Roxanne

She was more than 10 years older than me, married, and a practicing Mormon during those times she wasn't with me. I was basically a dropout derelict with no home, no religion and no future. You wouldn't think we had a lot to talk about.

Mostly, she talked and I listened. I learned about her childhood growing up as a middle child amongst seven children, the oppressive expectations of her religious upbringing and the freedom that came when she went off to high school and her parents finally let her begin to have a life that was more than cleaning house and taking care of her younger siblings. I heard more about the selfish abusive boyfriend that drove her to abandoning her morals and the internal backlash that led her to seek out her very conservative and devoutly religious husband.

Just about none of these things had meaning in my own life. The child of an abusive dad and a mom that viewed me with jealousy because of the attention her gave me, my life so foreign to her that I couldn't begin to compare the two. Suffice to say, I grew up in a religion free home. Yet with as few things as we seemed to have in common, we got along fabulously.

It was easy to see that in her vanilla and conservative life I was the glimpse of a different life she could have had, and I think as badly as my life seemed to be going, she would gladly have traded with me.

When she was stoned enough to be unself conscious, she sought out details of my life, and on subjects such as my promiscuity and drug use she would ask many probing questions, pushing for details so much that it sometimes got a bit uncomfortable. She would feign shock at my shenanigans, but I could sense her attraction to them.

One day while we were sitting at her kitchen table getting high, she shared that a next door neighbor had entrusted her with the key to their home. Her job was to water the plants and feed the cat each day. She wondered if we might take the party to their house for a change. "They have cable" she explained.

The neighbors were smokers, so we thankfully could smoke our pot without the loud rumble of the stove exhaust fan she always ran in her own house, and we spent the lunch hour and more watching MTV, which was something I had of course heard about but neither of us had ever seen. We grew bored and started switching channels - surveying the movie channels only to find the "good stuff" was really only shown at night.

I will note that it was Roxanne's - not my - idea to poke around the house peeking at how the neighbors lived. I've always been a nosy type and had no problem playing along.

We started with looking at a shelf of video tapes where we quickly found a stash that were clearly adult in nature, and Roxanne's face turned as red as it had been the day I met her when the frigid wind had painted her cheeks a deep crimson. We read the titles to each other - very crude ones with names like "Caught from Behind" and "White Chicks, Black Dicks" and giggled like school girls. While she was afraid to put one in the VCR for the TV we had been watching, we together chose a single one to take back to her home to watch later, figuring she would return it the next day.

Next, we went into the bedroom, where we enjoyed first wondering through the closets where we made fun of the fairly unfortunate fashion choices of the lady of the house, then moved on to the bureau where, as expected, we found dirty magazines and condoms in his drawers and naughty underwear, lotion and toys in hers. Neither of us had ever seen a pair of crotchless panties and for some reason could not stop giggling, and the small vibrator we found, with its' unfortunate layer of dried gunk that made it as unclean as it was dirty, had us laughing as only two stoned and embarrassed young women could.

Our treasure hunt and feeding & watering complete, we cleaned up after ourselves as best we could, taking our prize - a video called "Opening of Misty Beethoven" back to her house. (We chose it because it seemed to be one of the few that might actually have a plot.) That Roxanne's VCR spit out a training tape for LDS priesthood before popping it into her VCR only underlined exactly how far out of character this all was for her.

I don't know what we expected when we sat down together. The movie was filled with women with Farrah-flip hairstyles, guys with the Mark Spitz mustaches and a large amount of screen time devoted to men giving instructions on how to suck cock and women sucking a lot of cock. That's all I remember of the plot anyway.

As the movie went on we got a bit uncomfortable in the way that I'm sure most do when watching something like this. These movies are intended to make people horny after all, and while it did to some extent, this wasn't a comfortable place for either of us.

After an hour or so, with little having been said for perhaps 20 minutes, I found I was actually falling off to sleep. (I had slept very little the night before.) Roxanne noticed, suggesting that if I wanted to rest, I might slip into the bedroom and sleep for a while.

The suggestion wasn't an attempt at seduction. I had done this often during out time together, using the security of her home to supplement sleep that came hard elsewhere. I took advantage of this excuse to slide out of an awkward situation and wandered down the hall to the bedroom.

I lay down, attempting to doze for a while, and found myself buzzing in that uncomfortable way you do when you didn't sleep the night before but have found a dizzying kind of second wind.

I figured Roxanne was doing dishes or scrubbing floors. (Roxanne was always doing dishes or scrubbing floors). Instead I turned the corner in the hall to find her with her dress up around her hips and her hand buried in her underwear, her full attention glued to the small tv that was still showing the adult movie we had pilfered.

I was in shock enough that I didn't immediately turn and retreat from the room, but she sensed my presence and looked up, first in shock and then in horror, bursting instantly into a crying fit of humiliation. The pure passion of her crying was almost extreme.

Once caught, I stepped out of the room for a moment, but realized that some things can't be undone. I turned the corner again to see her standing straightening her dress while trying without success to control her emotions.

At first, I sought to comfort her trite words one might expect about how we all did it and there was nothing to be ashamed of, but that brought no solace, so I simply went back into the bedroom and let her cry herself out.

After what seemed like an hour, she wondered in and sat on the edge of the bed, and again I became Roxanne's confessional. This time the subject was the sex life she experienced as a married woman, or rather the lack of one. It almost sounds like a caricature - but for the last year, it has been infrequent and missionary.

I would repeat her confession word for word if I could recall it or anything close to it, but whereas her first confession to me was so striking and almost shocking, this was one that could be heard, unfortunately, wherever women talked anywhere. The unmet needs and lack of spontaneity that lead to disappointment are a universal problem for so many.

We looked up and it was close to 4PM, and Roxanne was as close to depression as a woman could be. She was shamed and depressed, as an immature person I had no words and no idea how to make things better, so I suggested drugs. (It had always worked for me.)

We returned to the living room and I took a moment to eject the tape, worried that in her distracted state she might leave it in the VCR and it be found by her husband. Instead, I grabbed my pack and dug through it to find a small vial full of crank - a recent passion of mine -and used the tape case as a place to line up small lines using a business card I had gotten from a local crisis clinic.

Roxanne was very timid about doing the powder I offered, but finally took the cut-in-two fast food straw and inhaled the first line. For those readers that have never done it, crank starts with a highly unpleasant chemical taste the hits the back of your throat inducing an unpleasant nausea that lasts just a few seconds, then you suddenly feel like you're in a fast-rising elevator that soon explodes out of the back of your skull. I watched the range of emotions in her eyes as the drug kicked in, and after her look of euphoria the second tiny line was consumed quickly.

Whatever dark place she had been in was instantly behind her and the old industrious Roxanne emerged from the ashes. The video tape was stashed on a high kitchen shelf, air freshener was sprayed and the kitchen table thoroughly washed down to purge it of ashes, residue and odor. She didn't say much, but you could tell all was well in her internal fortress, and with a quick nod at the clock she made me aware that it was about time to clear out. Her husband would be home in an hour.

I grabbed my stuff and made for the backdoor which led to an alley. (This was our pre-agreed to escape route. The neighborhood was filled with prying eyes.)

Uncharacteristically, after we said our brief goodbyes she reached over and gave me a peck on the cheek. It was not something unexpected from a friend - especially not the kind of friend with which you shared secrets and adventures such as those we had shared that day - but it was so out of character for her I almost swooned a bit.

It being winter, the cold blast of air as woke me as I made my way out the door and into the later afternoon which was darkening fast to make an early nightfall.

When I next saw Roxanne it was two days later, she arrived at the little coffee shop where I was breaking fast with a smile on her face like the cat that ate the canary. "My husband is going out of town. Can you meet me Wednesday night? Let's have some fun!" I had to ask what day it was, but agreed that I would meet her.

Wednesday night came. I arrived at her place. After small talk, she asked with a directness that had become her trademark if I had anymore of the powder she had tried during my last visit. Unfortunately, I had finished the bit I had. She was visibly disappointed and even looked annoyed, so I volunteered I might be able to get more if she would kick in some money. Her attitude brightened and she offered to let me use her phone to call my connection.

I had to explain that the drug business didn't work that way - at least not the people I dealt with - and asked her if she could drive me over to someone's home. I was quite surprised when she got up and gave me her keys and a hundred dollars and asked me to get as much as I could. Once I had money and keys in hand, she practically pushed me out the door to find my connection.

As can happen, it took a long time to get what I wanted. I think my dealer wanted to fuck me or something. He just kept stalling until I finally got up to leave. When I arrived I back at her home, I was frazzled but had quantity enough to keep us both awake for days.

I expected anger that I had been so long. Instead I found her expressing relief. She had been worried about me - but mostly because of the frozen roads and not because I had her car and her money. I guess it had been so long since anyone had really trusted me with anything that I found this attitude surprising and it made me really happy.

I asked her when the last time was she had eaten, and since neither of us had had anything to eat in hours. I made us both a bowl of canned soup, explaining that we would likely not be hungry once we got into the powder.

After our meal, the binge began.

We started out slow - a few small lines and then a joint to take the edge off. For a change she did not engage the loud exhaust fan to dissipate the smoke, which I was thankful for.

By 11PM, we were both flying high and babbling to each other about everything, the crank fueling a perfect ladies night filled with mindless chatter. The lines kept coming and by 2AM I introduced another vice in the form of a small pint of tequila I had hidden in my pack. Unlike earlier adventures, Roxanne seemed absolutely eager to indulge and we mixed orange juice with it to add a drunken buzz to the pot and powder.

Around 6AM we were both feeling a little burned out and by mutual agreement we decided to put our party favors away, placing them on the same high kitchen shelf where I noted that the video tape from her neighbors house still lay hidden. My hunch was that it had been studied more than once, but I said not a word.

I made the move to sack out on her couch - which would have been fine by me, but she motioned me to join her in the bedroom, leading me to believe that perhaps her taste for experimentation might take another turn. I wasn't sure whether I wanted that or not - sex tends to change relationships and I liked her for the party girl she was fast becoming - but while she stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed in just her panties and barely flinched when I removed by jeans to reveal I was naked beneath, once the lights went out the action stopped.

I kept expecting the random rubbing of a leg that might initiate more - but instead we both dropped into a doze. I was slightly disappointed and decided she wasn't looking for sex. That part I got wrong.

The next day we woke up late. I had lost track of time long ago, but I'm sure it was afternoon. She had woken up slightly before me - but I was disappointed to see that she hadn't made coffee or anything. Given the evening before, I had trouble getting my mind around the idea that stimulants such as coffee were not part of her lifestyle.

By 4 in the afternoon were back in form from the previous night. There had been some eggs and hash browns for a very late breakfast, but after that it had all been pot and powder. We were lying around twitching with excess energy and wondering what to do with ourselves when her husband made his daily phone call and after a few minutes of chitchat she hung up and we knew our obligations were done for the day.

We debated something as simple as going for a walk and she had a paranoia about possibly meeting a neighbor. She was right on that - we were so fucked up we couldn't have begun to cope. We joked for hours about maybe finding our way into another neighbor's home because we had such a good time looking through the last one, but we weren't fucked up enough to do something so stupid, so at least we had balance.

Finally about 8PM we fixated on the idea of going out to a bar, something she had never done and I was really too young to do. (Though in truth, I had done it many times before anyway.)

It was too good of a bad idea to pass up, so we decided to get ready and needed to shower. (One aspect of meth is that it makes you sweat like a pig - and we had been flying on it for about 20 hours now.) She jumped in first, a quick and efficient rinse to match her nature, and by the time I slid under the water it was approaching 9PM.

