Let’s get back to what Explicit Exploits is all about. Shall we?
It was a raucous couple of days.
It started on a Thursday. I was out with a girl who was having a birthday at midnight. Let’s call this girl “CHICA.” There was some tapa fair happening at all the bars in Madrid, where you’d go and get a beer and the beer bottle is tiny as shit but they give you a free tapa with it, as if that’s supposed to make up for it. We had two tapas and two tiny beers: one was the worst tapa I ever had, the other was something like a Shepard’s Pie that we got at a Argentine bar. But I was still thirsty, damnit! So I told Chica, “Yo, I’ve never been, but I’ve walked by this place that advertises 1 euro “dobles” (a normal-sized beer) and, I know it’s your birthday and shit, but I’m trying to drink. Fuck these tiny ass beers.” She agreed, which was the right choice, meaning I didn’t have to drown her face in a chocolate birthday cake.
We walked to the bar, Mana Bar, and it was packed, despite being the size of a chicken coop. The beers were in fact 1 euro, and I decided this was my new favorite bar in Madrid. We had a couple, and suddenly I was feeling nice and drunk. But it could’ve been the weed, Chica and I had smoked like 3 or 4 joints by this point. Eventually we left, went to some bar run by a huge Puerto Rican named “Gadiel” and drank and smoked even more. At some point Gadiel played “Billie Jean” on the radio, and convinced me (successfully) that Michael Jackson is not saying “She says I am the one,” but actually a Spanish phrase, “Yo quiero manzana.” (Seriously, go listen to it.)
A few blocks and braincells later, we had arrived at a Venezuelan karaoke place. Chica loves karaoke, and I don’t want to say this is the biggest reason I showed up for her birthday, but… okay, it was the biggest reason. Despite it being a Thursday, a popular night for the Spanish to party, there were just three people there. Which meant we sang every other song. We hostile takeover-ed that place.
At some point I realized I was waaay fucked out of my skull, and conveniently, that point was just as the bar was closing.
That left us free to trot back to Chica’s house. I walked in, brushed my teeth, and my clothes were off. I don’t remember much of the sex, and folks, sometimes that happens. I know that I didn’t like the condom, and I was pumping hard and still felt like nothing was shooting out of me as long as there was rubber on my skin. So I went “Alright, get on your knees,” and she understood the implication: that I was going to shoot a load on her tits. Her fantastically enormous tits, mind you. I took it out, started stroking it, but it was taking too long. And my mouth was so dry and desert-like, I hadn’t a single drop of saliva in my mouth. That’s when I peered at the side of the bed and spotted it: the lube! Yes. I snagged it up, dosed my dick in it, and one or two minutes later I busted. I remember that in the buildup to the blast, my left leg was twitching, like seriously twitching, and I was concerned I was gonna have a stroke or something.
I don’t remember the cleanup process, or if she even did clean the mess, but we spooned afterward and that was it. It was probably around 4 or 5 am.
+++++++
We woke up before 12, so I still had time to grab a coffee and tostada (Spanish toast thing). I felt terribly unrested and took comfort in the fact that I could stay in and sleep early that night. Hey. I don’t have to go out every Friday, kay?
I get home and realize I have a text from a girl I met a couple months ago, over the summer. A girl who I took a liking to before I even saw her. I had HEARD her. Her music. Her beautiful beats. Yes, she was a DJ. And during one of Madrid’s several summer street fests, I was hanging on the street, drunkenly dancing and I glanced over at the DJ and went like “OMG THE DJ IS A GIRL!”
We bumped into each other after her set; she told me she was from South America. Named “CHILA.” And we made plans to hang sometime.
I was pretty excited because… I always wanted to bang a DJ. A girl that’s enthusiastic about music. That commands it. That can make people happy. That’s hot.
So anyways, back to that Friday day, I got a text from Chila saying we shoule hang on this day. I suggested we meet at 5 PM, which is WAY early for Spanish people—nobody goes out then; they’re all taking siestas. In my mind, remember, I’m going home early that night. Chila agrees and she meets me just as I was about to down two tinto de veranos (Spanish wine concoction) by myself. I gave her one, and it made it look like I was considerate and got her one. Good save.
We walked a block or two and went to the main central plaza place in Lavapies neighborhood, and we were able to snag a table at probably the hardest place to get one. It was cold outside, and I was underdressed. But she kept rolling these cigarettes with menthol filters, which in retrospect tasted quite shit, but they kept my mind off the cold.
