Ride The Lightning

It was my first year working abroad at a summer camp for children of obscene privilege in the United States, just a few hours’ drive outside New York City. What an outstanding fucking summer that was - scorching weather, excessive drinking, an ample miscellany of drugs, and relentless sexual depravity. It was truly glorious. It wasn’t all debauchery and hedonism, though. We worked long, laborious hours under the tyrannical lash of the camp’s owner, Marvin, who made a public spectacle of firing multiple people in the first few weeks every year just to swing his giant authoritarian dick around and let the rest of us subordinate scum know who was in charge. Still, there was a silver lining - we had nearly every Saturday off from work. So every Friday night, most of the camp’s staff scurried out from our final activities and then fought their way down towards the gravelled car park at the edge of the camp in a desperate bid to snatch one of the scarce few taxis heading into town, so we could all get shitfaced at the same bar we drank in every week. A cheap hotel was nearby, barely separated from the bar by a small, haggard car park. We’d throw in about ten bucks apiece, then cram twenty to thirty horny camp counsellors into each of the rooms, which were used exclusively to drink, sleep, and fuck in. Honestly, it was surreal. Every week without fail, there would be a small orgy of drunk twenty-somethings fucking each other in there, like some kind of squalid Roman sex party. No one gave a shit. It turned out that when young men and women spend most of their time segregated from each other at camp, they will fuck at any given opportunity under any given circumstance.

It was just a few short hours into our fourth Friday night out, and I was already shitfaced. I was slumped across a tattered deckchair outside the bar, wielding a pitcher of insipid American beer in each hand. That’s when I noticed Chloe, a young, attractive Southern English co-counsellor, sauntering out from the bar. She had long, straightened blonde hair and a slender, toned frame that had been gorgeously sculpted by years of gymnastics training. I was smitten. In a misguided attempt to showcase how confident and charming I was - which I absolutely wasn’t - I beckoned her over and invited her to sit on my lap. My cocksure act was a rickety façade, the kind of bravado only cheap booze can provide, but at that moment I took a gamble, attempting to reinvent my not-so-cool self into some arrogant charlatan, and somehow my drunken overconfidence paid off. Chloe smiled, walked towards me, threw her arm over my shoulders, and then slid herself onto my lap. I felt like a fucking king. We spent the next half-hour or so flirting whilst I counted my blessings and struggled to conceal a convulsive erection beneath a rapidly depleting pitcher of beer. It wasn’t long before Chloe leaned in and, with a coy smile, suggested: Chloe: Shall we, uh… get an early night? I got the message loud and clear. I eased her off my lap, thumbed my erection into the waistband of my jeans, and staggered back across the car park towards the hotel with her.

Outside the room, I was greeted by the unmistakable sound of several couples fucking inside - nothing out of the ordinary. I knocked firm, but whoever was in there just carried on fucking. I knocked again. Still nothing. Just the unrelenting rhythm of someone’s pelvis tenderising a pair of glutes on the other side. Their wilful ignorance lit a slow-burning fury in me, so I decided to make myself impossible to ignore by beating the shit out of the door like I was trapped on the wrong side of a house fire. My incessant pounding finally summoned movement, and after what sounded like a fucking stampede bulldozing across the room towards me, the door flew open, revealing the shadowy, naked figure of my friend, Joel, standing in the doorway, basted in a thick glaze of sweat. He stared into my soul with murderous fury, panting through flaring nostrils like an enraged bull issuing a warning. His gaze lingered just long enough to make sure I understood its meaning, then he turned without a word and marched back into the room towards Fern, whom he’d left bent over the foot of his bed.

