“I’m sure it’s not meth,” Matt said. “Trust me, meth and I do not get along. It’s pure, uncut, Bolivian cocaine, the likes of which is pretty fuckin’ hard to come by for white trash bitches like yourselves, but easily available to someone who has money falling out of his asshole like I do.”
“If you say so,” Bleach Blonde said.
“I say so, baby,” Matt said. “Now as soon as we get these lines done, let’s get to work.” He pointed at Goth. “You, I want down on your knees sucking my schlong. And be sure to make full use of that tongue stud, you know what I’m saying?”
“I know what you’re saying, Matt,” she said with a smile.
“And you,” Matt said, pointing to Bleach Blonde, “I want you sucking on her fucking tits while she blows me. You down with that?”
“Hell yeah,” Bleach Blond said enthusiastically. “She’s got some nice ones.”
“Right fuckin on,” Matt said happily, stowing the razor blade away in his kit and removing the straw. “It’s good for us all to be on the same page here.” He picked up the mirror.
“Have you ever snorted that out of a girl’s ass crack like Jake Kingsley did?” asked Goth.
Matt gave her an irritated look. “Baby, I’m the one who came up with that whole coke from the ass crack thing in the first place. I’m the one who did it first. For some reason they always give fucking Kingsley credit for that shit. Just another reason for me to hate that motherfucker.”
“He really did it then?” Bleach Blonde asked.
“Yes, he fucking did it!” Matt said. “But he only did it after I did! Now no more talk of that traitorous motherfucker or you ain’t getting no Matt Tisdale schlong tonight. Do we have an understanding?”
They both assured him that they had an understanding.
“All right,” Matt said. “Now let’s hit this shit.”
He brought the mirror to his face, put the sterling silver straw to his nose, and quickly made two of the assembled lines disappear. It really was good shit and it started to work on him even before he could pass the mirror over to Goth. The two girls snorted their two lines up—both with a bit of hesitation at first—and then the primary festivities began with Goth pulling off her shirt to reveal an extra-large pair of nineteen-year-old tits.
“Fuck yeah,” Matt said with a grin as she sank down to her knees before him. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them and his underwear down. It was time for some serious schlong slurping.
Or at least he thought it was. Goth was looking at what he had to offer and the expression on her face was not one of amazed awe, as he expected. It was an expression of doubt, mixed with perhaps some pity? “Uh ... oh ... wow,” she said quietly.
Matt had never heard someone use that particular tone of voice while looking at his shit before. He looked down at himself and was startled to see that he was not ready for action—not even close, in fact. His crank was soft and withdrawn, just dangling there uselessly instead of standing tall and proud. What the fuck? he thought. He felt like he was ready to get some head from a barely legal with a tongue stud, but someone had forgot to send the memo down south.
“Uh ... I’m not sure what’s happening here,” Matt said.
“It’s okay,” Goth told him. “I can wake him up.”
She gave it her best shot. She took him into her mouth and began to slurp and suck on him, alternating her mouth action with jacking motions with her hands. Bleach Blonde handled her assignment as instructed and began to suck on Goth’s tits with a real enthusiasm. The sensation on his cock was very pleasant, as was the visual stimulation of the hot blonde slurping on those big nipples, but his manhood remained stubbornly unimpressed.
This cannot be happening to me! Matt thought helplessly, angrily as his dick remained soft and squishy and useless to his cause. This absolutely cannot be fucking happening to me!
“Boss, you okay?” asked Austin, whose own rather impressively sized manhood was being passed back and forth between two sluts who were kneeling before him.
“Fine, perfectly fine!” Matt barked back at him, nearing panic at the thought of not being able to get it up, of the thought that word of this incident might reach beyond this room. This shit does not happen to me!
“You sure, Boss?” Austin asked, his face showing alarm. “You’re all pale and shit. And you’re sweating.”
“What?” Matt asked, forgetting for the moment about his first-time onset of impotence. Pale and sweating? For the first time he noticed that he did feel a bit off. It seemed like he was having trouble catching his breath. And Austin was right, he was sweating. It was a cold sweat that was making his arms, his chest, his face damp, making him shiver in the processed hotel room air. The last time something like this had happened...
“Boss? You still with us?” Austin said.
“Fuck me,” Matt said.
“I’m not sure we’re going to be able to do that just yet,” Goth said apologetically. “Not until ... you know...”
“It’s just an expression!” Matt barked at her. He pushed her off his cock, perhaps a bit more roughly than was necessary. He pushed Bleach Blonde away as well. He then reached down and pulled up his pants.
“I was trying!” Goth told him. “It’s not my fault that you can’t get your...”
“Shut up,” Matt barked, zipping up. Then, afraid of what he was going to find but needing to know anyway, he reached down with his right hand and felt for the pulse point on his left wrist. He didn’t need to even count it. It was running like a freight train, at least two hundred beats per minute. “Shit! Not this again!”
This got the attention of Steve, who was over on the couch sliding his salami in and out of a brown-haired chubby groupie from behind while a skinny groupie was getting eaten out by her. “Not what again?” he called over, alarmed. “You ain’t doing that heart shit again, are you?”
“Yeah ... I am,” Matt said softly, now starting to feel a little ache in the middle of his chest. Maybe that had been meth after all? But no, he knew what meth smelled like, tasted like, what its effects were. And he certainly knew what cocaine smelled like, tasted like, and what its effects were. That had been coke, there was no doubt about it. And premo shit too. What the fuck then?
“Fuck!” Steve said, quickly disengaging himself from the action and hurrying over, his condom-capped schlong pointing the way like a divining rod. At least he could get his fucking dick hard.
“The heart shit?” asked Austin. “No fucking way!”
“Dude!” said Corban, who was lubing up the anus of a brunette groupie and preparing to slide in her back door. “You mean that shit where your heart goes fast?”
“Don’t call me dude,” Matt told him. “How many times I gotta fuckin tell you that shit!”
“Sorry, dude, but ... but ... are they gonna have to light you up again?”
“How fast is it going?” Steve wanted to know.
“At least two hundred,” said Matt, who was still feeling his pulse racing under his fingers.
“Goddamn, Matt,” Steve said. “What do you want me to do? You want me to get Greg?”
“Yeah,” Matt said, “but first, I think you’d better call 911.”
Steve did this, in that order. Greg arrived well before the medics did. He did nothing but confirm what Matt already knew, that his heart was going way too fast again. He was at least able to quantify the situation though. He counted the pulse rate as steady at 212 beats per minute.
“Shit,” said Matt when he heard the number. “Looks like I’m gonna be riding the fuckin’ lightning again.”
It turned out, however, that he did not have to ride the lightning. An engine crew from Indianapolis Fire Department’s station 13 and a paramedic unit arrived together about ten minutes after the 911 call was made. After a few moments of bewilderment and confusion as the first responders took in the hotel room full of booze, pot, cocaine and groupies—two of the latter were still engaging in lesbian sex on the room’s couch while another, the goth, was still shirtless, her impressive mammaries out for all to see—and then realized that their patient was the Matt Tisdale, they went to work on him. The paramedic of the crew hooked Matt up to his heart monitor and confirmed that he was, indeed, in a supraventricular tachycardia rhythm at a rate of two hundred and twelve beats per minute.