Damien,” Chad, one of his work buddies had told him earlier that week. “You have got to check this place out. There’s a high cover charge, but there are chicks all over the place, the drinks are cheap, and you are almost guaranteed to score there. Best time I’ve ever had.”

“Best time you’ve ever had?” Damien had asked.

“Best. Time. Ever.” Chad had reiterated.

“Well, wanna go sometime? Try to pick up some chicks?” Damien offered.

“Umm…” Chad had scratched the back of his head. “No.” He said flatly.

“Oh…” Damien had responded, a little disappointed. “Why not?”

“Psssst”, the same whispering voice shook Damien out of his memories. “New guy. You! Hey!”

Damien looked around to his left and right, seeing no one. He pointed to his chest, indicating “me?”

“Yeah, you,” a voice from behind his left shoulder called out. Damien whipped his head around to see the man leaning against the corner of the building, just out of sight of the bouncer at the door. “C’mere.”

Everything about this man reeked of the word “trashy”. He had a neatly trimmed goatee contrasting with raggedy stubble on his cheeks, which you might not notice as your gaze was pulled away towards his dark brown hair put into cornrows. Even though it was warm out tonight, he wore a green hooded sweatshirt with the hood down. His eyes were covered by the same cheap, dark sunglasses that you could buy off the rack at any drug store or gas station. The frayed cuffs of his ratty jeans ended in some kind of green scaled boots: Alligator skin, most likely, maybe snake skin; probably fake.

The dude looked like he was cosplaying as an inner city version of James Franco in “Spring Breakers”. James Franco couldn’t pull that look off, and this joker was no Franco. But still, there was something about him, maybe it was his posture with his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt while leaning against the building. Maybe it was the way he set his jaw, like he was both on the verge of smiling yet was dead serious in the here and now. Damien had common sense, and he had a vague idea of what this man wanted. Damien had gone to enough raves in his life to figure out where this was going, and had already silently decided to decline.

Recreational drugs were fun most of the time as long as you had someone with you designated to stay sober and keep your ass from doing something completely stupid, but as none of his work buddies had decided to come with him (not that he blamed them this time…when Chad told him a little more about the club, he completely understood), Damien lacked a safety net tonight.

“Don’t worry,” the dealer called out. “They’ll save your spot in line.” The woman directly behind him, wearing only a worn t-shirt and even more worn shorts of all things, shrugged and nodded her assent. Damien huffed out a sigh and left the line to go creep into the shadows. Time to shoot the dealer down.

“You looking to get into the club and have a good time tonight?” the dealer asked once Damien was within easy speaking range. Damien leaned his back against the wall so that he was next to the dealer. It felt smarter to be next to this guy instead of across from him. He’d look a little less aggressive when turning this guy down if he were next to the guy, and it wasn’t as suspicious when they were whispering to each other.

“Look man,” Damien said in a hushed tone, “thanks for the offer, but not tonight.”

“Come on, new guy, hear me out,” the dealer pressed. “Do you want to get into the club and have a good time tonight?”

Damien shook his head. “I’m not looking for any X tonight.”

“I’m not selling X, new guy.”

“I’m not into acid.”

“I’m not selling acid, new guy.”

“I’m not looking for weed.”

“I’m not selling weed, new guy.”

“Fuck coke.”

“No coke.”

“Fuck meth.”

“Meth? What do I look like, a trucker? No meth, new guy.”

“Look,” Damien pivoted and faced the dealer in the green hoodie and snake skin shoes, one shoulder still leaning against the wall. “I’m not buying tonight. Maybe some other time.”

“Who said I was selling anything, new guy?” the pusher in the green hoodie and snake skin shoes smiled a toothy grin. There was something insincere and menacing in that smile.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘new guy’?” Damien demanded, his frustration beginning to show. This fucker was pushing all of the wrong buttons.

The man with the cornrows looked Damien up and down, examining him, before saying, “Only a complete newbie comes to a nude club with that much clothing on.”
Yeah…that was why Chad didn’t want to come to Eden with him. It was fine seeing a bunch of strangers- some of them attractive- naked, but looking someone in the eye at work the next morning after you’d casually seen their junk was a bit much for most work buddies.

“I mean, come on, kid,” the dealer chuckled, pointing at various parts of Damien’s wardrobe. “Is that a fuckin’ belt?! Hell, I see an undershirt. You came to a place where people come to get naked together, and you actually came with stuff that gets in the way of that.” He pointed back at the line. “Look at that. Some of the veterans of this place probably aren’t even wearing underwear.”
Admittedly, Damien hadn’t put that much thought into what to wear, or what not to wear to this place. So he had just put on his standard night on the town clothes. How was he supposed to have known there was some kind of unwritten rulebook or (lack of) dress code?

Damien turned around and looked at the line. There were an inordinate number of people wearing just t-shirts and shorts waiting in line. Most of them were just wearing sandals too. They were dressed more for a summer cookout than for a night club. Damien just figured they were the inexperienced ones and they’d be turned away at the door. Now he was having doubts.

Damien frowned and turned to face the dealer. “Okay, point taken,” he conceded, “but that still doesn’t mean I’m looking to buy anything.”

“At what point,” the dealer paused for a beat, “did I ever say ‘Hey, new guy, do you want to buy some drugs?’ Never.” Damien replayed the brief encounter he’d had so far in his head. He hadn’t technically. “All I asked,” the man clarified as he slid his cheap sunglasses up to rest on his head, “was if you wanted to get into the club and have a good time.”

“You got a way in?” Damien wondered. Maybe this guy wasn’t a drug dealer, as much as he was some weird ass promoter, or night club scalper. Was there such even such a thing as tickets into a night club? If so, were there people who scalped those tickets? Probably not, on both counts.

The dealer must have seen the doubt on Damien’s face. “Of course I got a way in. But first, peek around the corner if you want to see your near future.”

Damien took a few steps and peaked around the corner. At the door were two men, dressed in similar fashion to him. They were dressed nice and looked like they were ready for a night on the town. Blocking their way into Eden was a very large and intimidating door man, no hair, douche sunglasses just like the drug dealer, and all muscle. Damien couldn’t make out exactly what was being said from around the corner, but their bodies told the tale.

They both wanted in. The doorman wasn’t letting them. His arms crossed over his chest and his head shook slowly from side to side. Dejectedly, the two men walked away into the night, their bodies becoming more animated the farther they got away, most likely telling themselves and each other about how “lucky” the doorman was that they weren’t there for a fight or some other such bullshit that such men spewed to make themselves feel better about defeat.

“But wait, there’s more,” the dealer whispered into Damien’s ear. “Take a look at the little hottie behind them.” Damien watched in silence as an attractive young woman approached the same doorman. She was at least an 8 out of 10 in the looks department, maybe even a 9. With a backless top and a short skirt that would conceal nothing the second she bent over, she was ideal club material. A club without hot girls wouldn’t have any guys coming either.

The girl looked up at the doorman and swayed her hips and cocked her head to the side coyly while batting her eyelashes. But to Damien’s surprise, the doorman was utterly unmoved. Once again, he crossed his arms over his chest and slowly shook his head. The girl’s shoulders slumped. Damien saw her look up and clasp her hands together in a begging gesture, but the guard remained unmoved. She walked away, defeated.

Damien turned back to face the man in the hoodie. A look of disbelief clearly on his face. The two guys, maybe, but that chick was rocking it. In any other club she would have been through the door, likely with no cover charge.

“The hell?” Damien asked, incredulously.

“I know, right?” this stranger in snake skin shoes echoed Damien’s surprise. “Now ask yourself, what’d those two scrubs and that little number behind them do wrong?” Damien didn’t have time to answer. “I’ll tell you what they did wrong,” the dealer pressed, “they didn’t have what they needed to get into the club and have a good time.”

Now it was Damien’s turn to slump his shoulders and deflate. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he sighed. “How do I get in and have a good time?”

The drug pusher made a flourish with his right hand and closed it into a fist. Then he shook it a few times, as if he were playing a game of rock-paper-scissors with himself, and then reopened his hand, palm up. Now laying in his palm was a little red pill, no bigger than a piece of candy. It could have been a little red “MnM” with the “M” scratched off.

“Thissssss,” he announced, using his other hand to gesture to the single red pill in his palm.

Damien arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I call it, ‘Re-Lease’.” The man with the snake leather shoes explained. “It makes you feel like you’ve got a brand new lease on life. It’s a powerful anti-anxiety agent with a mood lifter, and some relatively minor psychedelic effects to give it a little party kick. Oh, and it also doubles as birth control, but that’s more a feature for the ladies,” he chuckled at his own joke. The dealer stared at the little pill in his hand as if it were Tolkien’s magic ring.

“It might just be the best inhibition-inhibitor out there. Much cleaner buzz than dime store booze,” the dealer concluded. He smiled with pride up at Damien. “It’s perfect for getting naked with a bunch of strangers and promptly not giving a shit.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it?” Damien asked.

“Because it’s a designer drug that just came out a few months ago,” the dealer explained. “And you’re talking to the designer.”

“Is it legal?” Damien found himself being drawn in by the sales pitch.

“Of course it’s legal, new guy!” the dealer explained. “That’s the best part about making a new product. Even if it’s declared illegal, it takes a lot fuckin’ longer for a law to be drafted than for a product to circulate and gain popularity.”

“And this gets me in…how?” Damien asked.

“All you have to do,” the dealer instructed him, “is take this little beauty with you, show it to doorman, pop it in your mouth and tell him that Mister Athan said you were cool.”

“Mr. Athan, huh?” Damien grunted. “That you?”

“Smart man,” the dealer replied. “Friends call me Levi, new guy,” Levi took Damien’s hand pressed it into his open palm. “And you?”

“Damien,” he told Levi, twisting their wrists so that their hands were clasped in a handshake.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Damien,” Levi answered. He released the handshake and Damien withdrew with the little red pill in his hand. “That’s a real good name there if I do say so myself. Now get going, kid. The line’s moving.”

Without thinking Damien turned his back to the strange man called Levi and saw that the woman who had been saving his spot had almost reached the door. “Hey, how much does this-”, Damien turned back around to face Levi, “…cost?” Levi was gone.

“Freak…” Damien muttered as he pocketed the little red pill- the “Re-Lease” as Levi had called it- and rushed back towards the front of the line.

" 'Bout time," the woman who had agreed to save Damien’s place remarked when Damien returned. “Levi give you his sales pitch?”

Damien’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know him?”

“Everybody knows Levi,” she told him. She then reached into her shorts pocket and produced a little red pill identical to what Damien had stashed away in his pants pocket.

“Oh yeah?” Damien pondered. “He the local dealer or something? Got some kind of deal with the doorman?”

“Local dealer?” the woman barked a laugh. “Newbie, Levi owns this club.”

Re: Addiction

4-Step inside! Hello! We’ve a most amazing show
You’ll enjoy it all we know
Step inside! Step inside!

We’ve got thrills and shocks, supersonic fighting cocks.
Leave your hammers at the box
Come inside! Come inside!

-Emmerson, Lake, & Palmer; “Karn Evil 9 1st Impression Part 1”.

“Mr. Athan said that we’re cool,” Damien told the big guy guarding the door to Eden. The bouncer stared down at Damien, unflinching. The guy was intimidatingly big. Damien was pretty sure he could have hid in this monster’s shadow without having to hunker down at all. More unnerving though, was how little the brute moved. Damien had only seen the guy move to cross his arms and solemnly shake his head no; oh and scowl, lots and lots of scowling. Scowling was the full range of emotion that Damien had seen demonstrated by this man.

If not for the occasional (and also intimidating) flaring of his nostrils as he breathed, Damien wouldn’t think this man mountain needed to draw breath like a normal person. He might as well have been a statue. The big guy’s pock marked face vaguely reminded Damien of freshly baked brownies or porous concrete. The doorman slowly crossed his arms and Damien swore he heard the rough, grinding sound of stone on stone.

“And….?” the doorman growled. Even his voice sounded like he had a gullet full of gravel. Damien fumbled around in his pocket and took out the little red pill he’d been handed moments earlier. He held it in front of him in his thumb and forefinger, and pointed to it with his free hand. He shot the doorman a questioning look. The doorman gave no response save for an added nostril flare.

Was this seriously happening? Was the hottest nightclub in town not only some sort of nudist hangout, but where taking drugs was not only encouraged, but required? Damien was losing his nerve and fast. What should he do?

“Nut up and swallow it, or shuffle off newbie,” someone from farther down the line shouted. “We ain’t got all night.” Damien resisted the urge to spin around and find the voice of his accuser, but then he saw the bouncer’s head start to move ever so slightly. If he didn’t act fast, he was going to be denied entry and his night would be over before it began.

“Fuck it,” Damien whispered mostly to himself. He popped the pill in his mouth and rested it on his tongue. Shit, maybe this was an MnM. It even tasted like candy. Damien resisted the urge to bite down on the thing and tossed his head back like he was taking a shot. He swallowed the pill.

“Enter,” was all the doorman said. Damien didn’t waste a second scurrying around the big man and into the slightly open doors of club behind him. Instead of a giant naked sex orgy, like he’d imagined, Damien rushed into a dignified yet rather tame and refined receiving area.

The marble floor gave the place a rather classy feel. The high ceiling made the room seem impossibly huge, and was painted in the color of a nighttime starry sky, with the domed center featuring a loose recreation of God creating Adam, like in the Sistine Chapel. The walls themselves were painted in a forest scene that matched the buildings outer décor. This was, for all intents and purposes at least one artist’s interpretation of the Garden of Eden, from the Bible.

Though it wasn’t an orgy, Damien was clearly not alone. A crowd had gathered in front of him, and more were steadily trickling in behind him. Every footstep echoed in this place and there were murmurs and whispers bouncing off the walls.