Joel was usually a plump little bundle of joy - radiant, charming, intelligent, and possessed of an unprecedented fanaticism for food unlike anyone I had ever seen. He’d savour every morsel with a passionate narration of the flavours, his arms - animated with euphoria like a conductor hitting the crescendo of some culinary masterpiece. Watching that man enjoy a good meal was like watching puppies play or a child opening presents at Christmas - pure, infectious joy. For some baffling reason that year, Joel had made it his vexatious mission to cock-block nearly every one of my sexual endeavours. He was relentless. Every time I made any discernible headway in attempting to impress a girl, that giddy little arsehole would likely be hiding somewhere nearby, readying himself in the shadows to spring out at the most inopportune moment to put an abrupt and boisterous end to my laboured sexual conquest like some sex-hindering court jester. He was an absolute menace. Suffice it to say, I took great pleasure in repaying the favour, watching him seethe with fury as he waddled back into the dark and gloom towards Fern.

Wasting no time, I led Chloe into the room by her hand and closed the door behind me. As we crossed the threshold, I noticed Hazel, a gorgeous blonde woman from Manchester on my right, who was trying to cover her petite, naked body with a translucent veil of sweat-soaked sheets in the first of the two hotel beds. Perched upright next to her was Lee, the uncontested heart-throb of camp. He was an annoyingly handsome bodybuilder from London with a thick Cockney accent, a herculean physique, and the sincere kind of nice-guy personality that no amount of envy could sway you to dislike - a truly irritating mix of good genetics and charm. That immaculate bastard really had it all going for him.

Four pairs of impatient eyes tracked us as we passed their beds towards the back of the room, silence choking the atmosphere. We felt like unwelcome nomads drifting through some ominous Wild West town, observed from the shadows of its townhouse windows. Once we made it to the back of the room, though, shit got very weird, very quickly. The room exploded into a cacophony of sex. Groans, squelches, and the slap of skin echoed all around us like some avant-garde porno soundtrack. Amidst the chaos, I grabbed Chloe by the shoulders and toppled forward, thumping her back against the damp ruffles of peeled wallpaper. Our tongues locked in a slick grappling match as we tore at each other’s clothes, flinging them aside like we’d never need them again. Then Chloe leaned in, breath hot against my ear, and whispered: Chloe: Come on, fuck me, Denny!

She was very well-spoken, her enunciation and cadence oddly posh for someone who came from a rough English council estate.

Chloe: Bend me over and fuck me hard!

Now, I should mention at this point that I’m not actually all that into the whole rough, dominating, or degrading sex shit. It’s never really done much for me, but when someone like Chloe asks you with that kind of seductive flair, well, you’ve got no choice but to rise to the occasion. So, I pulled Chloe down to the ground, hoisted her onto her knees, and then ripped her underwear down from her arse, which was peering up at me from the floor with an inviting wink. I shuffled across the odious hotel carpet towards her on my knees, slipped inside her vagina, and began fucking her under the sink with the subtlety of a hardcore porn star. As we romped like feral animals amidst an orchestra of panting and moaning, I glanced over at my fellow voyeurs to see how their deviant escapades were panning out. Joel knelt at the foot of his bed with his podgy face buried deep between Fern’s ass-cheeks, his tongue flailing wildly, attacking her anus with the kind of fervour usually reserved for competitive eating. She whimpered in delight as she bent over the mattress, spreading her cheeks apart with her hands for improved access. Behind them loomed the monstrous silhouette of Lee’s hulking physique, framed by a yellow glow of streetlight bleeding through the large hotel window at the front of the room. He pummelled Hazel with animalistic ferocity, ramming her into the bed like he had a personal vendetta with it. Her dainty legs flailed over his bouldering shoulders, flapping in time with the rampant creaking while an ostinato of moans and slurps filled the air. As the night wore on, other promiscuous co-counsellors filtered back from the bar until the room was teeming with sweaty twosomes, threesomes, moresomes, and a pungent mélange of bodily fluids. It was just another night off from work for us - we’d get drunk, fuck each other senseless, and pass out in a depraved tangle of humanity.

