Almost exactly a year ago I woke up at 6:54 on a Sunday morning in my apartment in London, Ontario to a mysterious stinging sensation coming from my back.
I rolled over onto my stomach and the pain slowly subsided. I was about to fall back asleep, when I noticed the dark red stains blotted all over my blanket.
After a few moments I threw off the duvet, rolled out of bed, and stumbled over to the washroom to see if the mirror could provide some answers.
Through partially opened bloodshot eyes I peered over my right shoulder. As I looked through the mirror at my backside I couldn’t help but smile at the long stretches of deep cuts in parallel lines of three. Some were still bleeding.
My first thought was that it looked as if I was mauled by a wild animal. My second thought was that in a way, I guess I was.
I turned back around, poured myself a glass of water, delicately balanced it back onto my nightstand, and crawled back into bed.
I was woken up a few hours later by the sound of violent pounding at my door. I lay in bed groaning, hoping it would go away, but after a few minutes I heard a familiar voice yell, “Wake up, it’s me, I know you’re in there!”
I threw off the covers and sat up in my bed.
“I’m coming!” I yelled back, and suddenly the knocking stopped.
I grabbed a shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the dresser and carefully tiptoed around the bottles, cups, cans, and pizza boxes covering most of the floor towards the front of the apartment.
“What is it Rose?” I said, as I opened the door.
“Good morning to you too, Mr. Grumpy,” she replied, as she walked into the apartment and made herself at home. “You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” I responded.
“I’m not surprised, you were pretty hammered last night,” she said, while moving a few empty cups out of the way and taking a seat on the couch. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yea, I guess,” I said, following behind her while rubbing my eyes.
“So what happened to you last night?”
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.”
“Well, did anything happen with Kat?” she asked, with a playful smile.
“You really don’t know?” I responded.
She perked up on the couch and tried to keep a straight face. “No, honestly, she didn’t tell me.”
“She’s your roommate, I’m sure she told you what happened.”
“So something happened?”
“Yea,” I laughed. “Something happened.”
“You didn’t!” she screeched. “Oh my god! Tell me you did not fuck my roommate last night!”
Without saying a word I stood up, took off my t-shirt, and turned around to display the fresh wounds on my backside.
She held her hands over her mouth and let out a muffled gasp. “That’s fucking retarded!” she squeaked, with her hands still cupped over her mouth.
“Why are you so surprised?” I asked. “You know we made out at that Deadmau5 party last week.”
She didn’t answer for a few seconds; she just sat there in silence, with her hands tightly cupped around her mouth.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she eventually whispered into her hands, as if she hadn’t yet decided if she wanted me to hear her or not.
“Tell me what?” I said, with an awkward smile.
“You don’t want to know anyway,” she said, softly.
“Just tell me already.”
“Fine, but you can’t tell her you heard this from me,” she paused for a moment as she switched to a more serious tone. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I just left our apartment, and her boyfriend was making her breakfast.”
“Her boyfriend!?”
“Yea, I’m pretty sure he came over last night right after she got back from your place.”
I thought about it for a few minutes, vaguely remembering her receiving a text message at 3 a.m. and leaving in a hurry.
“You’re right,” I responded, “That is fucking retarded.”

Before that morning I didn’t really know all that much about Kat. I knew she grew up in a small town, though I didn’t know the name. I knew she currently lived in an apartment one floor below mine along with Rose, and was doing her masters in some kind of science, maybe biology. I knew she was fairly short and that she had short hair that changed between brunette and blonde, but that there was always a tinge of strawberry red, which I assumed was her natural colour. And I knew she had these hypnotizing bright blue eyes, with an infectious smile to match.
Evidently I didn’t know that much beyond her appearance and the few details I had gathered during small talk, but that morning I learned all I really needed to know about Kat. I will always look back at that as the morning I got a first hand lesson on exactly what kind of girl she was.
I wish I could say that was the last I slept with her. I wish I could say I did the honourable thing and stopped seeing her the moment I found out she had a boyfriend. But unfortunately that just wouldn’t be the truth.
Though I never felt completely comfortable with it, we had a bad habit of finding each other at the end of a long drunken evening. It was all pretty convenient and fairly easy to hide, considering she lived in the same building as me, only one floor down. It wasn’t until about a month later, after shaking her boyfriend’s hand and looking him directly in the eye, that my moral conscience made a belated appearance.
After that Kat and I remained friends, but nothing more.
When the school year ended we both moved back home to our respective ends of the province. As you can imagine our friendship wasn’t quite the same after we no longer lived a single flight of stairs away from each other.
I never bothered asking what ever happened with that old boyfriend, but during that brief period of time while sneaking around behind his back one of the main things we’d talk about while lying in bed together was how much we enjoyed our first (and at the time, only) MDMA experience at the Deadmau5 rave. During those conversations she would always talk about how spectacular the evening was, casually mentioning that her only regret is that we never had sex under the influence of the drug.
Perhaps that is why after we moved away from London one of the few things we still felt worthy of sharing with each other was our potential plans for upcoming rave events. She had visited Toronto for a few such events in the past, but for whatever reason I was never able to attend.
That was, however, until I texted her about the 15th anniversary of Toronto’s premier rave house, The Guvernment, coming up on thanksgiving weekend. Though she lived four hours away and didn’t know anyone else in the city that weekend, she hardly needed any convincing.