“Hey,” Damien asked another patron, tapping him on the shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“We gotta wait for the Satyr, man.” The patron returned a goofy, stoned smile from over his shoulder.

“What?” Damien blurted in surprise. The man whom Damien had asked a question to turned around and looked Damien over from head to toes.

“Oh, shit…first time, right?” he asked. Damien nodded. Was it really that obvious? “My bad, man. The Re-Lease is hitting me pretty hard already.” He chuckled at something that Damien couldn’t hear. Oh god what had Damien put in his body?

“We gotta wait till there’s enough people,” the man explained, still holding onto a lazy smile. “Then they close the door, and we get a little show before we sign the papers.”

“What papers?” Damien asked. Chad hadn’t mentioned anything about papers.

“Just waivers and shit, man.” Damien’s new companion shrugged. “Y’know, I promise that I’m cool with being seen naked, and I’m cool with seeing other people naked and that I don’t have cameras and shit and I’m not gonna try and rape anybody and you can kick my ass and send me to jail if I do ;basic shit.” That much made sense to Damien. Near the head of the crowd, Damien could see a row of bank teller’s desks, complete with the glass shielding and chained to the desk pens.

Apparently, the owner, “Mr. Athan”, or Levi the drug pusher if you could believe that, had decided to keep that feature of the old bank intact. He probably had to actually have the booths re-installed considering how long this place had been anything but a bank. Till this place became “Eden”, any number of restaurants, clubs, and artsy hangout spots had been opened and gone out of business here. This place may have started as a bank, but until recently it was really just another good place for entrepreneurs to lose money. Speaking of money…

“Hey,” Damien asked his new friend before he could turn back around to face the front, “What’s the charge to get in anyways?”

“Hundred bucks.”

“Hund-?” Damien stuttered in disbelief. “One hundred bucks?!” That wasn’t club money; that was theme park money. Hell, a hundred bucks was more than theme park money! Damien couldn’t remember the last time he had spent that kind of money on a single purchase. And that wasn’t even counting drinks.

“It’s totally worth it,” Damien was told, the look of indignation on his face easy to read. “Just relax and let the Re-Lease let you have a good time. You won’t regret it.”

The doors creaked shut and closed with a thundering boom. The last of those permitted entrance for the moment by the human gargoyle outside had come in and now Damien was firmly in the middle of the crowd. Hushed whispers of curiosity and anticipation along with mutters of “Awwww yeah”, bounced off the walls.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. The sound of hooves echoed in the receiving chambers. Clip. Clop. Clip-Clop-Clip-Clop. The room quickly became hushed as the hoof beats grew louder and louder. By the front of the room, a red velvet curtain covered an archway by the bank teller’s booths. The clip-clopping of hooves came from that direction.

Two hands reached from behind the curtains and dramatically threw them back. A familiar face stepped forward from behind the curtains and the clip-clopping of hooves continued to echo as he faced the crowd. The face was familiar, but nothing else was.

Damien instantly recognized the dark brown cornrows and the neatly trimmed goatee with day old stubble on the cheeks. But gone was everything else that Damien had noticed when he first met Levi by the side of the club. Protruding from his forehead, instead of sunglasses were two tiny goat horns.

Gone was the green sweatshirt, and now Damien-the whole audience in fact- could see a lean, naked chest covered with hair. The ratty jeans and (likely) faux snake-skin shoes had been replaced with two hairy and very realistic-looking goat legs. The knees bent backwards, and the hooves were too small for any human to actually be able to fit their feet into. Dangling between his legs and ending just below his knees was a very well-endowed penis.

Damien craned his neck. How the hell did the guy do that? Damien was almost certain that the penis was fake. That part was too easy. Nobody’s junk could be that big compared to the rest of him. Damien didn’t size him up, but he was pretty sure he had a couple of inches on Levi in the height department, and to think that this weirdo had him by at least a foot in the length department…well that was just laughable. But how did this freak pull off the hooves? Were his real feet hidden by some optical illusion?

Maybe it was just the angle. Maybe Damien was already beginning to feel the effects of the mystery pill he had just popped. Levi had mentioned that it had some minor psychedelic effects. The clip-clopping sound could have cued his brain to fill in the blanks and now he was hallucinating. Regardless, Levi wasn’t waiting for Damien to figure it out.

“LADIIIIEEEES AND GENTLEMEN,” Levi bellowed. The crowd was silent as Levi’s voice reverberated around the room. “But not for long,” he added slyly, sending a wave of tittering laughter from the assembled crowd. “You are about to travel back in time to when God first created mankind. To a time when things like good and evil were unknowns to us.” Levi paced like Mel Gibson in front of the gathered men and women, only his speech was likely building up to the exact opposite of war. His feet made the same clip-clopping sounds with every step he made.

“You’re about to go back to a time when we didn’t have things like shame, or guilt, or sin. We didn’t sin because we only had one rule. For tonight, you’re all going to pretend that Adam and Even never broke that one rule, and so we will all be in paradise. So please, tonight, let us all be neither sinners, nor saints. Let us be something better. Let us, this night, be innocent. WELCOME! TO! EDEN!” The audience erupted in cheers and applause, and Damien joined them. The damn sonofabitch had gotten to him. This. This was a show.

With all the production value of the outside and the inside, and the Satyr getup, (he wasn’t sure how the Satyr bit meshed with the book of Genesis, but he was willing to let that one go… maybe that was the drug talking there) Damien was now sold. This was sure to be worth the hundred bucks.

“But first-” Levi held up his hand, and the applause and cheers died down. “But first, we have some administrative duties to attend to.” The crowd “awwwed” in disappointment. Damien even heard some boos. Levi held his hands up as if in defense, the giant cock between his two hairy goat legs swayed from side to side as he shifted his weight slightly.

“I know, I know, my friends, I know. But we have to. We have some new faces in the crowd tonight, or at least we should!” Levi dramatically shielded his eyes like a sailor searching for land as he made a show of looking through the hundred or so people in the room. “Gabriel, Delilah, Damien, Mary, Jose, Maggie! Glad to see you all got through the front door! I had a feeling about all of you!” The audience all looked around and Damien suddenly felt the eyes of the crowd scanning him. It was fairly evident who was a regular and who wasn’t based on the state of dress. The regulars of Eden all wore loose fitting clothing that could be torn off in short order, some of it stained and faded, like they didn’t really care what happened to this shirt or those shorts.

“I see some other faces I don’t recognize,” Levi continued, “but if one of my beloved regulars liked you enough to give you the password and give you a little taste of Re-Lease, then that means you’re okay by me too. So,” he went on. “Rules for the new folks.”

Levi held up his left arm. With a flourish, he grasped his wrist with his right arm for the crowd and slowly dragged his hand down his left forearm, almost as if he were bunching up a sleeve. A golden bracelet, thin on the ends but flat on the middle, kind of like a medical I.D. bracelet was now the satyr’s left wrist.

“After you provide your I.D. to the lovely ladies who will shortly be behind me,” Levi explained, “and sign the proper forms, and provide a valid credit card, you will be given one of these to wear. Each of these wonderful little bracelets will have a barcode that is unique to you and will make charges to your account. Chargeable amenities include but are not limited to secure lockers for your outerwear, drinks, food, showers, and of course colognes, perfumes, deodorants, and antiperspirants for those of you who don’t want to be too naturale.” There was a bit of knowing laughter at the last part.

“When you choose to leave our dear little Eden, either because you’ve had your fill or because it’s gotten to the point where you don’t have to go home, but can’t stay here” Levi went on with his pitch, “your tab will be cashed out, and you’ll be on your way till you choose to return to Eden another night. Oh, and remember the big guy at the door?” Levi gestured toward the now closed wooden double doors. “That’s Gary. Not only is Gary my head doorman and bouncer, but he’s also my chief debt collector, so make sure your cards won’t be declined before you hand them over.” Everyone shared a bit of nervous laughter at that one.

“Oh don’t worry about that!” Levi waved the crowd’s nervousness off. “I’ve never had to use him once,” he added. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go scout out the crowd behind this group. Let’s get started!” He then trotted back behind the red curtain to applause and cheers as a half dozen beautiful women rose up from behind the bank tellers’ desks.

Each one had their hair dyed a bright and unnatural color; red, blue, yellow, green, purple, and orange. They might have been wigs, in all likelihood, as each one had thick hair and bangs that framed the sides of their faces. Each one wore a matching bustier and nothing else that could be seen from where they stood behind the receiving counters.

Quietly and without much direction, the groups muddled into single file lines and aisles, rather like picking a checkout lane at the supermarket. Damien picked a line and stood in it as it shuffled forward person by person. The cold calculating part of his brain realized he should be anxious, even regretting this decision as impulsive and not thought through. He was in line so that he could spend over a hundred bucks to hang out naked with a bunch of strangers. True, he knew that going in, but as each person shuffled forward it became more and more real going in; or at least it should have.

Instead, any worry or anxiety that Damien might have had was being transmuted into a kind of childish giddiness. He was going to be able to literally let it all hang out without repercussions. He might even meet a pretty girl tonight to have fun with. That wasn’t something to be nervous about. That was opportunity.

He logically knew that this giddiness and excitement over getting naked likely had something to do with the drug he had just taken. “Re-Lease”, it had been called, and Damien understood why. He literally felt as if all of the little neurotic things in his life, the self-consciousness, the potential for embarrassment or guilt, just drifting away. This was some good shit, here. Some really good shit.

Damien inched up to the front of the line. “Next!” Called a woman in bright green hair. Damien scooted forward, digging his wallet out of his back pocket.

“ID and Credit Card,” the green woman said, all business. Damien slid it under the glass patrician separating him from the woman at the counter. She gave it a passing glance, and slid a piece of paper back towards Damien. “Sign here please.”
Damien eyed the paper and read it quickly. His mind was moving too fast though for him to really comprehend what he was reading. The words printed on the waiver went in one eyeball and out the other. To Damien’s rapidly diminishing comprehension, the piece of paper read:

“Blah blah blah twenty-one (21) blah, blah, blah, blah violation blah, blah, forfeit blah, blah, ejection. Compliance, blah, blah, blah, respectful blah, blah, blah, all decisions blah, blah, cameras blah, blah, intoxication, blah, blah, blah, attorney, blah, blah, blah, phones blah forbidden blah, blah, confidential blah, blah, blah,blah, blah, blah, not a reporter blah, blah investigator blah, blah strictly consensual blah, blah, blah prosecution blah, blah, blah.”

Logically, Damien knew that signing any kind of potentially binding document while high was a very bad idea, but Damien knew that he couldn’t be held responsible to this precisely because he was intoxicated while signing. He didn’t know because of knowledge, mind you, but knew in the same way that spoiled rich kids know their parents are going to bail them out of jail for that first D. U. I. arrest.

Also, Levi wouldn’t screw him over. The moment this went to court, Damien could start slinging allegations of drug use required for entry. Whether said allegations of drug use were relevant to the case, that would likely start getting this club checked out by all the wrong people if you were a drug dealing satyr. Holy shit, he was feeling it right now! He just thought of Levi as a drug dealing satyr with complete sincerity. The point was, screwing his customers over with a piece of paper was not in Levi Athan’s best interests.

Damien scribbled his signature onto the piece of paper and slipped it back over to the waiting attendant. The green haired woman gave another quick glance at the document before slipping it in a drawer under her desk. She then took Damien’s credit card and slid it in the crook of a credit card scanner. Within seconds Damien heard the whirring of a little printer as a piece of sticker paper with a barcode on it was spat out within reach of the attendant.

She reached under the table and brought out a gold medical bracelet similar to what Levi had been sporting, peeled the barcode off the receipt printer and attached it to the flat part of the bracelet. “Hand, please.”
Damien slid his hand under the glass partition and the attendant swiftly put the bracelet on him. The thought that he could go for a quick grope passed through Damien’s mind, but Damien dismissed it. Still, his fingers tingled and twitched a little in response to the idea. It was barely noticeable, but the attendant just clicked her tongue as she finished fastening on the bracelet.

“Heh…newbie. That Re-Lease is hitting you hard.” The green haired woman smiled condescendingly. Damien withdrew his hand and the attendant slid back his driver’s license and credit card. “Back through the curtain and down the ramp,” she told Damien. “Adams to left and Eves to the right.”

Damien quickly skirted out of the line, letting the person behind him step forward, as he placed his cards back into his wallet and hustled past the red curtain that Levi had trotted from behind not fifteen minutes ago. A few steps after he slipped through the curtain the floor began to slant downward. The recreational part of the club must be down near the basement, where the vaults and safe deposit boxes likely were in the olden days.

As he walked farther and farther down, Damien examined the bracelet on his wrist. It was more intricate than a simple chain design. The bits of golden metal were weaved together to look like scales, and upon closer inspection, Damien noticed that one end of the bracelet looked like a snake head. The other end was obviously designed to be a tail. So the bracelet, in keeping with the theme of the club, was a snake biting its own tail.

“An ouroboros,” Damien mused aloud. “My own little eternity locked around my wrist. My own little serpent in the Garden of Eden. Poetic.” Damien would never would have said something like that while sober, and might not have even consciously thought of it; but the thoughts and the words were just flowing more freely as the Re-Lease flooded his system. It was a little like being drunk without the numbness, wobbling, or potential for nausea.

The floor leveled off again and Damien saw two doors. The one on the left said “Adams” and the one on the right, of course, said “Eves”. About fifty feet from the two doors, Damien saw another set of double doors with a sign that said, “Eden: Take nothing with you beyond this point. (No fig leaves allowed).” Clearly that was the place, and this the staging and undressing area.