Several weeks later, we made our way down to the edge of camp for another eagerly awaited night of debauchery. I managed to fight my way into one of the first taxis and got to the hotel early enough to procure one of the only two beds for myself before venturing over to the bar. I was overjoyed that I finally managed to get a bed that week. It meant that I wouldn’t have to spend the night collecting carpet burns under the sink again, where I always managed to end up fucking someone somehow. Just as I was about to leave, though, Lee blocked the doorway with his behemoth arm and then gestured a stern finger towards the other hotel bed as he announced to the room:

Lee: THIS IS MY BED. IF ANYONE FUCKIN’ TAKES MY BED AGAIN THIS WEEK… I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL ‘EM!

Duly noted. After a few hours at the bar, I wandered out into the smoking area with Joel and Chloe. There were far more non-regulars than usual, some of whom loitered around the outskirts, casting shady glances towards the decking as if scouting for unattended goods or something. My paranoiac thoughts soon subsided, though, and I quickly returned to what mattered - drinking. As we nursed our beers and finished our cigarettes, an alluring odour settled over us, like the whiff of a nearby barbecue, beckoning us towards its banquet. It was weed. Sweet, glorious weed. It seemed like a lifetime since I had smoked it. I had been deprived of my habitual vice all summer. The second we smelt it, Joel and I exchanged a glance like we’d just invented fire. There was no time to waste. I snatched Chloe’s beer from her hand, plonked it beside mine on a wooden ledge skirting the smoking area, and yanked her away from the bar. The three of us chased the scent around the corner like a pack of bloodhounds and descended into a dark alleyway.

We discovered the aroma wafting from a shifty-looking gang of lads, huddled together under a solitary dim light at the back of the alley. If there was ever a group of people that looked like they mugged people on a whim, it was these guys. I guess it must have looked safe enough, though, because we were hovering around them like flies to shit within seconds. Much to our surprise, they were all too happy to welcome us into their circle, passing joints around with the kind of generosity that only comes from boredom or criminal intent. For whatever reason, they seemed excited to have stumbled across some random English people to hang out with in the middle of their nowhere town, and we were just glad to be smoking weed for the first time since we arrived in the States. It was a symbiotic union of total strangers, brought together by weed - a story as old as time. After about thirty minutes of cannabis camaraderie, we thanked our new pals and drifted back towards the outside bar to continue drinking. This was where the night took a nosedive.

I grabbed what I assumed was my drink from the ledge and downed it in one go, eager to compensate for the brief period I’d spent not actively getting drunk. Soon after finishing my beer, though, a sudden surge of immense, disorientating fuckery hijacked my nervous system, like I’d been possessed by the ghost of some dude who overdosed on everything. I went from naught to wrecked in seconds. Ten out of ten beyond fucked. The world tore and whirled around me like I’d been ripped into a miniature tornado I had no hope of escaping from. I was a discombobulated mess, yet somehow I felt incredible. I caressed and clawed at my body, my mind caught somewhere between exploring the newfound oddity of my form and clinging on for dear life. Noticing my unusual behaviour, Chloe approached me from behind and asked:

Chloe: What the fuck are you doing?

Me: Ohhhh, my god! I feel soooooo weird, Chloe!

I slurred, grinning like a lunatic. She squinted at me.

Chloe: What?

Me: Everythin’s so fuckin’ fuzzy! I’m dizzy as fuck!

As I swayed in front of Chloe, babbling nonsense, I began to realise that something was very wrong. My anxiety began to boil over like an unwatched pot, so I scanned the outside bar area for a way out, my vision slipping in and out of focus. That’s when I noticed them - three shady bastards huddled together on the pavement outside the smoking area, all staring at me, their faces tight with panic as they whispered into each other’s ears. That’s when it clicked - they’d fucking spiked me with something. I had no idea what the drugs were, but one thing seemed clear: those three dubious fuckers had meant to spike Chloe’s drink with it. Pretty dark shit. Of course, I could never know that for sure, but the evidence was mounting fast, and that was enough to send my panic into overdrive. In an attempt to express my growing concerns, I swung back towards Chloe and mumbled:

Me: Ssshhhit, somethin’… is w-wrong… ‘need to get back…

Chloe: What? You want to go back? Now?! It’s early as fuck, Denny!