When I arrived at Klive’s that thanksgiving Sunday night he looked like absolute hell. He had hardly slept the night before while conducting his pre-rave drug inspection, and perhaps got a little carried away, consuming nearly all the drugs he had set aside for the Guvernment event.
When he first showed me the collection he had acquired earlier in the week he seemed quite amused by the little yellow pills of ecstasy, which were shaped like the face of a cartoon monkey. He thought they looked comically similar to the vitamins he used to take as a kid.
He wouldn’t admit exactly how much he had consumed during the test run, but from my count there were about 2 hits of MDMA and 2 hits of ecstasy missing from the collection.
Luckily he was able to acquire more on short notice, but when I arrived he seemed to be in no condition for an all-night party. Lying on the couch with his eyes barely open, he hardly noticed my presence when I let myself into his basement. But of course, it would take more than this current state of fatigue to discourage Klive from attending what promised to be an outrageous evening.
I walked over to the couch and leaned over his half-conscious body. “You want a RedBull or something, buddy?” I asked. “Looks like you could use some energy.”
“Thanks, but that’s alright,” he responded, with somewhat of a slur. “I have my own thing.”
Of course we both knew what he meant by that. A few minutes later I left to go pick up Kat from the subway station and temporarily left Klive alone in his basement, hoping that he wouldn’t be asleep when I returned.
Approaching the exit of the subway station I found Kat waiting outside. It was strange seeing her again after such a long time apart, and in such a foreign context, but we quickly picked up right where we left off.
When we returned to Klive’s shortly thereafter I was surprised to find Klive blaring house music and dancing around his basement with Tracy and Fred. It was one hell of a quick turnaround, but then again, cocaine is one hell of a drug.
We spent the next couple of hours in Klive’s basement, most of which time I spent catching up with Kat while sipping from my bottle of Jack Daniels and my can of RedBull.
When 11:30 rolled around Tracy called us a couple of cabs while I distributed the glow sticks, glow in the dark headbands, plastic sunglasses, and attachable finger lasers-pointers I had purchased from the dollar store.

The fifteenth anniversary of an establishment like the Guvernment really is something to celebrate. Most clubs of that size don’t last a year in this city, and few can get away with charging over $60 admission on a regular basis to the thousands of patrons required to fill the massive space. It’s amazing to think that the club opened when I was 8 years old, yet I only recently discovered what goes on inside.
In its 15 years the Guvernment has expanded many times, and now includes a series of other large clubs, all sitting next each other on the same massive plot of land. There was the Guvernment, where I saw Benny Benassi and Avicii at Labour of Love, but then there was also The Kool Haus, The Acid Lounge, The Drink, The Orange Room, and Skybar, all of which had opened their doors for a different lineup of deejay performances for the fifteenth anniversary celebration.
When we got out of the cab we found a line of people extending around the block, but in spite of its intimidating size it looked like it was moving at a pretty decent pace. I had no problem waiting like everyone else, but Klive is decidedly not like everyone else.
“Fuck this,” he said, staring down the long row of shivering people in neon tank tops. “Follow me, I got this.”
At this point I had assumed Klive had a plan. I assumed he would bribe a bouncer or maybe had a connection to the owner or maybe he made some sort of reservation for us, all of which are among his usual tactics, but in this instance I may have given him too much credit.
As it turns out his plan was to simply cut in line ahead of a group of teenagers who seemed too intoxicated and too preoccupied by their own conversation to notice us.
“Just be cool,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with any of them.
When we got to the front door I was the first to be searched. There was a brief moment of panic when the woman patting me down reached into my shoe, but luckily her fingers were too short to reach the handful of pills rolling around near my toes.