People were exiting the rooms, naked of course, in ones and twos and were heading for the doors marked “Eden.” Some were walking in big, slow, confident strides. They were made for this place, and it was no big deal. Their body language spoke to their confidence. Others scurried and scampered towards the doors like eager children to the top of a water slide. No one, however, seemed the least bit hesitant or embarrassed. And why should they? If they didn’t have the courage, they wouldn’t have shown up tonight, and any last minute hesitation was washed away with a single little red pill.

Damien turned to the door and noticed there was a scanner on it instead of a proper door knob. The label on the scanner read “Scan for entry, no charge.” Damien ran the ouroboros bracelet under the scanner, barcode up, and heard a satisfying click as the lock disengaged.
He pushed the door open and walked into the changing room. Men were in various states of undress as Damien glanced around. This wasn’t his first locker room setting, but this was definitely the first where there was purposefully nothing to change into.

The walls closest to the door were lined with lockers, each one with a scanner and dial pad. The room stretched out in front of Damien, and turned a sharp left. Based on the sounds of toilets flushing and running water coming from that direction, Damien guessed the aforementioned showers and bathroom facilities were in that direction. The steam was already wafting through the air as a few gentlemen were hosing down with a quick hot shower. He heard a series of low moans that may have been a couple of guys enjoying the hot water as they stretched and flexed. It might also have been them enjoying something else.

Damien scanned around the lockers looking for one to put his clothes into. The ones that were already in use had the word “OCCUPIED” written in electronic block letters on the doors’ dial pads. He finally found a small one that was available and read the label on the scanner.

It read: “Locker storage: $10.00”.

What a rip off. He was already being charged a hundred bucks to get this far, and now he was going to have to pay another ten or risk having his clothes stolen or thrown away. In for a penny, in for a lot more than a pound. Damien reluctantly scanned his bracelet and “Enter 4-digit PIN” flashed on the dial. Damien punched in the numbers “2-4-6-8”. “Code Recorded”, the dial pad flashed, and Damien heard another click as the locker door opened slightly.

Damien opened the locker and peeked inside. It was little more than a cubby with a steel grate protecting it, really. Still, this wasn’t going to be the straw that broke his back or ruined his good time, so he quickly stripped and shoved his clothes in one tight ball. His shoes wouldn’t fit, so he just took a chance and left them there on the floor. He closed the door to the locker shut and the dial pad flashed “OCCUPIED”.

His skin tingled at the exposure to the open air. His flesh was alive now, with everything from the steam wafting in from the showers, to the warm metallic feeling of the lockers, to the cold of the cement making him tingle. It wasn’t quite a sexual feeling, but it was definitely a form of arousal. Experimentally, he grabbed his penis and gave it a few quick pumps.

Almost instantly, he became hard. Normally, he’d have to be thinking about something dirty to become erect so quickly, and such absent minded fiddling around would result in little more but a warm dick. But this time, his body was ready and raring to go. He was primed.

The cold, calculating, lizard part of his brain screamed out that seeming too eager might not be the way to make a good first impression, and against the drug induced good feelings, Damien took his brain’s advice, and bit into his tongue while mentally reciting the pledge of allegiance. It wasn’t completely limp, but it wasn’t fully erect either, and everything was still all-a-tingle.

Damien took one more breath, and then, trying to imitate some of the cocksure men he had seen strolling out before, took deep strides out of the “Adams” room door.

Right as he opened up the door and stepped out, the door across from him shot open and someone from the “Eves” room stepped into the open air. Her hair, all of it, was a bright ginger red. Her eyes were an emerald green. While Damien wasn’t an expert on breasts sizes, he knew a solid C-Cup when he saw one. More importantly, he noticed that both of her nipples were erect, likely from the sensations of the air mixed with the effects of the drug. He fought the urge to pucker his lips and felt his hands twitch again. Her hips were ample, and she had a bit of a tummy, but not at all what you would call fat.

Damien’s libido shouted at him to run around her just so he could know what she looked like from behind and in that split second his neck twitched too as he resisted the urge to at least crane his neck around to get the full view. She could have been a doll, she seemed so perfect in that moment; the kind that little boys undress out of curiosity and then are confused and disappointed in when they find everything below the waist nothing but smooth hard plastic, no more anatomy than a G.I. Joe.

A lifetime of modesty wasn’t going to be undone instantaneously, though, and unconsciously, Damien’s hand shot down to cover up his crotch briefly. To his surprise, hers went to cover her breasts in response.

“Oh,” they said together, and both gave off a half-bashful, half-embarrassed chuckle; more at themselves than at each other. Wasn’t this the whole point?

“First time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

“Me too,” he affirmed. “I’m excited, but…I guess I’m starting to get over it,” he blushed looking down at his crotch. Still looking at his feet, he began to walk awa-

“Hey,” she called out before he had even gotten three steps ahead of her. “I’m, I’m…everything tingles right now…in a good way. But I feel empty. Hold my hand?”

“I’m Damien,” he said, taking her hand, and blushing a little.

“Delilah,” she told him.

And hand-in-hand they walked past the double doors with the sign that read: “Eden: Take nothing with you beyond this point. (No fig leaves allowed)” together.

Re: Addiction

5-I hold on so nervously
To me and my drink
I wish it was cooling me

But so far has not been good
It’s been shitty
And I feel awkward as I should

This club has got to be
The most pretentious thing
Since I thought you and me

Well, I am imagining
A dark lit place
For your place or my place
-Finger Eleven; “Paralyzer”

Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” bombarded Damien as he and Delilah walked through the doors of Eden. The base was so loud that the very air seemed to shake. This wasn’t just loud; it was nearly weaponized sound. Any other time, Damien might be nauseous from the very pulsing of the air. Now though, he was merely a pond feeling the ripples going through him.
To call this place big was an insult to the concept of “big”. It was just too much of an understatement, really. It would be a little like calling a giant a dwarf. The place was so wide on all sides that you had to squint and focus to spot the wall farthest from the doors. This place had to be described in blocks instead of feet, Damien would have guessed.

Damien’s group had definitely not been the first group to arrive, either. While it wasn’t crowded and there was plenty of room to walk around the floor, no place that Damien could perceive seemed empty either. There were pockets of people littering the floor, dancing with and for each other. Their bodies were illuminated in disco lights from the ceiling, changing their skins in the hues of green, red, blue, purple, yellow, and orange; just like the girls at the check in booths come to think of it. It was beautiful and slightly otherworldly.

To Damien, the scene reminded him of a kind of mating ritual. Granted, this type of behavior wasn’t uncommon in the clubs that Damien had been to, but something about the subtle (and not so subtle) differences made it seem more alien to him. Or maybe that was just the little red pill making his mind more inquisitive and excitable than it normally was.
A lone man or woman would be dancing by themselves, swinging their hips, and moving their arms to the beat of the music, and then a potential mate -same sex or opposite sex, it didn’t matter- would approach. They’d dance together for a few moments, talking with the language of their hips and their eyes – the voice didn’t carry too far over Depeche Mode’s rhythmic riffs- until finally they’d either drift apart, one not completely happy with the experience, or hold each other.

The air stank of sweat, various perfumes, and sex, and Damien loved every scent that wafted into his nostrils. It smelled primal. It smelled carnal. It smelled visceral. It smelled alive.

How in the world was this place so big? The enormity of it all was hard to comprehend. There was no way that all this space had been here before. They were deep enough to be in the sewers or the subway and Damien was surprised the ground didn’t shake from passing trains. For that matter, Damien hadn’t been able to hear a single note when he was in the locker room, but now each note literally made him feel as though he were trembling. Was this entire area sound proofed? Shouldn’t he be experiencing hearing loss by now? He didn’t see any speakers either, for that matter. Where was the music coming from? All of these questions were running through Damien’s mind when he felt a light squeeze on his hand.

He looked over and realized he was still holding on to the girl he’d met a few minutes ago hand. “Delilah,” she’d said her name was. That was a name that Levi had rattled off when speaking of the “newbies”. Like him, this was her first time, here at Eden, and as two virgins of the experience, they shakily held hands together and were adjusting and taking in the sights sounds smells and feelings that this strange little world had to offer.

Her gorgeous red hair hung down in curls past her shoulders and was swept back, doing nothing to conceal her breasts. Without thinking Damien’s eyes quickly snuck a look below her waist and yes, the carpet did match the drapes.

She stood a little taller right now, seeming less vulnerable than before. She looked more in her element now, more adjusted than Damien felt and less overwhelmed. She smiled coyly at him and he noticed her eyes drift down briefly to see what his downstairs looked like. He felt a pulsing of blood and warmth as his body responded and his manhood began to swell anew.

He looked at her tits, briefly considering whether he could get away with copping a feel right now. Only the contract’s mentioning of “blah, blah, strictly consensual blah, blah” reminded him to not give in completely to his newly stoked animal instincts. Innocence as an excuse for hedonism may have been a theme here, but the laws of man still applied, regardless.
She leaned in and gave him a hug, and Damien returned it. Oh, God in Heaven did she smell good. What fragrance was that? Or even more alluring, was she wearing any man made scent at all? Maybe this was just how the pretty girl smelled. He felt the softness of her breasts press into his chests and he hugged a little harder; his hips gyrating a bit. He let out an inaudible moan when he felt her breath on his face, but even though she shouted in his ears, it came out as barely a whisper.

“i’m good now” Damien heard her say. “thanks. i’ll save you a dance later.” She gave him a quick, kiss on the cheek and released him. Damien blushed like a fourteen year old who had just been kissed at homecoming, still slack-jawed, as she gave one final wave and then pranced away. He had literally had her hand-in-hand, and had somehow managed to be slow enough on the draw that he snatched defeat right out of the jaws of victory.

His pride a little wounded, Damien shrugged and made his way out onto the dance floor. The riffs of “Personal Jesus” faded away and were quickly replaced with the even heavier bass line of Pink Floyd’s “Money”.

“yeeaaah,” Damien heard himself say through the blaring cash register sound effects, turning his sulk into a strut. “Personal Jesus” had a kind of slow, sexy, lap dance groove to it. But this groove was meant for the prowlers, the people who hadn’t found what they were looking for and wanted to slink around.

Damien slinked through the dancers, the soles on his feet shaking with the bass guitar. “Bum, BUM buh-bum bum bum baaaa dum BUM buh-bum bum bum baaa dum.” As he advanced around the dance floor, a slick smile on his face and the eyes of a wolf, he took part in the mating ritual.

If he saw a girl he liked, he’d go up and dance with her. After a few moments, one or both of them would decide that this wasn’t a good fit, and they’d part ways, amicably enough. It was never with disgust, but just a kind of “meh”, followed by a polite smile, a nod and a wink; a wink that communicated “Nope…you keep hunting and I’ll do the same, but good luck.” Negative feelings, Damien found, had been reduced to “not quite right”, while positive feelings now skyrocketed to “BEST EVER” status.

That one girl, Delilah, had been “BEST EVER” before she went counterclockwise around the floor’s perimeter and he went clockwise. He’d yet to experience that again, but refused to give up hope.

All the time, Damien kept moving forward, deeper into Eden. Damien half-walked half danced his way around the black floor, looking for some action, looking to make a connection, however brief, with someone. The tunes went from slow grooves like “Money” to faster ones like “Give it Away,” and then to club classics like “I Want You Back,” and of course “All About that Bass.” The music selection was…a little varied to say the least, but it seemed the club was using its air vibrating super bass to its fullest effect.

He had approached a dozen and a half people over the course of half a dozen songs, and even had been approached himself, flatteringly enough, but nothing felt “right.” Nothing felt “BEST EVER” level to him, quite yet.

Damien was just starting to sulk, when he looked down towards his feet and realized the terrain was changing. He was clearly at the border of the dance floor’s black surface. About ten feet ahead, the black, disco lighted dance floor ended and changed into a clean white tiled floor with less severe white florescent lights above it. The words “PLAY AREA” were scrawled in black on the white tile. Behind him, Damien glanced the words “DANCE AREA” printed in white on black tile.

Tentatively, he crossed the line from black to white. The change was almost instant. That lively, sexual, visceral smell of sweat and sex still remained, but everything else in his senses let up. The air felt cooler here, and it didn’t vibrate with each note on the dance floor. Oddly enough, Damien noticed, the music had died down considerably. He could still hear the music, but it was far from blaring now. It was more ambiance than anything.

This must have been the cool down area, Damien reasoned. There seemed to be fewer people here, though it was still far from empty. But it was quieter and less frantic than the dance floor behind him. Even now, as he looked back over his shoulder he saw people grooving and grinding and swaying with each other as their bodies glistened all the hues of a techno-color rainbow.

Still feeling pretty good, and actually a little relieved now that the intensity of the dance floor was gone, Damien decided to continue his unguided tour of Eden. The first thing he noticed about this section were the walls. The walls seemed to be covered in thick, plush, carpeting, and Damien even spied some people petting the walls.

Actually, that looked kind of fun once he got over how strange it looked from the outside. His skin was still tingling and craving touch- more so now that he had developed a thin layer of sweat on the dance floor- and his hands twitched at the idea of being able to dig into and grab something with a little resistance. His intrigue was dampened a bit when he saw a few people actively humping the walls. They were either high, or desperate to get laid, or both.

The furry walls were divided up into patches, interrupted by plain white doors with electronic signs above them. There were rooms behind those doors, no doubt, and not just bathrooms. The signs flashed messages like “UNOCCUPIED”, or “OCCUPIED”, or “CLEANING”.

Damien took a right turn and strode past a sign hanging from the ceiling titled “Sensory and Exhibition Area.” He came upon rows upon rows of cages, or rather, wooden pens. Wooden bars and wooden gates encircled what appeared to be foam padding. It rather looked like a child’s play pen, actually. They were even filled with various children’s toys. They had scanners and prices on them, too.

