Where does personal responsibility end and human compassion begin? Let’s say you meet a guy on Grindr or Scruff. You invite him back to yours. You give him some spliff, G, MDMA, a giant line of K. Perhaps you smoke some Crystal Meth. You have experience of taking these drugs, you’ve done it many times, he hasn’t, it’s perhaps only his first or second experience. He gets ill, he freaks out, he’s paranoid, he scared, not knowing how to cope with the feelings he is experiencing. You’re pissed off because instead of having the mindblowing fuck you were expecting, instead here you are babysitting this stranger who can’t handle their drugs. So what do you do? Do you help him, comfort him, tell him you’ll look after him and tell him everything will be ok? Do you look after him? Or perhaps you kick him out, maybe if he’s lucky you call him a cab, and you go back on Grindr determined not to waste to buzz and the night. And on you go to the next and the next and the next, not even remembering his name. But I assure you, he will never forget yours..
I was one of the lucky ones. My first proper experience of drugs was with my ex-husband. It was before we moved to London. Shortly after we met he had invited me to go on holiday with him and several mates to Ibiza for a few weeks. I was just 21 and very green, having had hardly any experience. He held my hand the whole time, literally. We went to clubs, he would give me a pill, carefully explaining exactly what the effects would be, he would hold me close to him while we danced, the drug gradually working it’s way through my body. He made sure I drank enough water, whispered loving and kind words in my ear the whole time, protected me, made me feel like I was the only one in that club. After the party had ended he would call a cab, take me home, never took his eyes off me. You see he wanted to share that wonderful experience of the drugs, the music, the atmosphere with me. But most importantly he wanted me to be safe and to have a positive experience. It was wonderful. I was lucky.
These days, many years later, I very rarely partake in anything other that red wine or the odd gin and tonic. Fifteen years of living in London does tend to wear one out a bit! But for many years I took drugs recreationally. After many experiences, many trips to Ibiza, many nights of clubbing, I built up a bit of a resistance to the effects. I found I could predict the effects and so could carefully measure how much I took, always in control of the effects. And often I would end up looking after someone who either hadn’t taken anything before, perhaps at a party where another guy had carelessly given that person a huge line of K (thinking it was coke) or had measured out too much G, or someone who simply wasn’t used to taking that particular drug and was having a bad reaction. And always, I remembered the care my ex husband had shown me, and I tried to look after that person with care, compassion and patience, knowing that they were scared, confused or worse still completely unaware of what they were doing or the harm they were potentially putting themselves into.
You see, it’s all very well being a ‘Top’ at a sex party. You focus on keeping it together, staying hard, wanting to fuck all night long, wanting to satisfy those greedy bottoms and make them happy. But for the passive guys, they often are taken advantage of. They are fed tons of drugs until they are in an almost unconcious state, and they are fucked and used, often by many guys, often these days without condoms as it’s hard to keep ‘hard’ when taking drugs, sniffing poppers and trying to get that condom on. The next day, if they’re aware of it, they may rush to the local STD clinic for an emergency treatment of PEP, if not they will worry themselves sick until the next HIV test and Sexual Health checkup not knowing what has been transferred into their bodies. Often not even being able to remember what has occurred that night or how many guys have fucked them. In worst cases they may be traumatised, unable to have another sexual experience for many months or in some cases many years, terrified that the same thing may happen again.
This sounds like a lecture I know. But all I’m trying to say is look after each other. If he’s a bit too pissed or out of it either get him home safe or just look after him, not because it’s your responsibility, but because it is the decent thing to do. Wouldn’t you like the same to be done for you? I know I would..
Sending Love and Light. Buenas Noches. Aaron. X