View Full Version : In Search of the Perfect Woman. Adult Drugs 2,000

March 20th, 2015, 06:54 PM
Mary Jablonsky paused to throw an errant white curl back from her left eye before narrowing both at her son, Shawn, sitting across the breakfast table. "I wish you'd settle down a bit, son," she told him, "find a good girl and stop all this wild dating. You've yet to go out with one long enough to even introduce her to me. It's no way for a boy to live."

"I'm trying, Ma. It's just ... only, well ... none of them seem to satisfy me."

"Both your sisters, even Sandra, three years younger than you, are happily married. Ellen even has two kids, and all you do is flutter from one floozy to another, like a butterfly."

"The right one will come along, sometime or other. I know she's out there, Ma, waiting for me to find her. I can even picture her in my mind, as though ... I dunno, like I know she's waiting."

"That one, Jenny, you told me about last month. She seemed perfect to you. You were bugging me for days."

"Yeah. I thought so too ... at first." He stopped for a few minutes, to finish his eggs and toast. "But she has that squeaky laugh. It was driving me up the walls."


"Hey, man. Where you get that fox?" Dwayne, his best friend, asked. "Steer her my way when you're done with her. She's a keeper."

"How about tomorrow? I can't stand blondes, and she's got that habit of constantly twitching her eyebrows. Not my type."

"You're nuts, man. You'll kick her out of bed for 'twitching' her eyebrows? Jeez, but you are a nut."

"Keep her if you want. My dream girl will be along soon. I can feel it."

That was at twenty. At age forty, he felt exactly the same way, searching for Ms. Right. However, by that time needing to make a living and with thick glasses and a receding hairline, the wait was becoming more difficult.

Meanwhile, his mother had died of breast cancer and sister Sandy divorced. Shawn found himself relegated to a back desk at a large data processing company, working the night shift.

He kept up his search, though often too tired in the daylight to look very hard. He was still convinced he would find his dream girl, somewhere, somehow. That she was waiting for him, somewhere over the next rainbow.

He still retained that vivid picture in his mind, though it was often obscured within a dreamy white mist. The various illegal drugs he was taking didn't help a whole lot.

At first, Shawn began popping stay-awake pills to help him work nights. He spent his time alone in a cubicle outside the Computer Room housing a large mainframe computer.

Those occasional pills escalated into snorts of powdered cocaine. He had the money and it was better than the caffeine-based pills. The coke even helped his programming, making problem solving seem easier. Increased productivity gained him promotions, meaning more money. Knowing his coke use would be curtailed in the presence of other employees, Shawn even refused a change to the day shift.


Early one morning, after parking in a slum area to buy an ounce or two of coke, his pusher was late. The sales were done in an abandoned house where many not only bought their drug of choice but found a corner in which to use it then to come back to the bedroom where the pusher worked for another dosage.

Sitting on the corner of a scarred desk, Shawn decided to wait.

"Is, is John here yet?" a quavering voice asked from the doorway.

Idly, Shawn glanced over, mouth open to reply. He jerked upright in shock, lips opening and closing, dry tongue seeming to stick to the roof of his mouth. It was HER. It was his dream girl, in the flesh.

He saw her look around, then enter, beautiful green eyes anxiously scanning the dirty room. Finally, she tentatively settled down onto the other leading edge of the desk, only a few feet from him, a dim smile lighting up her face.

Dim? Hardly. To Shawn it was bright as the morning sun outside, illuminating the room in vivid colors while causing Lord Byron's poem to filter through his mind, "She walks in beauty, like the night...." In retrospect, it should have been Kiplings, "A fool there was and he made his prayer...."

"Yo ... You got something ... anything? I really need something." Tears came to lovely eyes as she pleaded, thin alabaster lips quivering. "I'm so down, so depressed. Anything?"

"What you prefer?"

"Crack, if you got it? I'll pay you back when John ... you know, gets here."

"I have a little powdered coke left, if you want." And how could he refuse her?

Dumping the remains of a silver-plated vial into her palm, she was shaking so much that normally shy Shawn reached over to steady her hand. He could feel the heat of her breath on his palm, savoring the feeling, as she snorted loudly. She then looked into his eyes, seemingly into his brain itself, satisfaction, however brief, showing in those soft green orbs.

"You can let go now. I'm all right," she said, looking down to where he still clasped her wrist tightly.

"Sorry," he said, heart beating wildly and hoping she hadn't noticed the sweating of his hand. "My name's Shawn. What do they call you?"

"Bitch, whore ... you name it. You're well dressed, with a silver coke-vial. How about we go to my place after John shows?"

"Seriously, what's your name? I'd ... well, I'd go anywhere with you."

"Swell, cost you six rocks, though. Okay with you ... Shawn?"

John finally showed. He didn't have any powdered cocaine, though.

"Feds got my feed, man. Got me plenty of crack, though. You want some'a that? A little fine Horse if ya wants, or some meth? Weed up the kazoo?" He scratched filthy locks, intense eyes on Shawn. "Should have some powder tomorrow."

"Make it crack," Shawn said, bringing out his wallet, "'bout twenty rocks." He'd never tried crack but figured, what the hell, it was only cocaine in another form.

He didn't notice the girl eying his wallet as he counted out the price. Expecting to buy a couple ounces of cocaine powder, he had plenty of cash on him.

"Come on, lover. We'll go home and party, just the two of us ... an'a rocks."