“FURRY AND PLUSHY”, a sign on one of the pens filled with stuffed animals read. “HARD AND SMOOTH” a pen loaded with stacking blocks proclaimed. “GOOEY AND STICKY” announced another that had jars silly putty. All of them charged at least twenty dollars to unlock.

Damien peered in on some of the pens saw naked people playing with teddy bears and wooden blocks and Play-Doh with pure delight and fascination in their eyes. There was even one with a grown woman playing in a sand box with the happiest smile on her face. Damien wanted to judge them and pull back in revulsion, but found himself slightly jealous of their happiness. They were so tripped out, probably having taken more than one of the little red pills that Levi peddled and now were being amused by the most basic sensory input. Still, he was at least slightly tempted to try it out.

Deeper into to the “PLAY AREA,” Damien came upon several pens with people clustered around them like patrons at a zoo. Damien got a better look at one of the pens and saw that the foam floor had been replaced with a triple king-size mattress.

Inside, four people rutted and writhed, moaning about in pleasure as they slid into and inside each other. The onlookers weren’t just looking either. The men and women gathered around the pen were all rubbing themselves, masturbating to the show given to them. One of the participants in the cage crawled over and took a man’s cock inside their mouth through the bars. Another stood up and hunched over to accept a woman on the outside’s nipple.

Damien felt himself grow hard again and eyed the price on the gate’s scanner. He scowled. A hundred bucks to fuck and suck so that other people could beat off in front of you? There was nothing innocent about that. That was robbery. Still, maybe he could come back later and try his luck through the bars for free.

He continued walking until the floor once again changed from white to a deep red. The lettering on the floor said “FOOD AREA”, and now Damien’s nose was greeted with the smell of cooking meat and booze in addition to sweat and sex.

Damien looked to his right and saw the black border of the dance floor, which had never left his sight completely during his exploration of the play area. Since Damien could make out a wall marking the outer border of the club, he reckoned that the ratio was fifty percent dance floor, with the play area and the food area each taking up their own quarter of the floor space.

This floor was populated by bars, which manned by people in gorilla costumes of all things. There were no stools or chairs, but there were definitely people drinking, leaning on the counter as gorillas poured their drinks. Damien nodded his head. This was more his speed at the moment. He might not be having much luck with the ladies right this second, and he might not be ready to play with kiddie toys or fuck a stranger in front of an audience, but he could certainly drink himself into a good time.

“What’ll it be?” a gorilla bartender asked Damien as he leaned up against the nearest bar.

“Holy crap!” Damien gasped. “I didn’t expect your lips to move.”

“You know any other way to talk?” the gorilla bellowed.

“No, just…wow. That’s a really nice costume you got on there.”

The gorilla looked down and then pointed to its neck. “It’s just a bowtie.”

“No, no…I mean the gorilla thing. Hey…what’s a gorilla doing in the Garden of Eden anyways? I don’t remember reading about gorillas in Eden.”

“Were you there?” the gorilla asked accusingly.


“Then, what you’re saying is, you’re going off of second hand information.”

Man, this guy was in character. No point in trying to break him.

“Gimme your cheapest drink that ain’t water,” Damien ordered.

The gorilla took out a scanner from underneath the bar. “Wrist,” he ordered. Damien stuck his hand forward and the heard a beeping noise as the gorilla scanned the barcode on his snake bracelet. The big ape in the bow tie withdrew a glass with some amber colored liquid from a bottle and poured it in. Then he scooped some ice in and slid it over to Damien.

Damien picked the glass up and tossed the contents back with gusto. It tasted like lightning in a glass. Every neuron fired up as the stuff in the glass went down his esophagus and into his belly. From there, he imagined he could feel his veins cooling down, yet feeling re-energized all the same. And it was so smooth, Damien didn’t even taste the burn.

“'Nuther,” Damien ordered, slamming the glass down and grinning with glee. “And make it a double.”

“I don’t do free refills,” the gorilla replied. Damien shoved his wrist forward and allowed it to be scanned again. The bartender slid forward a taller glass filled with even more of the strange, delicious drink. Greedily, Damien gulped it down, thrilling at the feeling of the stuff sliding down his throat.

“This is great!” Damien yelled excitedly. “What is this stuff?”

“Apple juice,” the gorilla informed him.

“You mean, like cider?” Damien asked, seeking clarification.

“Nope. Plain apple juice.” The gorilla smirked at him. That fucking smug ape smirked at him!

“There you are,” he heard a voice call out to him. Damien whipped his head around and came face to face with the one girl he’d been thinking about in some capacity or another all night.

“Hey there,” Damien said, suddenly blushing.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Delilah said, one hand on her hip, the other on the bar. “Damien, right?”

“Looking…looking for me? Why?” Damien inquired.

“Because I had wanted you to chase after me, silly. I still owe you that dance.”

“Oh…I thought…I just thought…” Damien stammered like a dumb school boy.

“Such a gentleman,” she smiled. “And you’re blushing. I don’t get that a lot. It’s actually one of the reasons I came here…to make somebody cute blush, I mean. I’m not really looking for a gentleman tonight.” She winked at him. “Do you still want to dance or something?”

“Would I?” Damien beamed. It had been a long time since he had felt this way. Was it love at first sight? No. Probably not. Attraction, yeah. Maybe even some chemistry beyond the Re-Lease in his
body. But whatever it was, it felt good; kind of like a type of puppy love or first crush from days long ago.

Delilah reached for his hand and began to drag him towards the black floors of the “DANCE AREA”. Looking at her backside, his libido flared up. A little voice inside of him told him he might not get this opportunity again tonight, and he was not in the mood for dancing right now. Dancing was foreplay. Enough foreplay.

Damien dug his heels in and tugged back. Delilah turned around and looked at him. “What’s up?” she asked.

“How about we do something besides dance?” Damien asked. He felt her dainty hands grab the shaft of his cock and squeeze a little bit.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

He thought about the private rooms in the “PLAY AREA”, and smiled.

“Follow me.”

Re: Addiction

It’s very interesting to see the kind of primitive regression taking place in this veritable garden of Eden where even the most basic sensory input is experienced in a whole new light, much like how a young child experiences the world with wonder and delight. It’s definitely an interesting way to subtly incorporate a regression of sorts.

This whole club has an otherwordly feel, and it almost feels like the participants are members of a cult, especially with that intro ceremony. Otherwise normal people devolve into primitive, hedonistic beasts and we can watch as Damien and Delilah slowly begin to devolve as well, with Re-lease helping to chip away at their higher level brain functions and inhibitions.

I can only imagine how the duality between this ethereal, hedonistic club and the real world that all of its members must eventually return to can create a vicious binge-purge cycle, much like our own lifestyle. Eventually, Damien seemed to reach a breaking point and give in to his own personal Eden, abandoning the real world for the primitive delights that the drug brings him and leading to the scenario that unfolds in the first chapter.

You seem to be typing at a breakneck pace. This is extremely interesting, and I look forward to see how it unfolds.

Re: Addiction


Thank you so much for the analysis. Primitive regression, otherworldly cult-like atmosphere, a different kind of binge and purge cycle. All of these things are elements I’ve tried to introduce and incorporate into this story. I’m glad that enough of these elements are being picked up on by some people. It makes me feel like I’m doing my job.

To be upfront: I’ve actually already written the entire story. It’s just so long that I don’t want to release it all at once, lest it be too intimidating. So I’m posting up a chapter a day or so. It also allows for catching of my errors, like WBDaddy did with my grammar in the first chapter, and makes it easier to pick apart and analyze things like you just did.

Next chapter will be up later today. It’s where things get a little more “interesting”, and I get a little more self-indulgent as a writer.

Re: Addiction

6-We weren’t in love, oh no, far from it
We weren’t searchin’ for some pie in the sky summit
We were just young and restless and bored
Livin’ by the sword
And we’d steal away every chance we could
To the backroom, or the ally, or the trusty woods
I used her, she used me
But neither one cared
We were gettin’ our share
Workin’ on our night moves

Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band; “Night Moves”.

“Let’s see what’s inside,” Damien said as the door swung open. The door required two scans of fifty dollars, so he and Delilah had each placed their wristbands under the electronic eye of the door’s scanner.

Feeling the thrilling combination of boyishly smitten and adolescently horny, Damien took Delilah on a bee line straight for the private rooms in the “PLAY AREA”. His bare feet touched soft padding on the floor as he led the way and Delilah, smiling coyly, followed close behind.

“What is this place?” Delilah wondered aloud, sinking a little into the thick padding of the floor.

“Not what I thought it would be,” Damien answered, looking around.

The room that had been advertised as “Unoccupied,” seemed like something that a schizophrenic porn star turned child’s nanny might have cooked up on one of his or her less lucid days. Damien hadn’t been expecting much, maybe a bed and some pillows. But he hadn’t been expecting this.

The walls, floors, and ceiling were all padded, for starters. It looked like the inside of every cell in every mental institution in every movie that he had ever seen; only the floor also had a cotton sheet covering the entire space. It wasn’t a single sheet, either, but instead were multiple, non-matching and decorated sheets sewn together. Sheets with ABC’s, Barnyard Animals, Barney the Dinosaur, Sesame Street, and Dora the Explorer were all stitched together, like a leviathan kiddie quilt.

The floor emitted the distinct rustle of plastic with every step that they took, revealing a second barrier between their bare skins and the matting. It was like they were on some massive toddler’s mattress.

From the ceiling, within reach were dangling sex toys. Beads, plugs, gags, and vibrators all dangled like low hanging fruit from the ceiling, a strap of Velcro holding them to the crossed planks of wood that were roped to the ceiling. Delilah experimentally pawed at a dildo, sending the whole display that it was on into a lazy spin. It was like a child’s mobile, Damien realized.

“What do you think the plastic is for?” Damien turned to Delilah.

Delilah shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe it makes it easier to clean up bodily fluids. What do you think about the sheets?”

“Kind of weird, but whatever.” Damien decided. “It’s not gonna make me lose any kind of focus.”

“I can see that,” Delilah said, smirking down at his still visibly erect penis. “Oooh, what’s this?” She plodded over to a cushioned massage table with a cabinet underneath. Damien followed and stared at her glistening body as he casually played with himself.

“Huh, well whaddya know,” Delilah shrugged, getting on her knees so she could better see the cabinet’s contents. “It’s like a massage mini-bar. Oils, perfumes, lotions; even some baby powder.”

Damien used her curiosity as an excuse to get closer to her. He squatted down behind and draped an arm over her shoulder as he caressed her nipples and gently pressed his member against her backside. Her hand moved back and she ran her fingers through Damien’s hair. Unconcerned with the contents of the cabinet, Damien nuzzled the back of her head and rubbed his nose in her long curly hair.

Delilah leaned forward, and Damien leaned with her as she ran her bracelet on the cabinet’s scanner. The doors clicked open. She reached past the expensive looking glass vials of perfume and massage oils and pulled out a perfectly ordinary white bottle of Johnson and Johnson’s Baby Powder. She twisted open the lid so that the talcum powder could come out of the little holes and inhaled deeply.

“Oh my gawd! I love the smell of baby powder!” she proclaimed. “Like, I normally don’t care. But…the idea just seems right. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Damien gave lip service to the idea, not really caring; just wanting to get laid right now. Delilah poured the baby powder into her hands and began to rub the sweet smelling stuff under her arms and on her breasts. The smell was pleasing, Damien admitted to himself. And oddly familiar too. He suspected that it had been mixed in with the various aromas of the club and he just hadn’t thought of it because he lacked the context to expect it.

“Oh, someone left a sharpie in here,” Delilah said, putting the baby powder down, and pulling out a tiny black marker. “That’s lucky.” She separated herself from Damien’s grasp and faced him.

“Yeah?” Damien said.

“Yeah. Are you left-handed or right handed?” Delilah inquired.

“I’m a lefty. Why?” Damien wanted to know.

“Give me your right hand.” Delilah gestured him to come closer

Damien complied. “Okay, why?”

She smirked and gave him a wink. “Because if I’m going to give you my phone number for later, I don’t want it to be on the hand that you beat off with.”

Score! He hadn’t even had sex with this chick, and Damien had just gotten permission to see her again. This was getting better every minute. He held his hand still while the rest of him squirmed as Delilah jotted down seven wonderful numbers into his right palm. Everything tickled. Everything tingled. This was both the greatest and worst thing ever. The anticipation was getting to him and with each number, Damien felt his pulse rising and his dick throbbing.

Delilah dropped the pen and picked up the baby powder. She poured some of the talc into Damien’s hand and slowly…so slowly…too slowly dusted the palm of his hand off. “Let’s keep that nice and dry for later. We wouldn’t want it smudging off, would we?” Damien shook his head. He was becoming more agitated as this was beginning to stretch out.

“Huh, they even have diapers to go with the baby powder,” Delilah remarked as she replaced the baby powder back in the cabinet. She took out a large rectangular shaped plastic object out of the cabinet. She unfolded it experimentally. Sure enough, it was a diaper, the kind you might find in a hospital, or an old folks home. “Wanna try it?” she offered the diaper to Damien. “Could be kinky. Kind of like a sensory deprivation thing.”

Damien shook his head adamantly. “No. Nuh-uh. Not tonight. No more deprivation. Do you feel me?”

Delilah stuck her tongue out at him, playfully, not realizing what a cock tease she was being now with all of these coy looks. Were they gonna fuck or not?! “Not ye-”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He pounced on her, pinning her to the cushioned ground as he pressed his lips to her mouth. Her mouth opened and accepted his tongue as they wrestled on the ground, moaning in primal fury. His manhood slid into and filled her, both of them aching from excitement.

