| Chapter One |
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| Written by Mike Johnson |
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Chapter 1
This Isn’t Marijuana! I pulled up to the traffic light at the corner of Van Buren and 40th street that cool Autumn evening hoping to find some kind of action that might satisfy the void I felt in my soul. I had spent the better part of the last 14 years being the perfect father, perfect husband, perfect employee, and felt all I had done is give, give, give. Tonight, it was “ME” time and like the last 4 weekends, I was on my way to a bar or strip club to have a few beers and admire the beautiful women I dreamed of being with. I had never been unfaithful to my wife and although my marriage was not going well, I had no plans of doing something that unacceptable tonight. I just needed something different. Something a little dangerous. Something that would make me forget that I had recently turned 41. As I applied the brakes and slowed to a complete stop in my 2004 Dodge Ram 1500 with custom 20 inch rims and neon glow lights underneath I rolled down my window to light a cigarette. As I was glancing at the car pulling up next to me I noticed a stunning younger women behind the wheel and she was all alone. Thoughts entered my mind of how beautiful she was and what if…… Then out of nowhere, she rolled down her window and yelled, “hey, nice truck! Can I drive it?” I was stunned. “Was she talking to me? Does she just like my truck or does she think I’m attractive?” “Is the beautiful women actually trying to pick me up? At a traffic light!” This had never happened before and although I was a little skeptical I accepted the request and told her to meet me down at the next parking lot. This radiant young women with long, curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a body of a super model jumped in the driver’s seat and said “Hi, I love your truck.” I was speechless. The last time something even remotely like this happened to me I was 17 years old and still in high school. I finally managed to say,” Cool, where do you want to go?” “Anywhere you want, I don’t care,” she said. I wanted to ask what her name was but figured she wouldn’t tell me her real name so we will just call her “lust.” Well, they say that if something is too good to be true then it is. This was one of those times. “Lust” began to tell me how she was actually a stripper and had had a bad night and didn’t make much off of tips. She went on to tell me she needed $300 to pay the rent and car insurance or she was going to lose her apartment and wouldn’t be able to drive her car. The tears began to fall as she went on about how she was hungry and hadn’t eaten in days. Being the old softy and “Here I come to save the day!” type of guy that I was, I grew more and more empathetic with each tear drop. “How can I help?” I asked. “Well, if you could give me $300 I will do whatever you want.” “Was she referring to sex?” I pondered? “Anything?” “Yes, we can go to that Motel over there and I will do whatever you like.” Lust: an intense or unbridled sexual desire, craving, eagerness I had already had a few beers earlier and my sexual desire was getting the best of me. My wife and I had not been intimate in quite some time and although being unfaithful was something that had always been strictly against everything I had been taught and believed in, I was thinking that I would just see where this goes. I imagined having sex with this beautiful women but honestly knew it wasn’t going to happen because I just wasn’t the type of guy that would do that. However, my curiosity got the best of me and while I sat there looking at her I thought, “It wouldn’t hurt just to see if she really was attracted to me.” “Ok, let’s run by the ATM, let me get the money, then we’ll go to the motel.” I felt this gnawing in my stomach, something telling me this wasn’t right, but she was so damn beautiful and she wanted me! “She must think I am good looking. She must desire me like I desire her. Screw it; I’m going to follow this to see just how far it will go.” Once in the motel room, I made the comment that it would be nice if we had something to drink but it was after 1:00am and all the stores had stopped selling alcohol. “That’s ok,” said Lust, “I have something better.” She pulled out this glass tube looking thing and it looked as though it had a white film coating the inside of it. I had never seen anything like this before but thought it must be a marijuana pipe. I had tried marijuana a few times back in high school but it had been a long time and I wasn’t up on all the new ways to smoke it. “Cool”, I said, “let’s do it.” Lust took a hit off the pipe and I watched how she did it so that when I did it I wouldn’t look like a complete idiot. She handed me the pipe and I wrapped my lips around the end of the “stem,” clicked the bic and begin to inhale the smoke. “WOW!” I cried out, “That’s not marijuana! But give me more!” It was the most intense rush I had ever felt. I immediately not only wanted more, but was ready to have sex with anyone and everyone. “That stuff is amazing! What is it?” “Its crack cocaine,” said Lust. (There is truly no way to describe the feeling that one gets when they take a blast from a “crack-pipe” It is the most intense rush you can imagine. It is like a whole body orgasm times 100. For 15 to 30 seconds all is ok with the world and there is no pain, no worries, no inhibition. Then you want; no “must” have more.) “It’s what!?” For a second I began to panic. I had heard of crack before and heard that it was very addictive and that it only took one hit to become addicted. I had never been addicted to anything in my life except exercise and now I was scared. “Isn’t this the stuff that you can get addicted to after just trying it once?” I asked. “Na, only the stupid people that let themselves get addicted, but not me, I can handle it and stop whenever I want.” Replied Lust. Well, that was good enough for Me, “Give me more, more, more!!” I exclaimed. “Well, I don’t have any more, that was the last of it.” I inquired about how and where we could get more. Lust told me to follow her and she would get some more but she would need $40. I gave her the $40 and followed her to this broken down old house in the middle of south Phoenix. She told me to wait in my truck and she would get it. I was very eager and began to get anxious. “Hurry up!! My God, please hurry, I want more now!” She finally came back and handed me one small rock and told me to meet her back at the motel. She went on to tell me that while she was in the “crack-house” she heard on the news that there was a wreck on the road we had taken to get there and that we would have to go a different route. I told her I knew the fastest alternate route and she could follow me. I had the rock so I was starting to calm down but I had no way of smoking it until we got back to the motel so I wasn’t wasting any time. I checked my rear view mirror often to make sure she was still there. About half way to the hotel, I checked my mirror and saw her make a quick, hard right turn. “What the hell is she doing?” I thought. Then it dawned on me that she was trying to lose me. I quickly made a u-turn but as I approached the road she had turned down, she was gone. “Damn-it I’ve been had.” She had no intention of spending the night with me. She had no intention of having sex with me either. I had just been ripped off and all I had to show for it was a small rock of crack-cocaine. I decided I would just go back to the motel room by myself and smoke what I had, but it occurred to me that I had no idea where to get one of those “glass pipes” or even how to use it. Then I remembered something! The last time I smoked weed I had used a soda can by bending one side in, poking a hole in it and inhaling through the opening on the top. “Well, maybe that will work with crack,” I thought. Well, It didn’t and the rock just melted and fell inside the can. Now I was out $300, my crack rock was gone, I had no idea how to get more, my “date” had just ditched me and I was horny as hell. This would be the beginning of the madness brought on by being a “crack-head.” Little did I know that this experience was nothing compared to what I would go through for the next four years because of a small rock-shaped drug called “crack-cocaine.” |