I waited on the other side of the entrance gate for the rest to join me before we made our way inside The Kool Haus, where a Dutch trance deejay Armin van Buuren would soon be taking the stage. I had never heard of the man before recently, but every house music fan I had consulted put him near the top of their list of all-time favorite performers. Though I wasn’t really into trance I was certainly anxious to hear what all the hype was about.
The scene inside of Kool Haus was one that I was becoming increasingly familiar with. Shirtless men were jumping around with their fists in the air trying to grind up against the women in neon booty shorts and bathing suit tops. Everything was glowing in the bright coloured lights. Everybody was sweaty. Everybody was wet. Everybody was packed tightly together. Nobody cared.
We each grabbed the shoulder of the person in front of us as we slithered through the crowd towards the washroom at the back of the warehouse-sized room. While in the washroom we each took turns going into the stall to retrieve the capsules we had hiding in our shoes.
When I returned I found Kat waiting for us by the men’s room, so I took her to the bar a few feet away and bought us a couple of drinks while we waited for the others. After the other boys caught up I handed Kat one of the pills, and we all took our first hit together.
Suddenly we heard the crowd roar, and we knew Armin was taking the stage, so we once again grabbed onto the person in front of us and fought our way as close to the stage as we could.
About twenty minutes later I felt a gradual feeling of drug-induced euphoria slowly building, but it soon subsided.
A short while later I looked around at the others, who were now jumping and dancing with their arms in the air, and I knew I wasn’t nearly as high as them. With Armin van Buuren manning the deejay booth in front of me, a crowd of sweaty drugged up ravers behind me, and a group of close friends at my side, I decided it was already time to take my second hit.
Still dancing in my place, without saying a word to anyone, I casually reached into my pocket, grabbed another pill, placed it in my mouth, and swallowed it.

It took another twenty minutes or so, but that feeling of euphoria slowly crept back again, this time lingering for a while longer. I continued dancing, making my way closer and closer to Kat, who was jumping around with intense enthusiasm. When she noticed me standing behind her she turned around and looked me in the eye. That’s when I noticed that her bright blue eyes were now partially eclipsed by a dark hollow pupil, making it look almost like she had cat’s eyes.
I remember her leaning in to tell me something, and I remember leaning forward so I could hear what she was saying over the music, but somehow we both thought the other one was trying to make a move, and we spontaneously began making out. But what started out as awkward quickly turned blissfully intense. I had almost forgotten how enjoyable it was to kiss someone on MDMA.
After a few minutes she pulled away and said, “your lips are so soft,” and continued dancing.
The music was not the sort of deep trance I had expected, and proved much easier to dance to. As per usual it wasn’t long before Klive yelled in my ear not to go anywhere, and disappeared. I’m not really sure where he went, but when he returned an hour later he handed me a cold beer, so I couldn’t really complain. In the mean time Tracy and Fred seemed to be lost in their own minds, passionately dancing with their eyes barely open, their arms grabbing at the air like they were trying to literally touch the music. Kat, meanwhile, continued to dance within arms reach in front of me with the intensity and enthusiasm that only MDMA could produce.
But after some time that feeling of gentle euphoria I had felt in fluctuating waves earlier had faded away, and once again I began feeling painfully less intoxicated than those around me.
Shortly after 2 a.m. Klive pointed to his watch and then the front door, and we all knew what he meant. It was almost time to move on to the building next door to see Steve Angello’s headlining performance.