He thrust into her erratically. She thrust back as she wrapped her legs around his torso. Their fingers interlaced as they grunted. Eventually they built up a synchronized rhythm. Oh God, he had been looking to get his dick wet all night, and finally it was happening.

He broke off the kiss and pushed himself up a little bit to get a better angle and steal a look at her gorgeous tits bouncing up and down with each thrust of his penis. Her eyes popped open and took him in. She unlaced one of his fingers and began to pull and pick at his chest hair, running her slender fingers through it.

“Faster please,” she huffed, still bucking against him. “Faster.” He was more than happy to comply.

“This is awesome,” one of them said. Not the most eloquent of phrases to describe the elation and highs of sex, but it succinctly summed up how they were feeling right then.

“This is awesome” the other one agreed. Though for the life of them neither one would remember who spoke the sentiment first and which one agreed. Soon, the gift of speech was lost to them, and they both broke down to a series of grunts and yells of ecstasy as they squeezed and pinched and pulled at each other; all the while never breaking the tempo of their thrusting against one another.

Just when Damien was beginning to feel the slightest bit winded, before he even had the time to consider asking for a change of position or a break…


Damien, felt a swift hand come across and sting his backside. The surprise titillated him over the edge and with a few more strong thrusts, both he and Delilah were screaming as they climaxed and came in unison.

Suddenly exhausted, Damien rolled over to the side and laid down. Delilah immediately rolled over and began to kiss him all over his face again. “Thank you,” she whispered in between kisses, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much I needed that.”

“Me too,” he agreed. He saw her close her eyes, and he did the same. He breathed in, inhaling the smell of the baby powder, and just basked in the quiet of the afterglow.

“DAMIEN!” an unfamiliar voice stirred him from his after sex meditation. Damien’s eyes popped open and he sat up. A woman was standing in front of him, looking down at him, an expression of disapproval on her face. Her bleached blond hair was pulled back into a tight pony-tail, and her outfit consisted of nurses scrubs decorated with pictures of baby bottles, rocking horses, and safety pins, like she was some kind of nursery worker.

She was pretty enough, though not even in the same league as Delilah beside him. If Damien had seen her on the street, he would have thought she looked nice enough and then moved on. She might be a nice dinner date or a cup of coffee, but not a wild one night stand with a stranger type. If anything she totally had the “Mom” thing going on. Not the “MILF” thing; the “Mom” thing.

Damien looked over to check on Delilah, but found he was now spooning a rather large teddy bear with Delilah’s curly red hair instead.

“Damien, why is your diaper off, baby boy?!” the strange woman demanded. “You know you’re not supposed to take your diaper off!”

“Diaper?” Damien shrieked in confusion. “Lady, what the fu-”

“And what did you do to that plushie?” the intruder asked sharply, pointing at the Delilah Bear. “Did you take your diaper off so you could make cummies on that bear?!”

“Wha-?” was all Damien had the presence of mind to say. Before he could say anything else, the woman in the nursery scrubs was on him in a flash. He felt himself flying through the air as she picked him up, effortlessly and slammed him down on the massage table.

Damien tried to sit up, or to move his hands, or kick once he had landed, but nothing happened. It was as if table he was on was fly paper, and he was the fly.

“That’s a bad baby!” the woman with the gargantuan strength said, heedless to Damien’s plight. “You know you’re not supposed to take your diaper off without permission! You’re supposed to make cummies in your diaper! Not outside it!”

Damien felt like a prisoner in his own body, unable to move, as the woman bent over the cabinet and took the baby powder back out along with what was unmistakably a diaper. This diaper, though, was not like the kind of adult incontinence product that you could get at your local pharmacy. Damien could already tell the difference from where he was forced to lay. For starters, the outer covering was not the soft plastic, but more of a faux cloth cover. Secondly, he could already tell that the diaper was covered in infantile decorations.

“I swear, baby boy,” the woman continued to admonish him as she unfolded the diaper, easily lifted Damian’s legs, and slid it under his rump. “If you won’t learn to keep your diaper on, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson, sweetie.”

Damien felt his ass land on the soft padding of the diaper, and the perfume aroma of lavender invaded his nostrils as the lady covered his crotch in a cloud of baby powder. She pulled the diaper up between Damien’s paralyzed legs and reached to the sides. One large tape on each side was used to secure the diaper onto him. First the left, then the right.

He had come to Eden looking to get naked and get laid, and now his entire pelvis was encased in thick padding. He looked at the decorations on the diaper around his waist and saw that the landing strip for the tapes was decorated with pictures of pastel snakes and red apples with the occasional smiling baby devil. At his crotch were the stenciled outlines of flames.

“Now time to learn your lesson, baby boy.” The woman in the nursery scrubs announced. Damien found himself flipped over onto his belly, still unable to move.

The woman’s hand went across Damien’s padded back side, and Damien winced in discomfort. Even through the thick padding of the diaper he was imprisoned in, Damien felt it.

More stings to his backside stung him. These were more potent than the first.

The spankings continued, building up speed. Damien wanted to wriggle and kick, to break free. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He just laid there like a ragdoll while this woman continued to spank him with increasing intensity on her part and increasing pain on his part.
What had started off as one of Damien’s standard methods of foreplay was rapidly intensifying to torture.

“Let me go, you crazy bitch!” Damien demanded.

“Not until you show me you can be trusted to keep your diaper on!” The woman in the nursery scrubs scolded him. “Good babies get diaper changes, bad babies get spankings!”

Damien was suddenly acutely aware of a pressure building in his bladder. He hadn’t gone to the bathroom all night, and as the pain on his rear increased, so did the pain inside of him. Unable to squirm or reposition himself on the table, Damien bit his lip, feeling the pressure build with each successive “THWAP”.

“Noooooo!” Damien whimpered out as he felt the first trickle of urine come unbidden from his penis into the waiting diaper. A trickle became a flood as his body gave in and the warmth spread across his crotch into the thirsty padding. The lady in the nursery scrubs didn’t even slow down her spanking.

The realization that he had wet himself like an infant, while wearing a diaper to boot caused something in Damien to snap.

“STOP!” Damien heard himself cry out, genuine tears welling up in his eyes. His will had broken with his bladder, and now his face was becoming wet to match his crotch.

“Did you use your diaper like a good baby?” The woman asked.

“Yes,” Damien whimpered. The slaps to his backside continued to rain down.

“Are you going to ever take your diaper off by yourself?” she pressed.

“No,” Damien whined. “Please stop.”

“Are you going to be a good baby and only make cummies in your diapers?”

“Yes!” he wailed.

“Yes what?!” she screamed at him.

“Yes ma’am,” Damien sobbed through the spankings he was receiving.

“What?!” the woman screamed.

“Yes –”

“-Mama!” Damien shouted, sitting up. He looked around. He was panting and shivering and covered in sweat, and he was in the same room as before, but now Delilah lay there sleeping, a troubled look on her face. He sniffed the air and looked down at himself.

He wasn’t wearing a diaper, but he had definitely wet the bed. And based on the stains, so had she. So this is what the plastic sheets were for.

“Delilah,” Damien shook the sleeping girl. “Delilah, wake up. We gotta-”

“Mama!” Delilah shrieked, rolling away in a panic from Damien. She had the eyes of a cornered animal and her hands shot down protectively to her crotch. They both eyed each other warily

“I…I just had the weirdest dream.” Delilah panted.

“Me too.” He agreed

“Think it’s this room?” she asked.


“I’m going home.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll leave first.” Delilah said. “Gimme two minutes and then come out after me.” She stood up and scurried toward the door. She creaked open the door, and instantly the once unheard music from the club outside filled the padded room. “Oh,” she turned her head to look directly at Damien. “Still…nice meeting you…call me sometime.”

Damien waited the two minutes before sliding back into the Eden’s “PLAY AREA”. Smelling of piss, but too out of it to care and too cheap to spend money on the shower, Damien shuffled out of the club proper and into the “Adams” locker room where he skulked to the little cubby that he had crammed his layers of clothes into. He silently pledged to himself to never show up to anyplace over. It was just too much of a bother, when you thought about it. Too much in the way to get naked.

Tonight definitely hadn’t turned out quite like he thought it would. But it wasn’t bad. Not bad at all, actually. He smirked when he looked down at his right hand while entering the PIN on the dial pad with his left. Numbers like “2-4-6-8” was easy enough to remember, even while high. The seven little digits on his palm, however, would require some memorization. That was the other, more important reason for Damien to skip a shower till he got home. If smelling like stale urine all the way home was the price to make sure the girl’s phone number wasn’t washed down the drain, Damien would gladly pay it tonight. Losing these numbers was losing his chance for a later hookup.

Delilah. Damien blushed just thinking about her. He wasn’t even completely sure if he had slept with her or just fallen asleep with her. The sex and the dream just sort of blended together and it was hard for him to distinguish where one began and the other ended. Had he even climaxed or had they passed out beside each other beforehand? Either way, it was an intense experience, and one he would like to try again in a more personal setting.

Damien pulled his now wrinkled and disheveled clothes over himself, now feeling like the clothing was chafing and constraining him instead of protecting him. He looked down and realized that he had been lucky in more ways than one this night. His shoes, left unattended, were still here and evidently untampered with.

He slid his right foot into one shoe and his left into the other. But something wasn’t right. He couldn’t fit his left foot in. His toe had jammed up against something hard and smooth. He heard a rattling sound as he wriggled and kicked his foot gingerly, scraping the heel of the shoe on the locker room floor so that he wouldn’t have to use his hands. The shoe came off and tilted over. Damien could see the foreign object had moved down to the heel and part of it was sticking into the air.

Damien bent down and picked it up out of his shoe to examine the object. It was a little orange pill bottle; the kind you got at cheap generic pharmacies. Damien gave the bottle a little shake, and through the transparent orange plastic, he could make out dozens of little red pills in the bottle. On the front was a label. The label had the words, “Re-lease. Free Sample. –L”, on it.

Score! This stuff was pretty much Levi’s seal of approval to get back into the club. And to have a little fun at home. As Damien walked back up to the main level of the club with a whole bottle of little red pills that made apple juice better than booze and made cuddling feel as exciting as sex stashed safely away in his pocket, and a beautiful woman’s number literally in the palm of his hand, three words came to his lips:

“Best. Night. Ever.”

That was also the last night that Damien dreamt he wasn’t wearing a diaper, while that morning had been the last he would wake up in a dry bed.

Re: Addiction

Today: Later this morning. Before Work.
7.I feel fantastic
And I’ve never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now

-Jonathan Coulton; “I Feel Fantastic”.

Damien sped down the road on the way to work, all the windows in his car rolled down and the heat turned up to max. A good airing out to get energized and be productive at work was exactly what he needed. He realized that now. How had he not realized that before?

The Re-Lease had kicked in about half-way through the impromptu morning shower he had taken in lieu of toilet paper, and now he was firing on all cylinders. Everything was looking up. Today was going to be a great day, regardless of the condition of his apartment, or his mattress, or his clothes. How could it not end well?

Damien had started an impromptu masturbation session in his shower. Unfortunately, as had been the trouble lately, he hadn’t been able to finish until he grabbed a washcloth, draped it over his manhood, and rubbed himself through the terrycloth. Something about cumming into wet clothes just felt… right.

He had been about to go take his single white rag and take it to the washing machine, when he realized that his entire bathroom had been covered in dirty clothes, and that his closet was bare. This was not good to say the least. Damien had to be at work in less than twenty minutes, and all of his clothes smelled like a combination of piss, sweat, and mildew. He had literally not done a load of laundry in weeks, and it was only now occurring to him that he was out of clothes.

He didn’t even have any clothes that could pass on a casual Friday. Wait, was it Friday? Damien didn’t know, and there was no time to find out. Time was of the essence! He had to act quickly if he wanted to be able to go work and be presentable. That’s when the brilliant idea had occurred to Damien that a little airing out could go a long way.

Having completely forsaken the soiled washcloth- he’d have to remember to wash it later; and if not it could just become his new masturbation cloth…something about the contents of his penis emptying into something white just seemed “appropriate”- Damien scrambled around and found his cleanest dirty shirt, and a pair of black pants that weren’t too stained.

He grabbed the bottle of Febreze that he kept beside his bed to fight the smell of stale urine and sprayed it on himself till he was almost dripping with the stuff. After a brief stop to the kitchen- completely forgetting to put the half-gallon or so of milk he had left out earlier back in the refrigerator- Damien grabbed his keys and a six pack of apple juice boxes.

Now, Damien grinned wide between sips as mother nature did the work of cleaning his clothes for him. As wind cascaded through his car, his Febreze soaked shirt and pants were being air dried and smelling as if they had just been pulled fresh out of the laundry. Furthermore, Damien reasoned, the constant pressing of the wind currents, and the hot air coursing through his automobile’s A.C were acting as a type of iron, so he should be at least reasonably unwrinkled when he arrived to work a mere five minutes late.

It was as if Damien was creating his own miracles. No, wait, this wasn’t a miracle, he thought. It was just science. Why hadn’t he ever thought of this before? He should have tried going to work on this wonder drug months ago. It’s not as if the stuff impaired his judgement or anything. His tastes, perhaps, but never his judgement. He was going to be sooooo productive at work today.

This actually, was the best option, objectively speaking. For the last few months or so, work had even been more mind-numbing than usual. It had literally been eight hours out of his life every day that he basically had been killing so that he could go home, pop the little red miracle pill, and then have another great night at home. But, if he took the stuff while at work, he could be super productive at work and have a good time to boot.

