I haven’t been fully honest with you about why I want to quit Ambien. I know in Entry 1 I declared my intention to tell --truthfully-- the story of what this drug does. I omitted the event that truly made me want to quit:
I talked a lot about the terrors that Ambien causes. Those are all true. But, really, I can live with them. Those bad nights don’t happen often. And the Ambien sex, I swear, happens incredibly infrequently.
What really made me want to quit happened three months ago.
I mentioned that Ambien drains you of all inhibitions. What I didn’t mention was your fingertips then fill with numbing pleasure that creeps up through your spine, and then lodges itself in your brain. The breathing walls and your jelly legs become part of a euphoria you can’t snap out of (and don’t want to snap out of). The euphoria overtakes you with the hopeful pleasure of a thousand beautiful virgins, waiting to be plucked from heaven, and then thoroughly nailed by a throbbing dick.
So you take your Ambien, you get high as a kite, and you go on Craigslist and find a man to relieve this pent-up desire. You find him quickly. Your eyes swim with drug-induced stupidity. You see the basic form of the man you choose: hairy chest, bulging biceps, and big, swinging dick. A perfect package. At least, as much as you can tell when you are on Ambien.
You don’t know how you do it. It must be the euphoria in your fingertips guiding you, but the drive to this man’s house is remarkably easy on Ambien. Somehow you are aware that what you are doing is very wrong, but you are so dickmatized that nothing will stop you from being layed.
When he opens the door, he knows there is something wrong. You’re high. You’re clearly high on a drug that isn’t one of the usual suspects (coke, meth, GHB). He shrugs it off. He’s got a willing 25 year old with a small frame and round ass – perfect to be dominated.
The euphoria doesn’t wear off for at least 2 hours. You’re laying on your back, your head aches from repeated crashes into the headboard, and this muscle man is face-fucking you harder than you’ve ever been in your life. The bones in your jaw pulse with pain. They’ve been stretched out to accommodate his nine inch dick which he rhythmically slides in and out of your overstretched mouth. Every third thrust he aims for your tonsils, he shoves his dick down past your gullet, and his balls rest perfectly on your chin. Your mouth would normally be too dry for this, but tears slide down your face and moisten his dick just enough to complete the act.
This is when you pass out. The euphoria drains away and you have nothing left but hateful sleep. Somehow, and you don’t know how, you end up in your own bed in your own house the next day.
When you go to take your morning shit, a wad of cum splatters out. White, stringy goo mixes with frothy lube. It covers your toilet bowl. You can’t believe you had sex last night, and you’re terrified because you didn’t use a condom. You grab your computer and scroll back through your history. You recognize the man’s ad from the dick picture (the tip slightly curved to the right). He was HIV+. He clearly said it in the ad. Ambien must have erased that little detail.
You don’t even wipe the cum from your ass before your pants are on and you hurry over to your doctor. You tell him you were date raped (a lie), and you need Post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP medication can prevent HIV infection if you take them within 72 hours of exposure).
And three months later you find yourself online. You’ve manually blocked Craigslist from your browser. You have taken your Ambien, but you blog now about the experience. Today I finished my PEP treatment. I vomited every single morning for the past three months. I want to erase this whole experience, but the best I think I can do is quit Ambien.