The five of us made our way back through the front door towards the gate separating the smoking patio from the sidewalk, and lit up a few cigarettes between the two warehouse-sized buildings, each sporting their name on the front in large glowing lights. It almost felt like standing between two sets on a movie studio lot.
“Are you guys feeling it?” I asked, wondering how the rest were reacting to the drug.
“I’m totally fucked,” said Fred.
“Me too,” said Kat.
“How about you guys?” I said, turning towards Tracy and Klive.
Tracy just shrugged.
“I’m pretty high,” said Klive, “But I could be more high.”
“Well, I’m hardly feeling it,” I said. “I’m thinking about going for a third, assuming Kat doesn’t need her second.”
I looked at Kat, who was staring off into the distance.
“Kat?” I said.
She didn’t respond.
“Kat!” I yelled, and she jumped as if something had startled her.
“What?” she said.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“Totally!” she yelled back, her face glossed over in sweat. “I feel,” she paused, looked down at herself, and then back at me, “I feel like I’m dripping in music!”
We all laughed.
“I don’t think she needs her second,” I said back to the rest of the group. “I think I’m going to take another.”
“Me too,” said Tracy.
“Well I guess if you guys are,” said Klive, as if he wasn’t about to take another anyway, “I think I’ll have another monkey.”
“Jesus Christ man,” I responded, “careful with those monkeys.”
“Careful yourself,” he said, taking one of the yellow monkey faces out of his back pocket, and swallowing it.
Tracy and I took a pill out of our pockets and swallowed it as well, before finishing our cigarettes and heading toward the front entrance of The Guvernment.

We made our way through the silk draped walls of the back entrance of the Guvernment in search of a private washroom Klive had somehow learned about. He led us down a long hallway toward a narrow staircase at the back of the club. Halfway up the stairs there was a room surrounded entirely by mirrors, filled only with tall wooden chairs, lit by a chandelier. There was a door on each side of the room, one marked ‘men,’ the other, ‘women.’ Kat headed to the ladies room and Fred took a seat on one of the chairs, while Klive, Tracy and I raced towards the men’s room.
While inside we all took our turn attempting to pee, some more successfully than others.
One of the unfortunate side effects of MDMA, as it turned out, is difficulty urinating. It affects different people in different ways, but generally speaking the effort it requires to take a simple piss can be a fairly accurate indication of exactly how intoxicated you are. I may have been too inebriated to really acknowledge this side effect during past experiences, but this time it was pretty hard to ignore.
Having had a few drinks in the club I was quite relieved when I finally reached the urinal. I was somewhere in the middle of a powerful stream when suddenly a warm feeling of energetic euphoria swarmed over me, and my flow died down. It was the intense come-up I had been waiting for all night, unfortunately coinciding with the piss I had also been anticipating for quite some time. I tried to force some more out, but suddenly became unavoidably aware of the bass blaring from downstairs. I started tapping my foot and bobbing my head, dancing with my pants undone in front of the urinal.
After a couple of seconds I heard Klive flush the toilet next to me and I snapped back into reality, though only momentarily. I zipped up and walked over to the sink intending to wash my hands, but when I turned on the tap and watched the cold burst of water splash down into the bowl I decided to stick my head under and take a drink instead.
A moment later I burst open the doors of the washroom to find Fred dancing alone in the small mirror-filled room. I joined him immediately. When everyone was finally out of the washroom we enthusiastically followed the sound of the music coming from up the stairs, ignoring the fact that nobody really knew where we were going.

When we got to the top of the stairs we found ourselves on the balcony overlooking the dance floor, where Steve Angello was making his dramatic entrance. We looked down at the thousands of sweaty house music fans jumping and cheering, as the deejay famous for his membership in the musical trio known as The Swedish House Mafia stood on a platform in front of a series of computers, with his arms raised to the air. We watched as he reached down to the controls and pressed a series of buttons, which caused the ceiling to rain with confetti and then suddenly a blast of thick white smoke.
“Let’s get the fuck down there!” I yelled, and everyone nodded.
We made our way to a staircase at the far end of the balcony and headed downstairs, not realizing that this staircase dropped off at the foot of the stage. The crowd was dense but we again linked arms and slithered our way through until we found a spot where we could all stand together without being knocked over.
Tracy and Fred continued bobbing their heads and grabbing at the air, intensely concentrated on their own thoughts, while I wrapped my arms around Kat and danced with her for a while. Klive, meanwhile, was up to his usual shenanigans.
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson once famously wrote that when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro, and there was no greater example of this than Klive. On that weird evening, in that weird building, surrounded by weird people, listening to weird music, Klive seemed right at home.
At one point I looked back at Klive, who had a huge grin on his face as he examined a blonde girl in a mini-skirt dancing a few feet away. I looked back again moments later, and the girl was sitting on top of his shoulders. When he noticed me looking at him he just gave me a thumbs up, and continued bouncing her around.
A few moments later the deejay hit the crowd with a cloud of blinding white smoke. Kat turned around, grabbed my shoulders and kissed me, while Tracy and Fred yelled “Marco” and “Pollo” on either side of us. When the fog subsided and the music started to speed up Kat pulled away and continued dancing. Throughout the evening I thought that she was acting kind of strange, but I concluded that it was probably just the drugs.
A few moments later Tracy turned to me and yelled, “Where’s Klive?”
I turned back around and looked back at where he was just standing, but he was gone — the girl who was on of his shoulders now dancing alone.
“I have no idea where he went,” I shrugged.
“Shouldn’t we go look for him?” asked Kat.
“Don’t worry,” I responded. “He’s a pro.”