Maybe he’d be so productive, that his boss would let him leave early, so he could go home and pop another pill. One could hope. This Re-Lease was just so…releasing.

Damien pulled up to a red light. Darn traffic. He could harness the power of nature and machine to kinda-sorta clean his shirt, but he couldn’t beat a traffic light. Damien drummed the steering wheel a rhythmically.

“Come on,” Damien whined. “Come oooooonnnnn. Grrrrrrrreen light!” Nothing happened. “Grrrrrreen light!” Still nothing. “Red light! Green Light! ONETWOTHREE!” he shouted. Still nothing happened. This light was taking forever. Damien hung his head and laid it against the car horn.


Damien jumped up. Had he done that? Of course he had! Then he got an idea. He began honking the horn in sets of three.

“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way!” He sang, though shouting was probably a more apt descriptor. He giggled at how clever he was. He began to absentmindedly chew on his fingers, his tongue licking off the salt on his skin. The tingling and sensitivity that his whole body normally experienced while high on Re-Lease was becoming more concentrated on the mouth. Even his teeth were itching.

Damien lightly chewed on his own fingers, being careful not to bite too hard, regardless of the itching. He could get smells of unclean clothes out, but not blood stains. He was only vaguely aware of the drool that was running down his chin and dripping onto his cleanest dirty shirt. Not that he was concerned. Saliva dried clear, too.

Damien craved something more substantive than his own digits and grabbed another box of apple juice, poking the straw from a used container through the hole so that he wouldn’t have to unwrap the fresh straw from the plastic. Man, he was good!

He slurped down the last of the apple juice and tossed it into the pile that took up his passenger side seat. Even when he had come down from his highs, Damien’s cravings for things like apple juice and milk hadn’t let up. Cleaning the inside of his car had taken about as much priority as cleaning the inside of his home, and now there was a pile of juice and yoo-hoo boxes that started at the floorboards of the passenger seat, and had built itself up to the seat itself.

The light turned green, and Damien floored it. The wind rattled around in the car, and a few empty boxes were scooped up into the air and tossed out of the window onto the side of the road. Oh well; someone would clean that up. Someone always cleaned it up. Damien made a note to himself: Drink apple juice while problem solving more often. The ideas just seemed to flow more freely.

The familiar “dum dum da-deeee dah-dum” of “Personal Jesus” tickled its way into Damien’s ear through the howling wind.

“Well, shoot,” Damien cursed as he dug out his cell phone. The caller ID said “Delilah”, as if the ringtone hadn’t already given it away. He sucked in his breath, bit his lip, and hit “ignore”. He wasn’t supposed to talk to Delilah anymore.

He knew that, but she still had his number, and Damien didn’t want to delete hers. He never had fully memorized the number, and he was afraid that if he took it out of his phone, he might not recognize it and accidentally pick it up the next time she called.

He took his phone and haphazardly tossed it on the pile of juice boxes next to him. With any luck, maybe fate or a stiff breeze would take matters out of his hands. The ringing picked up again as Delilah refused to give up and called back. Delilah was not giving up today, it seemed. Damien stuck his tongue out at the ringing phone.

Damien patted down the front of his shirt. It was dry, as expected. The wind and the AC had done the trick. Breathing a sigh of relief, Damien rolled up his windows and turned off the air conditioning. He wasn’t still entirely comfortable though.

Apparently, his pants hadn’t fully dried yet, and even though the air vents had been pointed mostly at his chest, his pants felt incredibly warm. Very wet and warm actually, which was odd because those two sensations didn’t typically go together.

Damien glanced down at his pants and let out an “Eeeep!” when he saw the spreading dampness around his crotch. Even now, the wet spot was growing and he could feel the urine beginning to pool in his pants, sliding back toward his taint, finally trickling down his legs. It was downright unpleasant.

Now he was wetting himself while awake too? While lesser men might have crumbled at this and called in sick, this fact was just another obstacle to Damien; nothing more, nothing less. Also, Damien had already used up all of his sick days.

“Not a problem,” Damien reassured himself. He took a sharp right turn in the left lane, the sounds of car horns blaring and breaks screeching rattled the inside of his car.

“Sorry!” he called back to more than a few angry and scared drivers. “Wardrobe malfunction!”

And yet, there was hope, Damien rationally concluded, still peeing in his pants as he entered the nearby shopping plaza on the way to work. Hope had a name, and that name was Wal-Mart.

Re: Addiction

son of bitch this is carnal, sad, and oh so fascinating. I would love to read all of it now. Pretty much nothing is going scare me of from reading it?

Re: Addiction

Two months ago: Early Evening

8.Thank goodness my feet are much too tired
I’m sure you’re tired too, I can see an empty booth
Would you like to maybe sit and talk a while?

Me neither, we’d never get along
I’m thinking there’s no chemistry at all
This has been a waste of time and I’m runnin’ outta lines
Don’t you think it’s time for me to end this song? Me neither.

-Brad Paisely; “Me Neither”

“What can I get you two to drink?” the waiter asked.
“I’ll have a white zinfandel, please,” Delilah ordered.
“And you, sir?” the waiter turned to face Damien.
“Apple juice,” Damien said.
“Just plain apple juice?” the waiter asked, waiting for clarification.
Damien took a moment to wobble his head back and forth ever so slightly, literally turning it over in his brain.
“Yeah,” he concluded. “Apple juice works. I’m driving.” He added. The waiter shrugged, nodded his head and went to fetch the couple’s drinks.

“Thanks for calling me,” Delilah said when they were alone at the table. “I honestly was starting to get worried.”

Damien shrugged nonchalantly, “Sorry,” he apologized, “Life’s been kind of busy. I just got caught up in so many little things, and then I remembered that I hadn’t called you.”
Life had, in truth, been busy for Damien; just not eventful. Mostly, Damien had spent the last few weeks staying up late and binge watching episodes of Scooby-Doo as he lay naked on the carpet.

Other than having to constantly wash his sheets, he hadn’t done a whole lot of work at home either. Calling Delilah had almost been a coincidence, in fact. Damien had been rolling high off of Re-Lease a few days ago, and was walking around Wal-Mart, oddly fascinated by all of the Sesame Street Toys, and-

“Then I remembered putting your number in my phone, but never calling you, and well, here we are.”

“And here we are,” Delilah echoed Damien. There was an empty silence, and both stared down at their menus, letting the random sounds of iced tea being stirred and cutlery scraping against plates from the adjoining tables make a kind of awkward soundtrack to their evening. Why was this so hard? It had been easy a few weeks ago in Eden. But then, both had been vulnerable, in a very new situation, and under a slight chemically induced haze.

The waiter returned with the wine and the apple juice. “Okay, guys, here are your drinks. Are you ready to order yet?”

Damien looked over to Delilah. “I’m ready if you are.”

“You go ahead,” Delilah said, “I’ll figure what I want after your done.”

“Oh, okay.” Damien looked up at the waiter, nervously biting his lip. “I would like the lobster macaroni and cheese, please.”

“Excellent choice,” the waiter jotted down Damien’s order, before glancing patiently yet expectantly at Damien’s companion.

“Y’know,” Delilah said, looking up from her menu, “I think I’ll have the same.” The waiter quickly scribbled in a “x2” next to the order of lobster macaroni and cheese, and left the two of them to their not talking.

“So…” Damien piped up after nearly a minute of hearing bits and pieces of other people’s dinner conversations, “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m actually going back to college to earn my degree in accounting.”

“Oh,” was all that Damien replied. He had no idea how to follow that up.

“What about you?” Delilah asked, following suit.

“I work in an office.”

“What kind of office?”

“It’s…complicated,” the answer popped out of Damien’s lips and he didn’t think anything of it. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Oh,” was all that Delilah replied, in turn. There was more not talking. More background white noise of other people more comfortable in their own skin. More not quite successful attempts at making eye contact. The aromas of hot pasta and cooked meat permeated the air of the restaurant, giving the atmosphere an uncomfortably warm feeling when paired with the empty sound between the two diners.

“Well, what do you do for fun?” Damien tried to pick things back up.

“I like going to parties, and clubs, and dancing,” Delilah told him, “I love dancing. You?”

Damien fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably. His legs swung in his chair slightly. “Actually, I’m a bit of a homebody, lately. Eden was kind of an experiment.” It was the truth, in that Damien wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t exactly factual. Before Eden, Damien had gone clubbing and dancing often enough; often enough that he had a standard clubbing attire and knew what to expect at your typical club scene. But since the experiment of going to the city’s hottest and only nude club, Damien couldn’t be bothered to leave his house most nights, except to go to the grocery store for T.V. dinners and window shop late at night at Wal-Mart, jealously looking at children’s toys. Hadn’t Damien used to cook for himself?

“Oh.” She paused, sounding a little more than disappointed. “Do you like sports?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m actually a bit of a tomboy in that department.”

“Um…yeah?” he lied, and it was obvious. Her curly red locks seemed to lose a little bounce.

This was not going as hoped. He continued to fidget, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Damien said after another awkward silence. “You wanna skip out on this place, and go back to Eden? We had a good time there.”

Delilah sighed and brushed her hair out of her face. “Would like to, but can’t,” she said. “I’ve been trying to go back, but I can never spot that Levi guy and that bouncer won’t let me past without a little red pill.”

“Oh really?” Damien smiled, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a pill bottle full of Re-Lease, and rattled it around a little bit. He had been planning on popping one of these tonight in the bathroom if things looked to be heading in the right direction.

Delilah’s jaw dropped open. “You have that much?!” she exclaimed. “How the hell did you get that much?”

Damien smiled cockily. “Well, y’know, Levi really liked me, so he gave me some extra. We’re buds.” He was laying it on thick, but it seemed to be working. He was the big shot all of a sudden

“How many times have you been back?” Delilah asked, her voice full of awe.

“A couple. I brought these along in case you didn’t feel like seeing a movie or something.” This was the biggest lie so far. Damien hadn’t been back to Eden since that first night. He’d taken the magical little red pills that made so many of his insecurities melt away pretty much every night, and he had been naked in the safety of his own home for much of it; but not once had he done so for the purpose of getting back into Eden.

“Then what the hell are we hanging around here for? Let’s go!”

They left without even attempting to pay for the food they had ordered.

Best. Night. Ever.

Re: Addiction

Two months ago: Time unknown

9.I close my eyes at night
Wondering where I would be without you in my life
Everything I did was just a bore
Everywhere I went it seems I’d been there before
But you brighten up for me all of my days
With a love so sweet in so many ways

-James Taylor; “How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You”.

“Open wide for Mama!” Mama inched the spoon towards Damien with a steady “chugga-chugga-chugga”. Damien’s eyes brightened and he giggled as the plastic tipped utensil scooted towards his mouth in dramatic faction. As the tip of his spoon brushed his bottom lip, Damien opened the rest of the way up, and Mama slid it and the yummy food it held into his awaiting mouth.

His lips closed over the spoon and the delicious stuff slid off the spoon and onto his tongue. Mama slid the spoon out of Damien’s mouth and dipped it back into the baby-food jar for another scoop. Damien, meanwhile swallowed the num-nums and giggled as the stuff slipped off his tongue and down his throat. Apples! Mmmmm. The taste was so good that it made him smile before he was done swallowing and some of the scrumptious goop poured out of his mouth and onto his chin.

“Here comes the choo-choo train,” Mama cooed to her baby boy as another spoonful of applesauce “chugga-chugged” along a track that only mother and baby could see.

“Aaagggh!” Damien squealed in delight, clapping his hands. Mama was so funny! He bounced up and down in his highchair, quivering with anticipation as the next spoonful came for his mouth on its journey from the jar to his tummy. What Damien failed to notice was how with every bounce, with even the slightest shift in his weight, there was a distinct crinkle.
But why should he notice the crinkle? He crinkled whenever he moved, except for the times when he was very, very wet or very, very poopy. Then the crisp crinkling sound became a more muted squish. But that’s how it was, and that’s how it was supposed to be, and that’s how it would always be. The crinkling sound coming from his bottom was just part of living. It was so much white noise.

Again and again, the dance of Mama and the spoon repeated itself, until Mama scraped the bottom of the baby food jar. Again and again, Damien accepted spoonful after spoonful of the delightful fruity mush; smiling each time as though it were the first taste. When the stuff dripped back out from between his lips, Mama occasionally caught it in the spoon and gave Damien another taste, but just as often it dripped onto his awaiting bib.

When he had finished the whole jar (more or less), Mama wiped Damien’s face with the bib. She then reached out of Damien’s line of sight, and held up a milky ba-ba.

“Ooooh! Ooooo! Babababababba!” Damien babbled, reaching for his favorite treat.

“Patience, baby boy,” Mama cooed as she slid the bottle between Damien’s lips.

Damien began to suckle immediately, the rich creamy stuff rolling onto his tongue from the rubber nipple. He sucked voraciously at it, trying to drain every last drop of the stuff all at once. He wasn’t a baby, he was a vacuum cleaner. He wanted all of the milk and he wanted it now!

Damien drank too fast and felt a strange, unpleasant scratching tickle shoot down his throat as he swallowed too fast and some of the milky ba-ba went down the wrong pipe. The milky ba-ba dropped to the floor as he sputtered and coughed.

“Oh, poor baby,” Mama tried to comfort him as he hacked, quickly unbuckling him and removing him from his highchair. The baby began to mewl and fuss as she sat him on her lap and held him closely to her breast.

Just then, something inside Damien clicked into place. Infant eyes closed and adult eyes opened in their stead as the coughing fit came to an end. He groaned in pain and withdrew from Mama’s embrace.

“Wussa matter, baby?” Damien heard Mama ask as he took stock of his current surroundings. He was in a kitchen, though it wasn’t his. It had a black and white checkered floor with simple wooden tables and chairs, not to mention the oversized high chair that was right behind him.