Me: Take me back, nowwwww!

Chloe: Are you alright? You’re acting weird.

My delirium was swelling with every second that raced by.

Me: PLEASE… HELP M-ME! TAKE ME BAAACK!

Chloe: Whooa, yeah… Okayyyy, babe, no worries. I’ll get you back to the hotel. 

Chloe was so drunk at that point that she looked nearly as fucked as I felt, but still somehow led me around the smoking area and through the car park, where I began to feel like I was walking on the fucking moon. I lunged and waded across the tarmac in a sumo-like, wide-legged stance, my legs heavy as concrete bollards, convinced I was sinking into a thick swamp of invisible mud. I careened through a rollercoaster of emotions, swinging from peaks of euphoria to waves of crippling anxiety with every slow-motion moonstep I took. As I slipped deeper into the trip, everything faded to black, until all of a sudden, I was nowhere at all. I’m not sure if I’d passed out at that point, but in my head the concept of space and time ceased to exist. I was floating in some timeless, inconceivable oblivion with only my nightmarish thoughts to liberate me somewhat from total solitude. I was alone, terrified, and bisected from reality. I knew at this point that I had fucked up.

I was tripping balls in a barren car park, high on some potent mystery narcotic, and the fact that I had no idea what I had ingested scared the shit out of me. As I teetered on the precipice of a full-blown panic attack, I tried to devise some kind of plan to put an end to the trip. Plan ‘A’ was to go back to the room, vomit as much as humanly possible, and hope that I could purge enough drugs out of my system to level myself out. I didn’t have a plan ‘B’. But then, amidst the imperishable chaos and creeping dread, a soothing whisper drifted into my subconscious like a silk scarf caught in a soft breeze:  Voice: Ride the lightning, Denny, just ride the lightning.

Nothing had ever made more sense to me in my entire life. I could either continue having a miserable drug trip, or I could ‘ride the lightning’ and enjoy a free high. I went with the latter. Once I made peace with whatever substance I’d unwittingly ingested, I snapped back to reality in the car park and resumed my spacewalk towards the hotel, then up the concrete stairs towards our room. Just as I reached for the handle, though, Chloe slid between me and the door. She leaned in, licked up the side of my neck, and then tugged down on my ear with a seductive nibble. I knew at that moment I was about to have a wild fucking time, indeed. We tumbled through the door in a tangle of lust, smashed the lights on, and were promptly stalled by a random woman passed out across the bed I’d claimed earlier that evening, so… we took Lee’s bed.

I began to undress like a lunatic trying to escape out of a straitjacket and then flopped onto the bed with Chloe. I clambered on top of her, hopelessly wrestling with my cock, trying to find a moist orifice to slip it into as the room warped and whirled around me. Chloe indulged my ineptitude for a moment, then let out an impatient tut, grabbed my penis, and guided it into place for me like I was some kind of deviant invalid. The next fuck-knows-how-long was unbridled venereal chaos. Faces warped, limbs contorted, and genitals battled beneath me like lubricious alien organisms. Soon enough, it became impossible to do anything except lie on top of Chloe like a limp cadaver, my gormless face buried into the pillow beside her as I prodded my knob into her like I was having a seizure. I was now having the best fucking time ever. As I shagged Chloe like a beached fish floundering between her legs, a horde of drunks burst through the hotel door and came to a grinding halt at the foot of the bed. Lee pushed his way through the crowd to see what everyone had stopped to laugh and gasp at, then promptly lost his shit:

Lee: WHAT THE FUCK! NOT IN MY BED YOU CUNT! Lee spat ‘bastard’ and ‘cunt’ in my direction like venom, all the while left with little choice but to stand there and watch as I carried on pumping away on his bed. I just kept going. When Lee finally stormed over to throw me out, I tensed my whole body and went rigidly still, assuming - for reasons known only to my drug-addled brain - that Lee and the rest of the crowd were like Tyrannosaurus rex and had sight that could only detect movement. I leaned in and whispered to Chloe:

Me: D-don’t move… they won’t see us…

With that baffling instruction, Chloe shuffled out from underneath me and wandered to the back of the room. I rolled onto my back, unable to move, staring up at Lee’s seething face with a defiantly erect penis as he paced along the bedside, continuing his tirade.

