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This is a question Shame

Some people get off on the exhibitionism, but this was pure lust. I'm not proud, but I did once have sex on Portsmouth beach at 2am in the fog. I got a nasty cold, shingle _everywhere_ and have never, ever gone back to Portsmouth. The shame.

There are things you boast about, and then there's Portsmouth beach... what are you ashamed of having done?

(, Thu 24 Nov 2005, 17:16)
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Nutmeggin'.
I wrote a (somewhat lengthy) recount on this a while ago, so I'll cull out the uninteresting parts.

I'd tried nutmeg only days before, a Sunday, after an amount of research. A simple kitchen spice, ingested in large amounts, being a fairly powerful hallucinogen. I didn't take much the first time. Testing the waters, as it were. It was nice, but not as mind-blowing as other reports had said. I'd had 6 whole nutmegs. I resolved to take 7 the next time.

Come Wednesday, I was ready to try it again. I'd re-stocked on nutmeg, though from a different supplier. I chucked 7 into the mortar, and ground at it for an hour and a half. After mustering up the courage, I swallowed it all (around 3 am) and retired for the night (I was to go to school the next day).

The next day came up. I was up and at school. Following a few hours of uneventfulness, it was the last period of the day. A filler subject, fairly boring.

A was sitting there, small groups had formed, incessantly chittering. The teacher stood by the door with one group. I was starting to feel somewhat ill, I could feel no colour in my face. Suddenly, my stomach contracted. Vomit sped up my throat, a small amount expelling itself into my mouth. I swallowed it, looked at the clock, 5 minutes left.

Again, a contraction. A slightly larger amount came into my mouth. I swallowed it, confident in my ability to swallow whatever my stomach through at me (I was off my head, alright?). Not 20 seconds later, my stomch contracted harder than before. It sloshed into my mouth, half filling it. I gulped it down, before resolving to stand up and be excused from the room.

I gathered my belongings, slew my bag around my shoulders, and walked up to teacher. I asked if I could leave for the toilet. He silently stepped out of my path. I thanked him, and made a hasty retreat.

This is the part burnt into my memory. The single feeling, the image. Not 10 meters down the hall, a small pool forming in thin air, right in front of my eyes. The relieved feeling in my stomach. The painful realisation of what was happening. As the ochre spheres rained onto the cement of the floor, I sped up my pace. I looked behind me, nobody was looking out of the door. The windows were frosted, so nobody had seen through those. Relief as it was, my stomach was still rumbling. The brisk walk developed into a jog, as I burst into the bathroom. I'd barely locked myself inside a stall before delivering two more loads of vomit into the toilet. My eyes were watering to the point where I could feel the tears running down my face.

I went to the sink, splashed some water on face, and made a retreat. I got to the doorway when the bell went. Being a bludge lesson, people were already lined up at the exit of the classroom. I spared another glance back. It had appeared that they'd walked straight past it without noticing. Something I still severely doubt. I half-ran out of their sight.

To this day, nobody has said a thing. But they know. They must.
(, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:00, Reply)

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