Currently, he was straddling the lap of the woman who had diapered him at Eden. “Mama,” she made him call her. The amount of padding around his crotch and the crinkle that filled his ears with each little jostling of her leg let him know that he was once again diapered and not much else. “Mama” for her part, had changed out of the nursery scrubs she had been wearing and was now wearing a yellow June Cleaver dress and pearl necklace. She looked the part of a housewife out of the 1950’s.

This insane woman kept insisting that he was a baby, and his current predicament wasn’t doing much to disprove her; never mind that if they had been standing, he’d have a good two inches on her. Her seemingly impossible strength counteracted any size advantage Damien may have had.

He had come to his senses like this plenty of times before, and outright struggling only led to painful spankings and a sore bottom. On some level, he knew this was a dream. These experiences, however real they seemed at the time, always abruptly ended and there was no other logical way to explain the lapses in time he was experiencing other than that this was an illusion.

“Uh ohs,” Mama grabbed Damien’s chin and directed her gaze directly into his eyes. “Mama knows that look,” she grinned so devilishly that a Disney villain would be proud. “Some baby thinks that he’s a big boy. Well let’s look for proof, shall we?”

She let go of Damien’s chin, and he felt her sticking two fingers into the leggings of his diaper. He bit down on his tongue and tensed as his most basic personal boundaries were so casually broken. He felt her pull back waistband of the diaper and peek over his shoulder, inspecting whether or not he had soiled himself.

“Clean diaper,” she pronounced, sounding the slightest bit disappointed. “Well, give it time, and I’m sure that will change.” Damien felt himself lifted up and his bare legs mechanically wrapped around the woman’s hips. He felt her arm snake under his backside, supporting him while the other arm started patting and rubbing his back.

“Come on,” she coaxed, as she continued to pat and rub his back. “Make burpies for Mama.” Damien frowned at this treatment; this latest in a growing list of indignities. Dream or no dream, he had had enough.
“Let me go,” Damien demanded.

“No,” the madwoman, this “Mama,” said flatly.

“I don’t need to be fed in a high chair,” he stated.

“You just were,” she replied.

“I don’t need to be- BRAAAAARF” Damien was interrupted by himself as he belched.

“You just did,” Mama replied smugly, still patting his back. “Good baby,” she added.

“And I definitely don’t need-” Damien cut himself off. “Uh-ooooh.” A long low hiss filled Damien’s ears and he wasn’t certain if it could be heard by anyone other than him; kind of like how you can hear yourself chew your own food, but those across the table can’t.
It hadn’t even felt the slightest bit full, but Damien’s bladder let loose as though he had been holding it for days. The warm wetness soaked into the front of his diaper and quickly spread lower. Some of the pee splashed back onto his penis and pubic area before trickling down to his balls and taint where it was absorbed.

“Good baaaaaaaby,” the woman cooed, making sure to draw out the last word while rubbing Damien’s back and patting his diapered bottom. “Baby went potty in his pants,” she planted a doting kiss on his forehead. “Well that’s not technically true,” she added, “because Baby’s not wearing any pants.”

Damien felt the diaper quickly absorbing his waste and it began to bulk up around his member, making it feel like his nether regions were embraced in a warm wet hug. A stray thought bullied its way into his head as he accidentally compared it to another time his dick got into something warm and wet. Blood rushed to his manhood, and soon, despite himself, his diaper felt even fuller than before.
Oh God, why was this turning him on?!

“Baby boy’s got a stiffy, doesn’t him?” the woman mocked in motherese. “That’s okay, baby boys can make all the cummies in their diapers that they want.”

“NO!” Damien screamed, sitting up in bed.

Damien’s eyes shot open. He looked around. He was safe. Safe in his room. His lip curled in disgust as he looked down at his legs. His sheets were soaked in urine…again, and he had a serious case of morning wood. He had turned into a regular bed wetter over the last few weeks. If this kept up, he’d need to start wearing protection to bed.

He sighed in disgust as he kicked the sheets off his bed and peeled himself off of the mattress. Disgusting. He shuffled to the shower, past the small pile of dirty clothes that had accumulated on his floor over the last two weeks. He just hadn’t had the time to put this stuff in the washing machine. Most of his free time when not high on Re-Lease had been spent washing his sheets night after night after night.

Damien knew he should go to a doctor about this, but he knew nothing about the drug that he was flooding his system with on a nightly basis. For all he knew, he could go to the doctor and then either end up in some research hospital, or worse yet, in a jail cell. Damien didn’t actually know what was in that little red pill that made him feel so wonderful at night and then so burnt out the next morning. He wasn’t completely sure he wanted to know. Technically, he still couldn’t be certain that the Re-Lease was causing his bedtime problems or his crazy dreams. Correlation was not the same as causation.

A nagging part of Damien suggested that he should at least buy some Depends or something to wear to bed so he wouldn’t have to keep washing his sheets all the time. But some small bit of pride still lingered in him. It was bad enough that he was diapered in every dream that he could remember lately. He’d be damned if he wore a diaper in the waking world. It felt like giving up to him; like if he finally admitted that this was a problem and broke down and bought the diapers, he’d either have to admit he had a problem or he’d be so beyond solving the problem that there’d be no going back.

He could beat this. He could have his cake and eat it, too. He just knew it. He just wish he knew how.

Re: Addiction

Today: Still Morning. Running Late for Work.

10.I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got twenty dollars in my pocket
I-I-I’m huntin’. Lookin’ for a come up
This is fucking awesome!

-Macklemore and Ryan Lewis; “Thrift Shop”.

“Hello, welcome to Wal…oh!” The greeter said as Damien power walked in. Even though his pants were black and pretty much designed to hide unsightly stains, anyone with eyes could tell that he had just peed his pants.
“Sir are you okay?” the greeter asked as Damien power walked past.

“Oh yeah, nothing big. Minor wardrobe malfunction.” Play it cool Damien. Play it cool. There was no time to waste, Damien was definitely going to be late for work, but if he acted now, he could still salvage the situation. It was still relatively early in the morning, and the ratio of employees to shoppers was probably about one to one: Mostly working stiffs starting the morning shift, mixed in with old folks and stay at home moms who just dropped their kids off for school.

As a result, while it was far from empty, there was more than enough space for Damien to maneuver around on the floor and avoid people and not notice the occasional sideways glance and double takes from people who passed him by.

With purpose, he grabbed a cart and made a bee-line for exactly where he needed to go.

“Let’s see, I want this,” he grabbed a Duplo Play set, “and this,” he dumped an animal zoo playset into the cart as he snaked around to the next shelf. “Oh, and you can never have enough of these”, a baby Cookie Monster doll and a Potty Time Elmo doll found their way into the cart. He smiled a big open smile and more saliva trickled down his chin.

He felt a slight trickle of jealousy at the two baby dolls. More so for baby Cookie Monster than Potty Time Elmo. Baby Cookie Monster didn’t have to worry about the potty.

A random thought popped into Damien’s head as he course corrected for the DVD section. Hmmm, why didn’t the baby Sesame Street characters’ diapers have decorations on them? He knew some diapers had Sesame street characters on them, why wouldn’t the characters themselves have decorated diapers? Then again, should they wear pictures of themselves on their own diapers? That was deep. That was deep.

Just as he was browsing through the selection of “Go Diego Go” DVD’s Damien shifted uncomfortably. His crotch was beginning to feel cold and clammy. That’s when Damien remembered to look down at his wet pants and he came back to his senses.

What the hell was he doing?! He had come to get new clothes, not get more toys. Worse yet, he had pretty much already maxed out his credit card. There was no way he could afford all of this awesome stuff right now!

Damien abandoned the shopping cart filled with toddler toys and strode into the racks of the clothing section. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants off a rack and threw them over his shoulder. He likely wasn’t going to be able to afford a nice pair of black slacks. But then again, managing money hadn’t been his strong suit lately. Still, he didn’t want to chance it. He wandered into the underwear section and half-heartedly picked up a package of men’s briefs. These would do. But what happened if he had another accident? He supposed he could layer them up for protection like the night befo-

“Attention boys and girls,” a hauntingly familiar, feminine voice, called out over the speaker. "Wal-Mart is having a sale in the pharmacy section. All adult incontinence products are fifty percent off today. "

Sweatpants and underwear in hand, Damien rushed to the pharmacy section, hoping that he wouldn’t have to fight past any crowds on the sale. Someone must have been looking out for him, because there were absolutely no one else in the adult incontinence aisle of the pharmacy section. Damien reached out and grabbed a gray package.

It read “Depends for Men Guards. Maximum Absorbency.” Maximum absorbency, huh? Damien might need that. The picture on the front kind of looked like a maxi pad. Damien supposed he was meant to slip that into the front of his pants, and if something squirted out, the padding would catch it. Seemed simple enough. But what if it wasn’t enough? It was a wall alright, but it was only half way built.

Then he saw another package. A green package that read “Depends Adjustable Underwear With Velcro Closures.” Now that was what Damien had in mind. It still had the same “maximum absorbency” guarantee on the bottom of the package, it could be adjusted to give him a better fit than sticking a pad down the front of his crotch, and it cost the same amount as the “Men Guards”. Best yet, he wouldn’t have to buy new underwear on top of everything. That was just simple economics, duh!

He dropped the underwear to the floor, and took the adult pull-ups into his arms. Thoughts of victory buzzed in his brain as he ran to the nearest cash register. He was so happy that he didn’t notice the strange looks he was getting in the check-out line, and some of the people were so nice, they let him skip them to the front.

The cashier slid the sweat pants and the Depends across the scanner and then said “That’ll be 20.59.”

“What about the sale?” Damien asked.
“What sale?” The cashier seemed genuinely confused. Damien spotted a clock nearby and looked at the time. This wasn’t worth it.

“Never mind,” Damien huffed in exasperation. People at Wal-Mart were so dumb there was almost no point in talking to them at all. He took out his credit card and slid it. There was an uncomfortable pause, as Damien waited for the charge to go through. Please don’t decline, please don’t decline, please don’t decline. After the longest three seconds of his life that morning, the screen flashed “Approved”, and Damien grabbed his supplies without bothering to wait for a receipt.

He dashed into the nearest public restroom and into the handicapped stall. Damien kicked off his shoes and tore off the bottom half of his clothes. Next he tore open the package of adult diapers and slid them up his legs and onto his hips.

“Not bad,” Damien’s self-appraisal echoed off the bathroom walls. He looked down and saw the Velcro tapes. They were on pretty firmly already. The adult garment went on like a Pull-Up, and like a Pull-Up, the sides could be torn off and the Velcro tapes could be utilized to reattach the sides. Damien figured this was in case the elastic waistband didn’t give a snug enough fit for the wearer, or in case a nurse, or a daycare worker, or a babysitter, or a mommy needed to check to see if he was wet without taking off all the whole diaper. Damien didn’t know why, but that last thought left a bitter taste in his brain.

Seeing no need to adjust the tabs on his little bit of protection, Damien ripped the tag off the black sweatpants and slid them up his legs. He examined himself in the handicapped stall’s mirror. There was a slight bulge that the sweatpants didn’t hide very well, but as long as no one was actively staring at him, he didn’t think anyone would notice.

The front end of his shirt was a little wet, Damien noticed, but that couldn’t be helped. Damien was sure that there had been the word “barely” implied with the “Approved” message after he swiped his credit card. If the dumb bitch at the counter had paid attention and knew about the sale, maybe he could have afforded at least a plain white t-shirt. He just tucked the front back into his sweat pants and hoped no one would notice.

Damien slipped his shoes back on and dug his car keys and wallet out of his discarded pants’ pockets. He left the bathroom empty-handed; his wet pants and the rest of the package of Depends were on the bathroom floor. Someone else would pick them up, so it didn’t matter. And when other people found out about the sale they’d probably do the same thing he just did, so it’s not like he was going to be the only one doing it.

He would only need one diaper today, anyways. Of that much he was sure. It was a just in case precaution, not a certainty. He would beat this pants wetting thing, he knew. He was just being smart by wearing protection in case he didn’t know as much as he thought he did.

When he got back to his car and turned the ignition, he saw his phone blinking. Someone had left him a voicemail. He picked it up out of the pile of juice boxes, and checked his messages.

“Hey Damien, it’th Delilah,” the voicemail began. She sounded tired, like she hadn’t slept in a couple of days. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I wath thinking maybe we could get back together again…pleathe?” There was a long pause, and something funny about the way Delilah spoke. Damien could hear Delilah start sobbing.

“Damien, whatever I did, I’m thorry, okay.” Delilah spoke through the sobs. “I don’t care if you don’t want to go out with me, anymore, but I need thomeone to talk to. You’re, like, the only one who might underthtand what’th happening to me. I don’t even underthtand what’th happening to me!”

“I’ve been having thethe weird dreamth, Damien,” Delilah went on. “Weird, humiliating dreamth.” More sobs. “I’ve been wetting the bed, like, a lot, and now I have to wear diaperth during the day time. I can’t thtop pithing mythelf. I can’t even find the motivation to clean up after mythelf motht dayth. My home ith falling apart.” Even more sobs. “I’m freaking out, too, because I’m mithing teeth. Like they’re not falling out, I mean. It’th jutht, like, I wake up, and their…gone! Between the dreamth and diaperth and now the fucking teeth, I’m afraid to go to thleep.”

“Holy crap,” Damien exclaimed, nearly breathless. What had this girl been going through since they broke up?

“And,” she took a deep breath. “I’m out of Re-Leathe. Tho pleathe, call me back.” Damien’s heart instantly hardened. That bitch. That lying bitch. She wasn’t in trouble at all. She was just another junkie who was using him for his access to the little red miracle pill. She really did only like him for his Re-Lease.