Lee: I FUCKIN’ TOLD EVERYONE NOT TO GO IN MY BED, DENNY! I COME IN FROM MY NIGHT OUT TO FIND YOU SHAGGIN' IN IT, YA FUCKIN' PRICK! GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT FUCKIN’ NOW!

I paused for a weary moment, then grunted:

Me: I can’t…

Lee huffed with sheer displeasure and, with a sarcastic drawl, groaned:

Lee: What d’ya mean “I can’t”?!

Me: I… I can’t remember how to stand up…

I lay there on the bed, onerously rolling around on my back like a tortoise spun on its shell, bewildered by the impossible task of getting to my feet. I groaned for aid, thrashing my limp arms and legs in the air until my pitiful display finally mustered a rescue squad. It took three disgruntled men to pull my naked, dead weight from the bed and steady me on my feet. Then, with my cock still fiercely erect, they had little choice but to help me get my boxers and jeans back on, because I had been rendered incapable of doing it myself. Once I had been dressed like a wayward infant, everyone ordered me to go to sleep, at which point I waddled off a few feet, stripped off all of the clothes they had just dressed me in, and then clambered back on top of Chloe under the sink like a sweaty, sex-craved gremlin. Before anyone had time to settle after the scene I had just caused, I grabbed my dick, thumbled it into Chloe’s vagina, and then began fucking her again in front of everyone. All I could hear was a choir of disapproving moans and a seething barrage of insults as I ploughed Chloe across the hotel carpet like I was trying to shift a bed across it with my pelvis.

After what seemed like hours (more likely minutes), I began to get hallucinations more vivid than anything I had experienced thus far. It was as if I was no longer in the hotel room at all. Instead, I found myself deep in some surreal pine forest, with only a hazy awareness of Chloe still bent over in front of me getting thrusted at with increasing lethargy. I began surveying the area and realised we were surrounded by people I knew from camp, who seemed to materialise from the darkness as if they’d been there all along. My thrusts slowed to a nervous wiggle as the psychedelic spectres perched on tree stumps and fallen logs, roasting marshmallows over us like we were a campfire. I was fucking dumbfounded. After a moment, I summoned the courage to ask:

Me: Travis, what are you guys doin’ ‘ere? You’re not supposed to be ‘ere!? Without breaking his gaze from the toasted marshmallow upon his stick, he replied:

Imaginary Travis: Cooking smores, bro. I paused, anxious and unsure how to respond, then landed on the only thing I knew for certain:

Me: Mate, you shouldn’t be watchin’ this!

Imaginary Travis didn’t respond; he just carried on cooking s’mores off of Chloe and me as I attempted to piece together what the fuck was happening. After a while, I came to some vague realisation that I was probably just tripping and that I was not, in fact, a carnal campfire deep within a dark pine-tree forest. So, I decided that as the people surrounding us probably weren’t real, it was best to stop talking to Imaginary Travis and his famished camp companions and just let them continue cooking their marshmallows off of us whilst I wrapped things up with Chloe.

The rest of the night was almost a complete blackout other than various random flashbacks of chundering my guts up into the toilet next to Fern, who was slumped in the dark, spewing into the same bowl after everyone had gone to sleep. The next day I woke up feeling like a deep-fried arsehole, sprawled out naked across the filthy hotel floor next to Chloe, with considerably fewer friends than I had started with before the night began. I have no idea to this day what was put in that drink, but it was fucking wild.