While I showered, Roxanne took her now familiar position on the commode to sit for confessional, this time naked except for a towel that she used mostly to cushion herself against the cold of the toilet seat lid. She again shared her frustrations with her husband, with her life, and with the pinball game she had made of it when she used an out-of-control fling with a high-school crush as a reason to go overboard and marry the dullest man in the whole of her church.

By now I had learned that response to Roxanne's rants were not necessary, so while she sulked I soaked. Unlike earlier experiences, I knew now that the longer I showered the more she would say, so when I was waterlogged I exited without delay. I found her once again holding a towel and a robe. I couldn't help but wonder if this was what life was like for her and her husband - Roxanne waiting on him like this.

Showers complete, next stop was her closet where the challenge was to find something bar worthy - but her wardrobe selection was more appropriate for church. We finally made due with a couple of old summer weight dresses made instantly shorter with the help of a pair of scissors and a fast hem done with a sewing machine she had set up in the laundry area. Shoes were a challenge but tennis shoes worked, and by 10:30 we were in the car and headed for the interstate.

It was still spring and cold at night. The roads were frozen so it was slow going to get where we were headed - a bar far enough out of town where I guessed that no one would know her, me or her car should they see it parked in the lot. Within 15 minutes of arrival, we had men crowding around and buying us drinks.

I went non-alcoholic not out of responsibility so much as a fear of being carded since I wasn't even 19 much less 21, but Roxanne seemed to be drinking enough for the both of us. Twice I pulled her into the bathroom and filled her nose to keep her from getting sloppy drunk, both times the drug hitting the back of her throat induced her to vomit up the alcohol she had been consuming. Such purging might have saved us from disaster but Roxanne was also drunk from the attention of the young men - a feeling she hadn't felt for a very long time.

I tried my hardest to be the type of woman that the guys at the bars hate - the friend trying to discourage the girl from engaging in bad behavior. It was an odd role for me of all people and not a surprise that I failed.

At 1 AM when the barman shouted last call, we settled up and left with a big Chevy truck carrying two young horny men tailing close behind us. I made a half-hearted attempt to shake the tail but had my own concerns about possibly being pulled over. I could walk every straight line in the world and still get dragged into the jailhouse on suspicion of driving under the influence based on the condition of my traveling companion.

We arrived at Roxanne's home and the party commenced, the two boys working hard to turn the situation to one of more intimacy. When I begged off, both men began focusing on Roxanne. I'm embarrassed to say I fell asleep at some point having refused to keep the party rolling with any more powder.

Sometime in the night, I was awoken by what sounded like dying animals coming from behind the closed door of the bedroom. I clearly heard three voices grunting and groaning - and putting two and two together I realized if she was servicing both men but still had the available vocal cords to moan like that, she must being getting double teamed the hard way. I attempted to put the thought out of my mind, put a pillow over my head and tried to sleep on the couch. It didn't help much and thankfully after a half hour or so everything quieted down.

Somewhere about 5:30, one of the men padded naked out of the room on the way to the bathroom and made a half-hearted attempt to convince me to join the fun, but he found no takers on his offer. Once back in the bedroom, some of the sounds of amorous activity resumed, the two men doing their best to tear off one more piece before skipping out to head to their jobsite. By 6:30AM they were gone.

Not knowing exactly what to do but figuring there might be a mess to clean up, I entered the bedroom to see how Roxanne was and found her passed out on the bed. By the looks of the sheets at least at some point in the night she had been bleeding, though I doubt her bed partners had noticed or cared. The way the smears stained the sheets, it looked as though the damage had taken place below her belt line or would have had she been wearing any clothing.

Also by the look at the sheets, I could guess that the twin lotharios had not worn condoms. I did a casual visual inspection - her legs were wide apart as if one of the men still rode her - and saw that my suspicions appeared correct. I attempted to wake her just to see if she was okay, and she complained of the headache and nausea that would come to anyone who had drank what she had the night before. She begged me first for aspirin and water, then for me to sit with her while it all took effect.