“Sucks to be you,” he said to the voice mail. “I’m doing great.”

Re: Addiction

Holy crap, this is like some long_rifle level stuff. It makes me squirm, but I can’t bear to look away.
I’d offer more sophisticated criticism, but since the piece is already done, I’m not going to knock myself out looking for flaws that aren’t there.
Only thing I can think of is that at least on Tapatalk, the formatting seems a bit irregular, particularly between the lyric chapter intros. I would italicize those, put in a bit more whitespace, maybe center them on the page.

Seriously though, this is a special kind of twisted you’ve got going on here. I like it.

Re: Addiction

@winnerchickendinner. Being compared favorably (I hope) to Long_Rifle is never a bad thing in my book. I’m fine with more sophisticated criticisms. Just like the big league writers, they get criticism and while it won’t effect the book coming out, it could effect future works. It might not influence this piece much, but that doesn’t mean it won’t influence future pieces.

Re: Addiction

One Month Ago. Late Afternoon. Just Before Sunset

11.I want a new drug
One that won’t go away
One that won’t keep me up all night
One that won’t make me sleep all day
One that won’t make me nervous
Wondering what to do
One that makes me feel like I feel when I’m with you
When I’m alone with you
I’m alone with you, baby
-Huey Lewis and the News; “I Want A New Drug”.




“What do you mean no?” Damien asked indignantly.

“I mean, no, newbie.” Levi told him, flatly. “I’m cutting you off. You can’t handle it.”

“You can’t do that!” Damien practically shouted.

Levi smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile though. If anything, Damien would have preferred the man to frown. This was a warning smile, the smile that said, “Look, I’m humoring you just by talking to you, but you’re dangerously close to crossing the line.”

“Ha!” he barked. “Listen to this guy, Gary,” Levi looked over his shoulder to the man mountain that guarded the entrance to Eden. “He comes into my club, hat in hand, and he tells me what I can and cannot do!” Gary didn’t move or show any sign that he had heard at all.

They were in Eden; the upstairs part, specifically. While the outside and the receiving area of the former bank had been lavishly redecorated and the downstairs party area had been relatively minimalist but stimulating, the upstairs offices of Mr. Levi Athan, proprietor and drug dealer, hadn’t been touched in the slightest, Damien guessed.

Floral wallpaper peeled from the walls, and the floorboards creaked with every step. They were both sitting in overstuffed chairs that a cat had clawed three-too-many times. Paintings of old, balding men hung the walls with eyes that Damien swore were following his every move. The only light in the room came from the setting sun. Other than the two beat up chairs that Damien and Levi sat across from each other in, there was no other furniture in the room.

Damien hadn’t had much in the way of a plan when he came to Eden, today. He just parked the car a couple of blocks away, and walked up to the entrance. No line had formed, the club wasn’t supposed to be operating for another few hours, but there was Gary, standing in front of the large wooden doors to the old bank.

“I…I need to see Mr. Athan.” Damien said to the big ogre standing silently in front of the door. There had been no sign of recognition from Gary’s ugly, pock marked face. “If he has the time, I mean.” Damien corrected himself. “Please.” Damien felt like he might have had better luck talking to club doors instead.

Feeling like he was out of ideas, Damien reached into his pocket and pulled out the little red pill. He held it in between. “See? Mr. Athan said I was cool.” Gary still stood motionless. Damien really didn’t want to pop the pill as he had the other two times to get into the club, he was hoping to talk to Levi sober, but if that’s all that this gargoyle responded to, then:

“This is just my last one so…” Damien moved to pop the pill into his mouth and found the way blocked as one of Gary’s gigantic mitts enveloped Damien’s entire hand. As if on cue, the doors opened for Damien, and he found himself led into Eden’s less glamorous parts.

Now, he sat in an extra, and more depressing than spooky set piece for Disney’s Haunted Mansion, begging for drugs, with Gary blocking the way out. Right of the door that Damien had been led through was another door with a wooden plaque on it that read “Changing Room”. That must be where Levi kept all of his costumes.

Even now, before the club’s opening hours, Levi was in a costume. It had to be a costume, nobody dressed like that anymore. With a green fedora, green three piece suit, and a green trench coat, the owner of Eden looked more like a pulp comic book mobster than someone living in the real world. Even his hair had been taken out of cornrows and was now slicked back like a used car salesman.
Dressed like that, Levi should have been fighting Batman or Dick Tracy; not sitting across from Damien in a beat up old easy chair. The only piece of clothing that Damien had seen before just now were the snake skin shoes that Levi had been wearing when he was doing the James Franco drug dealer look.

“But…why are you cutting me off? Will you at least tell me that much?” Damien implored.

“First off,” Levi said standing up, “I am under no obligation to supply you with Re-Lease for free. The little bottle I left in your shoes said ‘Free Sample’, not ‘Free Subscription.’ Nothing in this world is for free.” He closed the short distance between them and leaned into Damien’s face, wagging his finger.

“Second off,” he continued, “I gave you enough pills to last for at least three months, and yet this is only the third time you’ve been at my club. Those were meant as incentives for you to return, not to go and get high somewhere else.” Levi turned his back to Damien.

“Third off,” he went on, “like I said, those pills were supposed to last you for three months, and yet here you are, hat in hand, asking for more a mere two months later. That tells me that you’re taking more than one a night. This stuff is like any drug; if you take too much at once it’ll fuck you up.” He walked to the door and Gary stepped aside for him.

Levi swung it open and said, “So to sum it up, I made no promises and I’m cutting you off for the good of my business and the good of your health.” He made a sweeping gesture directing Damien to leave. “Now get out. I’ve got a club to run.”

Damien didn’t budge. Hearing that he wouldn’t get any more of that sweet Re-Lease was causing him to hyperventilate. His heart was pounding against his ribcage. He couldn’t leave empty handed. Delilah was waiting for him in the car, and other than begging people in line, Levi was his only remaining hope. When they realized that they had had less than a week of Re-Lease between the two of them, they had spent the last several days at Damien’s apartment, trying to research where they could get more.

Either Delilah hadn’t noticed the huge mess that Damien’s apartment had become, or she didn’t care. Making sure that neither of them ran out of Re-Lease was the priority, not cleanliness. They had spent the last few nights, the glow of her tablet and his computer screen being the only thing illuminating their faces as they both searched for something, anything, any little piece of information that might let them know more about this stuff and where they could acquire it besides from Levi. The thing is, as far as the internet seemed to be concerned, the drug didn’t exist. No such street name or any drug with Re-Lease’s effects, be they illegal or pharmaceutical, could be found. Coming back to Levi had literally been the last option for the two junkies.

“YOU’RE WRONG!” he shouted hysterically, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.

“Excuse me?” Levi’s gaze bore into Damien. “What did you just say?”

“I said, 'you’re wrong,” Damien replied, a little less loudly this time. “I haven’t been overdosing. I’ve just been sharing it.”

“With who?” Levi’s eyes narrowed under his fedora.

“My girlfriend,” Damien told him. “Delilah.”

A void of silence filled the room. Levi shifted his weight slightly, staring Damien dead in the eyes. Strangely, the floorboards didn’t creak under his feet as he did so.

“Heh,” Levi chuckled briefly. “heh heh. Hehehehe,” the laughter built. “BWAH-ha-ha-ha-HA-HA-HA-HA!” Levi bent over, cackling at the top of his lungs. “You think…heh-heh,” Levi wiped a tear away from his eye, “heh-heh, that that little pill rat is your girlfriend? HA-HAHAHAHA-HA! And you’ve been sharing your Re-Lease with her?” he kept laughing through his words.

“I knew she fucked ya that one night, kid,” Levi said, his cheeks tightened into a smile, “But I didn’t think she was trying to screw ya, too.”

“What?” Damien demanded to know. He felt like he was on the outside of an inside joke. He was feeling more than slightly defensive.

“That first night you both came,” Levi explained, “she was trollin’ around the dance floor, shaking her thing. That part’s par for the course,” he added, “but she kept bugging my staff about where she could find more Re-Lease. She racked up a pretty big bill on using my private rooms too.” Damien must have looked hurt. “What? Do you think you were the first person she wrote her phone number on their palm that night? You weren’t. Don’t ask me how she snuck that sharpie marker in here, either.”

“An addict shows their true colors the moment they get their buzz,” Levi lectured. “And hers were all red-and-yellow-kill-a-fellow the moment she got in the club.” Damien’s heart felt like it was breaking. How could this be true?

“Lemme guess, kid. You called her, took her out to dinner and things got awkward.”

Damien nodded, the bewilderment plain on his face.
“Then, desperate to make that connection you made in the club, you suggested you come back here.”

Once again, Damien nodded. How could Levi know this?

“Then she’s like, ‘But I can’t get into the club.’” Levi did a mocking, prissy imitation. “Then you mention that you’ve still got some extra pills and you’re the white knight coming to her rescue.” It was like Levi was reading his mind.

“That explains it,” Levi nodded to himself. “Don’t feel so bad, kid,” he clapped Damien on the shoulder lightly, "you’re not the first that she’s tricked into giving away your buzz, but you’re definitely the longest con she’s pulled. Most of the other guys got tired of her after a week. "

Damien slumped in his chair. Other guys. If Levi was telling the truth, he’d been duped. That must be the reason why Delilah didn’t want to come here and why even now she was waiting in the car instead of coming with him.

“Delilah must have gotten you good,” Levi commented, “You must be hooked on her if you’re sharing your stuff with her and not even coming to the club to get the most out of it. She better be giving you some good pussy for what you’re sharing with her.”

“Actually,” Damien mumbled, “we haven’t had…y’know…since our first night together.” They had started to, to be sure, but every time they had begun, a hauntingly familiar, mocking, motherly, voice echoed in Damien’s subconscious. “You’re supposed to make cummies in your diaper! Not outside it!” and Damien had lost the desire. Delilah, who had been patient, (but probably not actually interested in him that way, the more he now thought about it) contented herself with cuddling Damien and his ever expanding collection of stuffed animals.

Levi practically fell over laughing. “You mean,” he gasped between laughter, “she’s not even….? And you’re giving her….? You’re not getting anything outta…? Oh good God in Heaven kid, you are too fuckin’ naive. Isn’t that hilarious Gary?”

If Gary thought it was funny, Damien couldn’t tell.

Damien sat there and took the mocking and the abuse; letting it absorb into him like a sponge. He felt like a fool. His vision became blurred as tears of humiliation welled up in his eyes. Had he really been played that badly? Was he really such a patsy?

Damien felt Levi’s hand land back on his shoulder and he looked up through teary, heartbroken eyes.

“Hey, you got played, kid.” Levi told Damien. “The way I see it. You’ve got two choices: You can one, start over from scratch with this girl and see if she likes you for who you really are. Maybe I’m wrong. Who knows? Or,” he reached into his breast pocket and took out a pill bottle filled to the brim, “you can cut all ties with her, go into Eden and be innocent again for a night.”

“How much?” Damien asked, his eyes fixated on the pills.

“The price is you cut off all ties with that little pill rat. Right now.”

“But she’s in my car, waiting for me.”

“Those are my conditions,” Levi said firmly. “You either go back to your car empty handed, or you go into my club with a new bottle of Re-Lease. There is no in between. That’s how the Great Game was played in the original Eden, that’s how I play it here.”

Damien didn’t know what Levi was talking about, and didn’t care. He took the pill bottle from Levi and started to walk out of the old office and downstairs towards the receiving area on the main floor. Then he thought for a second.

“Hey Levi?” Damien called back.

“What, newbie?” the club owner called back, poking his head out of the doorway.

"What’s with all the costumes?

Levi shrugged. “A leopard can’t change its spots, but a snake can always shed its skin.” He smiled and gave Damien a knowing wink.

“And where’s that huge dick you wear when you do the satyr bit?” Damien pressed.

Levi looked puzzled for a second, and then his eyes sparkled with recognition. “Hah! Kid, that dick stays in my pants wherever I walk.”

“You mean?”

“That’s the only thing I’ve got that’s not part of the costume.”

“You got a lot of costumes?” Damien asked, still descending back down to Eden.

“Yeah, why?”

“Then how come I’ve only seen you wear those snake skin shoes?”

Levi paused for a beat. “I like to remember where I came from, newbie. They keep me humble.”

Damien also didn’t know what that meant, but he accepted the answer and proceeded back down the stairs.

“Hey, newbie,” Levi called out. Damien turned back around. “Everyone notices the dick, but nobody asks about the shoes. Tell the girl that signs you in that everything is comped tonight, just cuz I like ya.”

The phone in Damien’s locker at the club rang later that night. The following voicemail was left for him to discover the next morning:
“Hey Damien, fuck you, you, like, abandoned me,” Delilah screamed at Damien’s voicemail. “I was waiting in your car for hours. I took a cab and made it back home. Thanks for worrying about me, asshole.”
Best. Night. Ever.

Re: Addiction

I haven’t commented much because I’ve been trying to absorb the plot direction. And just when I thought I had a handle on it, you go and put a huge twist in here.

At first it was feeling like Requiem For A Dream, but now, now I don’t even know what to think.

As usual, when you’re on point, you’re really on point regarding the writing quality. I really have little to offer in the way of criticism - it’s paced beautifully, the dialogue feels natural, even the scenes, as surreal as they can sometimes be, flow right along with the plot and the protagonist’s mindset. He’s so completely self-focused, I wouldn’t expect him to notice anyone else around him, even in a Wal-Mart, much more than occasionally.

Keep going, sir. You’re in a hell of a groove here, one that makes me a bit jealous. :slight_smile: