Nutmeg & Masturbation (a Cautionary Tale) [Published]
Meloncholy
Regular
This is one of the last posts I made on Coklet, I know not all of you guys go there and this is something I'd like to share for you're delectation and pleasure (:fap:) :
This is the story of the first time I tried nutmeg as a recreational drug. First, a little preface: With the help of Erowid, **klet and other vaults hidden away in the darker recesses of the internet (read: the 1st page of Google) I had a good idea what to expect in terms of desired effects, side effects, timescales and so forth. With my curiosity piqued at the prospect of tripping balls off the contents of the spice rack and more than a little excited at the idea of a legal hallucinogen available for mere pennies a pop I necked the concoction; 3 whole nuts grated, ground and stirred into a small tumbler of milk. It was horrible, sandy and foul smelling. A bit like going down on a fat hairy bitch at a beach party, but without the self-loathing.
Anyway, it was just after midnight and I was prepared for a night in on my own. The next four hours was spent compiling a playlist that I thought might improve the experience, picking out some good books from the shelf and trawling the internet for cool shit to look at later on. During this time I felt some strong nausea and cotton mouth but it was completely tolerable and I kept the concoction down.
By about four in the morning I began to feel a little delirious and experienced some mild hallucinations, but my overwhelming feeling was of being very drunk; tired and lazy. After about an hour I felt extremely tired; I'd only been up for about 14 hours but I could barely keep awake. By this time I was also feeling more than a little paranoid and so decided to retreat to the safety and comfort of my bed to sleep it off. After a lot of tossing and turning and general failure to get to sleep, I decided to masturbate in order to relax and eventually drift off; so I started to rub one out. What followed was immensely frustrating, somewhere between absentmindedness that impeded concentration and a chemically induced brewers droop (henceforth known as "nutmeg nuts"). A different tack was required, so I rolled my duvet into a sausage & lay on my front on top of it and started to dry hump it. I felt a stirring below deck and immediately knew that this was going to be a more fruitful endeavour.
To cut a short story short I came & it was good. Really good. I rolled over onto my back breathing heavily. I noticed this odd sensation, there was a rhythmic pumping in my balls, it felt like this firm pressure was being applied to my balls and then released every two seconds, it was strange, but not unpleasant. I lay there slightly weirded out, a little paranoid at what was happening but not overly worried. But the pressure slowly became firmer and firmer, until it was downright uncomfortable. And then firmer and firmer until it was painful. Really painful. And then the pressure became greater each time until I was in spasms of agony; it felt like I was being castrated with a pair of bricks...
*smash* *smash* *smash*
...every two seconds. By this time the panic was really setting in. I was grasping the duvet with one hand and biting down on the knuckles of the other, as paroxysms of agony washed over me. I became convinced that the pain wasn't originating internally but that my balls were literally being smashed by some invisible external trauma, this invisible pair of bricks. I rolled over onto my side & shielded my nuts between my thighs but still the pain was there...
*smash* *smash* *smash*
I tried cupping them in my hands but still couldn't 'protect' them from the castration bricks...
*smash* *smash* *smash*
I was repeating over and over "this isn't real," "you are in control," "this isn't real," "it's all in your head," "you are in control," "this isn't real," but still the excruciating pain came in pulses every couple of seconds. I tossed & turned & rolled from one side of the bed to the other but couldn't get away from the 'bricks'.
Three hours later and dawn had arrived. The songbirds were striking up their morning chorus, the gentle whirr of the milk float drifted on though the cool, placid air and
*smash* *smash* *smash*
... I was lying in bed trembling, a solitary tear rolled down sweat soaked cheeks, longing for the ordeal to come to an end. Suddenly, out of nowhere a devious little thought popped into my head amongst the rhythmic torture : "You know what would be worse than this? Leg breaking." (I have a near pathological fear of leg breaks. In this moment I was reminded of a strange epiphany I had a few years ago; that when it comes to blood and gore I am worryingly ambivalent, but upon seeing a slo-mo replay of a leg breaking soccer tackle I fidget and squeal like a little girl, and feel the need to sit with my legs crossed so that no bodyweight is being borne upon them).