The four of us eventually made our way to the bar at the back of the room for a round of drinks a couple of hours later. Klive was still missing somewhere amongst the crowd.
While leaning over the bar Tracy tapped me on the shoulder and just pointed towards the crowd. It didn’t take long to realize that he was trying to direct my attention to the two topless dancers elevated above the crowd. They were each perched up on one of the platforms in the middle of the dance floor, wrapped in glow sticks, painted head-to-toe in glow-in-the-dark neon paint. It was quite a spectacle, not only because they looked like some kind of creature out of Avatar, but also because their spastic flailing dance moves visually trumped the lasers, streamers, and even the white outs.
After finishing our drinks we made our way back into the crowd and continued dancing.
A short while later I was dancing with Kat when a bright light started shinning directly in my eye. I moved my head out of the way, but it followed with me. I eventually turned around and tried to pinpoint its source, and sure enough, it was Klive. He had crawled up onto one of the platforms after the dancers had left, and was shinning one of his finger lasers in my eye to try and tell me to come join him.
“What a pro,” I thought to myself, as he grabbed my arm and helped pull Kat and I up onto the platform.

Shortly after 4 a.m. Kat, Klive and I got down from the platform and met up with Tracy and Fred, who told us they needed to go to the washroom. Though I still didn’t feel like I needed to urinate everyone else seemed to need the break, so I followed behind. This time we pushed our way towards the more public washrooms next to the dance floor, and told Kat to meet us when she was done.
A moment later I again found myself standing in front of the urinal with my pants undone, trying to force out whatever I could, to no avail. While trying my very best I couldn’t prevent my foot from tapping to the beat, and before long I realized that I was again doing more dancing than peeing. On my way out I caught a glimpse of my pupils in the mirror, which were still heavily dilated.
I left the washroom with Tracy following behind.
“Do you want to head home soon?” he asked, standing between the door of the washroom and the foot of the dance floor. I was rather disappointed to hear he was already wearing down.
“Hell no,” I responded. “I’m just getting started.”
A moment later Fred and Klive emerged from the washroom, and Tracy asked them the same question, only this time he got a different answer.
“I think I’m about ready to call it a night,” responded Fred.
“I’m pretty tired too,” said Klive.
I was shocked and disappointed that my most belligerent of friends had failed to live up to their reputations.
“Well, I want to stay,” I said.
A few moments later Kat found us next to the men’s room, and before we had a chance to ask her opinion she blurted out, “I just realized I’m still really high, lets go dance!”
“I’m in,” I responded, “but I think these guys want to go home.”
“Wait a minute,” said Klive, looking in my direction. “You’re staying?”
“Yea” I responded.
“Okay, I’m staying too,” he said.
“Why?” I responded. “You just said you were tired and you’ve hardly slept at all this weekend. You should probably get some rest.”
“No way man,” he said. “No way you’re outlasting me.”

Kat, Klive and I said goodnight to Tracy and Fred at approximately 4:30 a.m., and headed back toward the dance floor. Still feeling heavily inebriated Kat and I continued our drunken grinding and groping, while Klive continued his aimless wandering.
Just after 5:30 I was making out with Kat when someone grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away. It was Klive.
“Are you going home with her?” he asked.
“Probably,” I responded.
“Nice,” he said. “I’m going to head home. Have a good time.”
He said goodnight and walked away, leaving Kat and I alone with a crowd of strangers. Realizing we were finally alone together all I could think about was the prospect of reaching my goal of having sex on MDMA.
At 6 a.m. Steve Angelo finally left the stage, and we decided to leave as well.
Walking through the back door of the club we tried to talk, but could hardly hear each other over the loud ringing in our ears.
After leaving the property we hopped into one of the cabs waiting outside.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
“Want to come with me to walk my dog?” asked Kat.
“Sure,” I responded, thinking it was among the worst innuendos I had ever heard.
“I really mean it,” she said. “My dog is alone in my friends apartment and hasn’t been walked in hours. We really need to take her for a walk.”
“Okay, no problem,” I said, trying to look innocent. “Let’s go walk your dog.”
“Okay,” she said, and gave the driver her friend’s address.
“Where are we going exactly?” I asked.
“I’m staying at a friend’s place who’s away for thanksgiving weekend,” she said, and quickly changed the subject.

