I've never smoked up. How strange that makes me seem sometimes. Never even had a puff of the stuff. No one at school or college ever offered me a take, and I came through to my twenty-second year quite free of narcotic infuence. That seems a mite absurd now, when I listen to some of my friends rave about how great the occassional puff is, and I sit silly, smiling ignorant.
I've had a brush with the stuff, of course. One of the people I used to date was quite an addict. The Peacock (all puns intended here - meaow!) was quite addicted to the stuff. I found that out, the very first time I met him. In the PVR Saket complex, behind the McDonald's store, with some other wild and whacky friends of his. I'd met him online just that evening and he'd told me to rush over for a night out - I was bored, horny and bored, so I went. Went and met The Peacock and his gaggle of 'pals' whom he bitched about at length after they'd gone.
The Peacock was a beautiful specimen in those days - tall and strutting, fair and pink lips, pretty pout, beautiful smile, and I was smitten. So I didn't really care when he puffed up in front of me. He was the first person who ever offered me a puff, but I refused. I refused over and over, for the three or so weeks that he and I dated.
One night, I asked him, why he took the stuff.
Peacock: *snigger*
CT: "No, really... why?"
Peacock: "Well, babe, I'm just staying healthy, you know!"
CT, stops dead and shoots a highly skeptical look: "You stay healthy by smoking weed?"
Peacock: "Of course! I don't do cigarettes anymore now, do I?!"
And that was followed by a gentle tug and tumble in bed, so I dropped the subject then and there. Eventually, though, we broke up, rather, drifted apart, and I could never get over his need for the weed. After a while, it hurt the Ego in me, and we all know how big that thing is...! It kinda stung that this guy would be morose and moody before he took the weed, and after a coupla pulls of the stuff, he'd be amazingly mellow and romantic and cutesy. I found him funny and sexy and cute, but I also found him demented at a level. And not the kind of dementia that Boy and I share...!
(Thank God, or else, I'd have to be wed to a fading, aging gay Peacock in Delhi!)
;-)
My second brush with narcotics was in Delhi again, but this time on a visit, after I had moved to Bombay. The guy in question was this acquaintance of Architect Ex-cum-Friend, and we met up at his absobloominutely amazing apartment in Greater Kailash, sprawling rooms, huge verandahs, yards and yards of fabric everywhere, and we had this very amazing session in the middle of a hot sweltering Delhi afternoon. And that's when he took them out, the Poppers. hell, Poppers are considered baby stuff by those in the know, but to me, they seemed wild and exotic... and when I got them offered to me by this hot naked guy on a hot afternoon, I decided to shrug off my prejudices and take a snort.
Ummm... nothing.
Not even a teensy-weensy, itsy-bitsy, polka-dotted or even bar-striped little relative of a high. While he went gaga over the stuff and took loads more snorts, dissolving in orgasmic groans after each sniff, I thought Vicks inhaler was probably ten times stronger than the Poppers, and I kept on wondering how such a great looking, hurly-burly Punjabi dude could turn out to be such a... umm.. pansy!
;-)
I mean, hell, even The Peacock behaved with far more self-respect for a tiny little snort!
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