Instantly the ball smashing stopped and my left shin exploded. I could feel the bone sticking through the skin in several places. I could picture in my mind the leg bent in two several inches above the ankle, and then it set... and snapped again and...
*snap* *snap* *snap*
...every two seconds. I tried curling into a ball and shielding my leg, but it did no good. I tried cupping my shin in both hands and holding it together, but still it snapped, snapped, snapped.
It's at this part of the story where words begin to fail me. Somehow 'fear' 'terror' and 'panic' just don't seem strong enough. For me, leg breaking is the fear. I have a dry mouth and tingling skin just thinking about it now. And it was played out over and over again, mercilessly, for hours.
*snap* *snap* *snap*
After God knows how long the torture stopped being exclusive to my leg and for another few hours the agony exchanged between my balls and my left shin. I gained more mental control over it, I convinced myself that the pain in my nuts wasn't real, and then it started back up in my shin. I convinced myself that I was imagining the leg breaks and the pain moved back to my balls.
By midday I was exhausted. Mentally and physically spent. The flashes of pain had subsided into the dull sensation of firm pressure. My sheets were completely soaked in sweat. I'm not sure exactly where the thought came from but sometime in the afternoon when the pressure had become fainter, I was lying in bed looking back on the last few hours of torment and had a clear sense of empathy; this is what it feels like after being raped.
Throughout the rest of the day the pressure subsided and I began to feel more normal and think more coherently. By 10pm the pressure had gone altogether, but my balls and left leg ached as if remembering an actual injury done to them. Later in the evening I even caught myself limping. It took around three days from the original ingestion of the sandy, acrid liquid before I felt completely normal again.
So there you have it, my first nutmeg experience caused me 10 hours of utter agony and good 20 hours of more bearable pain. However, I think what unsettled me the most was that the aching feeling, the sensation that some physical pain had actually been experienced, continued for another couple of days. By this time I *knew* that the pain had all been invented in my head, but that made no difference; I still felt a real, tangible soreness.
This is the story of the first time I tried nutmeg as a recreational drug. First, a little preface: With the help of Erowid, **klet and other vaults hidden away in the darker recesses of the internet (read: the 1st page of Google) I had a good idea what to expect in terms of desired effects, side effects, timescales and so forth. With my curiosity piqued at the prospect of tripping balls off the contents of the spice rack and more than a little excited at the idea of a legal hallucinogen available for mere pennies a pop I necked the concoction; 3 whole nuts grated, ground and stirred into a small tumbler of milk. It was horrible, sandy and foul smelling. A bit like going down on a fat hairy bitch at a beach party, but without the self-loathing.
Anyway, it was just after midnight and I was prepared for a night in on my own. The next four hours was spent compiling a playlist that I thought might improve the experience, picking out some good books from the shelf and trawling the internet for cool shit to look at later on. During this time I felt some strong nausea and cotton mouth but it was completely tolerable and I kept the concoction down.
By about four in the morning I began to feel a little delirious and experienced some mild hallucinations, but my overwhelming feeling was of being very drunk; tired and lazy. After about an hour I felt extremely tired; I'd only been up for about 14 hours but I could barely keep awake. By this time I was also feeling more than a little paranoid and so decided to retreat to the safety and comfort of my bed to sleep it off. After a lot of tossing and turning and general failure to get to sleep, I decided to masturbate in order to relax and eventually drift off; so I started to rub one out. What followed was immensely frustrating, somewhere between absentmindedness that impeded concentration and a chemically induced brewers droop (henceforth known as "nutmeg nuts"). A different tack was required, so I rolled my duvet into a sausage & lay on my front on top of it and started to dry hump it. I felt a stirring below deck and immediately knew that this was going to be a more fruitful endeavour.
To cut a short story short I came & it was good. Really good. I rolled over onto my back breathing heavily. I noticed this odd sensation, there was a rhythmic pumping in my balls, it felt like this firm pressure was being applied to my balls and then released every two seconds, it was strange, but not unpleasant. I lay there slightly weirded out, a little paranoid at what was happening but not overly worried. But the pressure slowly became firmer and firmer, until it was downright uncomfortable. And then firmer and firmer until it was painful. Really painful. And then the pressure became greater each time until I was in spasms of agony; it felt like I was being castrated with a pair of bricks...