We got out of the cab at approximately 6:30, and made our way between the marble security desk and the decorative waterfall in the lobby towards the elevators. On our way to the 18th floor the mirrors in the elevator showed me just how wide my pupils still were.
When she opened the door of the apartment I was rather surprised to be greeted by a life-sized poster of basketball legend Allen Iverson.
“Whose place is this?” I asked.
“My friend’s,” she said. “But he won’t be back until tomorrow —or tonight I guess, technically.”
At this point I was somewhat suspicious, wondering what kind of guy lets a friend and their dog occupy their apartment for the weekend, but at 6:30 in the morning, with no sleep and a variety of substances impairing my judgment, I didn’t ask any further questions.
We took her dog for a walk around the building in Toronto’s financial district as the sun began to rise. I doubt the dog has ever felt more affection, as we soon realized how soft the lingering effects of the drug made her fur feel. We hardly stopped petting her long enough to let her pee.
When we got back to the apartment I asked Kat for a glass of water, so she opened the cupboard, grabbed a mug, filled it with tap water, and handed it to me. I don’t think she noticed the name “Mike” engraved on the side.
As I took a sip she received a message on her phone, which she promptly responded to. At this point I had to ask who she was texting at this hour.
“My friend Mike,” she responded.
“This Mike?” I asked, pointing to the mug.
“Yea,” she said, with a guilty look on her face. “This is his place.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve put the dots together by now.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
I probably should have figured it out much sooner, I probably should have seen it coming, but I was either too messed up to arrive at the obvious conclusion, or some subconscious part of me just didn’t want to know.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she said.
In my long history of heavy intoxication, never have I experienced a more rapid and definitive death of a buzz. My mind suddenly cleared and I began feeling things I hadn’t felt in hours. I suddenly felt the warmth of the sun through the floor to ceiling glass windows overlooking downtown Toronto. I suddenly felt an uncomfortable feeling in my bladder, and a distinctive dryness in my mouth. I suddenly felt the dampness of my t-shirt and pants rubbing up against my cold skin. And for the first time that entire evening, I even felt a little tired.
“Oh,” is all I managed to say.
“Yea.” She paused again, and then blurted our, “we’re not having sex in my boyfriend’s apartment. I don’t know why I invited you here. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. But we really can’t.”
I was somewhat amused to hear that she at least maintained some minor standard of decency. Evidently she was willing to cheat on her boyfriend in London, she was willing to kiss another guy at a club in downtown Toronto, she was even willing to invite someone else to her boyfriend’s place while he was away, but she drew the line at fucking someone else in his own bed. What a lucky guy.
“Can I at least get a kiss goodnight?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said.
We kissed for a few minutes, but as soon as things started to get heated she pulled away.
“Okay, you need to go to sleep. I’m here,” she said, pointing to the bedroom, “You’re over there,” she then pointed to the couch, like she was commanding her dog. “Goodnight.”

She closed the door behind her at 7:15 a.m., leaving me alone in her boyfriend’s living room with my confused logic and lingering high. I was somewhat disappointed that I wouldn’t get to experience sex on MDMA as I had eagerly anticipated, but I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised by how things transpired. After all, I’ve known for a long time exactly what kind of girl Kat is.
I lay on the couch for some time, but understandably had some trouble falling asleep.
At 8:45 I rolled off the couch, put on my shoes, and made my way down the elevator and through the lobby. I stepped onto the street just before 9 and started walking just a few feet behind a group of four women in elegant attire, until they turned into a church up the street. I found a cab a few blocks away, and was finally heading home.
When I arrived at my house I was relieved to find that my parent’s weren’t awake yet. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed just after 9:30 a.m. And with my ears still ringing, my body still shaking, my heart still pounding, and with not a moment’s rest in the past 24 hours, I grabbed my laptop off my desk, and began writing this story.

To read more of Jay Maxwell’s adventures please visit

Posted by Jay Maxwell - 01/12/11 - 0 comments