Her home was only a few blocks away. Luckily, she had a garage that would accept his car. He'd have hated to park it on the street. Once a middle-class neighborhood, the availability of drugs had driven most of the former residents out. Her family home had been split into a three-family tenement. Renting two of them out was, besides welfare, her source of income. That and whoring, of course.

The crack was a far different experience for him, much quicker and more intense. They were soon settled into a double bed, no sheets or blankets evident.

"Please," Shawn insisted, "leave on the light. I want this night to go on forever, and savor every sight of you."

Giving him a searching look, the woman shrugged and dropped her clothing onto the floor, slowly, one item at a time.

It was wonderful to see, through a lazy haze, his dream come to life -- the perfect face, the perfect body, the perfect evening, in all its anticipated splendor. Of no matter a lumpy bed, a filthy pillow stinking of unknown substances, the sound of scurrying rats running across the floor. No matter the filth, the intense smell of rotten food and sewage. It was perfect.

Shawn felt a glow of anticipation, brought on by the drug and the culmination of a life's dreams, intensified by deep green eyes inches from his own. The drug helped compound each touch, each sensory feeling in sensitive fingertips, lips, and tongue. He started by licking her eyebrows, pausing at a moistly dripping nose. Then came a long exploration of that perfect mouth.

His hot throbbing body slid slowly down the length of hers until his knees settled on the floor, slipping on something slimy on the dirty surface while eager tongue and lips enjoyed, no, became entranced by strange tastes, familiar, yet oh so strong and fulfilling.

Forcing himself up the filthy mattress, sensitive flesh melding into hers, he thrust, seemingly endlessly, into a waiting sheath, sword straight and sure, piercing willing gyrating flesh. The act seemed endless, never ending and never fated to end.

Then came the farts. "Phhoooomph, Phoomp, Flluuuuuuuuuph." As she clasped him tightly, her butt played a symphony, emitting clouds of stink. The tender moment ended, rather abruptly, as his shaft deflated from sword to dirk, down to a wet noodle.

As the farting and smell forced drug-induced effects from his system, he came back to reality, noticing her teeth, or absence thereof. They were lying loose on a table at the bedside. As was a wig. One green contact lens had come loose during the intense activity, half-way out of her eye.

She stared up at him, a smile on her face, lips puckered for a toothless kiss. Instead, he jumped to quivering legs, covering wilted genitals with one hand.

"Uh, I forgot. My wife's coming back from Virginia tonight. I have to meet her at the airport," Shawn lied while anxiously searching the floor to retrieve his clothing. A strong urge, stronger than the crack, telling him to get the hell out of there. So much for his dream girl.


Now older and not so sure of himself of fulfilling his dream Shawn has switched from cocaine powder to crack, using more of it, even at work.

Productivity on a sudden downgrade led his boss to investigate as to why. Finally, came the inevitable confrontation.

"If you want to continue working here, you'll have to see the company shrink," he was told, in no uncertain terms. "You've got to kick this drug habit. I'm tired of hearing crack-vials crunch when I walk near your desk," Shawn's boss admonished him. He was also placed on paid leave until the problem was resolved.

Desperate, Shawn enlisted the aid of his sister, Ellen, by then single again and living alone.

"I'll lock you in your room, so you can't get any drugs?" she suggested. Bars were installed on the lone window in there, as well as new locks. She would only open the door to slide in meals.

It wasn't long before he was suffering, more than he ever had in his life. A doctor had to be called in twice, paid extra for the house-calls.

"I recommend a drug-based assisted living home, Ellen," the doctor told her, but Shawn insisted on kicking it on his own. He did have the help of medication. The only succor he found was in constant dreams of his perfect woman, his dream-girl. With her waiting, somewhere, he knew any effort was worth it.

The medication made him sleepy, him not resisting that urge, preferring the dreams to the pain of withdrawal.

He couldn't sleep 24/7. One afternoon, tiring of endless television, Shawn went through niches and crannies of the locked bedroom, finding a dusty photo album on a top closet shelf. Leafing through it, he came upon a faded picture, that of a young woman holding an infant. It was the girl of his dreams. No doubt about it.

He jumped up, pounding on the bedroom door. "Ellen, Ellen," he screamed, "Ellen, come here, help me."

Fearing some sort of medical emergency, his sister barged in, finding her brother groveling on the floor, the album in front of his shaking form.

"Here, Ellen," he cried, pointing at the picture, "wh ... who is this?"

"Why, that baby is you, Shawn. With Mama."

The End.

March 21st, 2015, 06:33 AM
Man, that was intense. And depressing. And awesome!

I was a bit thrown back with the sex scene, but I wouldn't have edited it for a second. The dirty, gritty, vileness of drugtopia coupled with the sudden fall from grace only to realize such an ending, at the proverbial bottom of the barrel.

I'm not really good at critiquing grammar, but it seemed all well versed to me chief. Really good stuff!

March 21st, 2015, 07:45 AM
I always enjoy your dark shorts.

March 21st, 2015, 05:08 PM
Thanks, Guys. I know she's out there somewhere. Maybe in Antarctica or in a local prison?


May 4th, 2015, 11:25 PM
man,that was a great story!! I love how it all comes full circle in the end,a satisfying closure.

May 5th, 2015, 02:54 AM
Great read, that really really sent me on a trip, the sex scene was kinda strange but in a good way.
The twist at the end really made the story.