*smash* *smash* *smash*
...every two seconds. By this time the panic was really setting in. I was grasping the duvet with one hand and biting down on the knuckles of the other, as paroxysms of agony washed over me. I became convinced that the pain wasn't originating internally but that my balls were literally being smashed by some invisible external trauma, this invisible pair of bricks. I rolled over onto my side & shielded my nuts between my thighs but still the pain was there...
*smash* *smash* *smash*
I tried cupping them in my hands but still couldn't 'protect' them from the castration bricks...
*smash* *smash* *smash*
I was repeating over and over "this isn't real," "you are in control," "this isn't real," "it's all in your head," "you are in control," "this isn't real," but still the excruciating pain came in pulses every couple of seconds. I tossed & turned & rolled from one side of the bed to the other but couldn't get away from the 'bricks'.
Three hours later and dawn had arrived. The songbirds were striking up their morning chorus, the gentle whirr of the milk float drifted on though the cool, placid air and
*smash* *smash* *smash*
... I was lying in bed trembling, a solitary tear rolled down sweat soaked cheeks, longing for the ordeal to come to an end. Suddenly, out of nowhere a devious little thought popped into my head amongst the rhythmic torture : "You know what would be worse than this? Leg breaking." (I have a near pathological fear of leg breaks. In this moment I was reminded of a strange epiphany I had a few years ago; that when it comes to blood and gore I am worryingly ambivalent, but upon seeing a slo-mo replay of a leg breaking soccer tackle I fidget and squeal like a little girl, and feel the need to sit with my legs crossed so that no bodyweight is being borne upon them).
Instantly the ball smashing stopped and my left shin exploded. I could feel the bone sticking through the skin in several places. I could picture in my mind the leg bent in two several inches above the ankle, and then it set... and snapped again and...
*snap* *snap* *snap*
...every two seconds. I tried curling into a ball and shielding my leg, but it did no good. I tried cupping my shin in both hands and holding it together, but still it snapped, snapped, snapped.
It's at this part of the story where words begin to fail me. Somehow 'fear' 'terror' and 'panic' just don't seem strong enough. For me, leg breaking is the fear. I have a dry mouth and tingling skin just thinking about it now. And it was played out over and over again, mercilessly, for hours.
*snap* *snap* *snap*
After God knows how long the torture stopped being exclusive to my leg and for another few hours the agony exchanged between my balls and my left shin. I gained more mental control over it, I convinced myself that the pain in my nuts wasn't real, and then it started back up in my shin. I convinced myself that I was imagining the leg breaks and the pain moved back to my balls.
By midday I was exhausted. Mentally and physically spent. The flashes of pain had subsided into the dull sensation of firm pressure. My sheets were completely soaked in sweat. I'm not sure exactly where the thought came from but sometime in the afternoon when the pressure had become fainter, I was lying in bed looking back on the last few hours of torment and had a clear sense of empathy; this is what it feels like after being raped.
Throughout the rest of the day the pressure subsided and I began to feel more normal and think more coherently. By 10pm the pressure had gone altogether, but my balls and left leg ached as if remembering an actual injury done to them. Later in the evening I even caught myself limping. It took around three days from the original ingestion of the sandy, acrid liquid before I felt completely normal again.
So there you have it, my first nutmeg experience caused me 10 hours of utter agony and good 20 hours of more bearable pain. However, I think what unsettled me the most was that the aching feeling, the sensation that some physical pain had actually been experienced, continued for another couple of days. By this time I *knew* that the pain had all been invented in my head, but that made no difference; I still felt a real, tangible soreness.
Comments
Have you got a response?
I have no response, can't really work out what they're getting at; "coddling my own voluptuous jubblies" for example, it's like James Joyce is talking to me from beyond the grave.
Besides, misogyny doesn't need 'meriting'.
The obvious answer would have been to just go outside for a walk and listen to some good music, but funnily enough at the time the thought didn't occur. I was more preoccupied with my exploding testicles.