We had excellent chemistry. She laughed a lot, more than Chica, who I feel like doesn’t quite “get” my jokes. We talked music, our ex’s and other random shit. And then she mentions a party happening that night. And I already knew by that point that I was going. I wasn’t even formally invited. But somehow I knew I’d be going.
We finished our Gin and Tonics and walked a couple blocks. Where were we going? Well, to make a drug deal. We walked into her tiny lady friend’s apartment, and the lady welcomed us, gave us kisses, and Chila facilitated a deal between Tiny Lady and some dealer. The drug being procured was “speed.” What is speed, exactly? Not sure, but I had done speed once in Amsterdam before a Claptone concert, and I don’t remember feeling particularly high at all. Well, that was about to change.
Chica led me to the other side of Lavapies to her own neighborhood. We stopped by a “chino” (a corner store owned by Chinese people) and bought Pringles, booze, and an orange. The orange was a garnish for some pink Italian liquor she had in her apartment, which I guess is hella expensive in Spain, but dirt cheap in her country, where she brought it from. We continued drinking, showing each other our favorite electronic songs, and then she announced that she had bought two bags of speed for herself. Next thing you know, she’s cutting lines, and after she takes one, I lower my nose to the table and take a rip.
It was pretty smooth! Nothing like cocaine, and it burns the nostril more, but there is a tangible effect there. After about an hour, Chila goes into her bedroom to change, I follow her, and this goes about as expected.
I saw that her nipples were hard, and that made me hard. When I took her shirt off, I realized it was a ruse: her nips were hard because they were pierced. I must say, I am NOT a fan of the pierced nipples. But… they kinda worked for her? AKA I just forgot about them eventually. Also: pierced nips can only work with some certain nipple shapes. And hers worked. With her shirt off, I also took note of how heavily tatted up she was. Her whole back had a single portrait, of like a landscape of something. I can’t remember. I wanna say like a Japanese painting or anything? I’ll try and remember.
We ended up 69’ing for a bit, and then there was insertion. It was a good fuck. Good chemistry; I was profoundly turned on by her skin complexion: a little dark. Like a dark-tina. Not black. But not anywhere near my pasty ass skin tone. When I came, she came like 10 seconds later, and we kind of laid there laughing and sweating for a few minutes. “My roommates definitely heard us,” she pointed out. We eventually got dressed, did more speed, smoked more cigs, drank another cocktail or two, and we set out for the club around 1 AM.
The club was great. Cozy. Intimate. Top-notch house music. Everyone seemed to know each other, or at least Chila did. The perks of being a DJ, I guess. The other perk? Everyone offers you drugs.
There was a little hidden bathroom that was only accessible only if you crossed behind the DJ up on the stage. It was a room capable of holding three people, maybe? However, I never found myself in there with less than 5-10 people. All the invitees had a powder of some sort. Me and Chila had done maybe two or three trips to this hidden room, before she ends up drawing a little red eyeliner case and reveals what’s inside. “Wanna do some K?”
“Um… I mean… DUH!” I said. So now we’re doing ketamine. Speed. Cigs. Cocktails.
One of the guys we met in the hidden bathroom was a friendly local from Madrid. I’m not sure if he’s got a friendly personality naturally, or if he was just on a shit-ton of drugs. His eyes were rolling around like they were disconnected from one another. After talking to him for about 15 minutes, he ends up offering us drugs. “MDMA?” he asks. My mouth was already wide open in preparation.
I don’t know what I felt more of that night—which drug in particular. I can state that at some point, right around 5 AM, I was straight rolling my BALLS off, courtesy of the MDMA. I don’t even know how much I took; crazy eyes guy just stuck some in Chica and I’s mouths. I wanna say that I switched to water after that, but that would be responsible, and responsible I am not.
I don’t know what time the club closed, but me and Chila smoked our final cigs on the street cerca 7 AM, when the street cleaning crew was out. We kissed and said farewell, and she was off on one of those rent-a-bikes for home. I was invited, but I desperately needed a shower. Doing lots of drugs will do that. I smelt like ass. And sweat. And sweaty ass.
I made it home, failed repeatedly to jerk myself off, and I’m pretty sure I took some skin off in the process.
You can’t always end strong, but damnit, you can certainly… uhhhhhh…?
(Let’s just pretend I said something wise here.)
Anyways! The point is…
We are so BACK!
