The Addict *By MaxOut
Linda had always been known as a party girl. For as long as she could remember, even in Junior High, whenever somebody cool, be it the captain of the football team, or the avant garde literary class, threw a party, she was invited. She was smart, vivacious, outgoing, with a good sense of what was up and what the particular crowd wanted to hear. She tread the fine line, being available to both jock and head; all the way through high school it wasn’t really a party unless Linda was there.
She would do anything on a dare; chug beers with the jocks (and usually drink them under the table), play Truth Or Dare with the sophisticates (coming up with the most outrageous questions and answers). You name it, if there was fun to be had, any way shape or form, Linda was your girl. Even as a freshman, Linda was partying with Juniors and Seniors. No problem, she could handle whatever was thrown at her, for she certainly seemed wise well beyond her years.
Her mother seemed very Bohemian, and if not encouraged, certainly did nothing to discourage Linda’s sense of adventure and her need to know all about life. It may have been a reaction to Linda’s father’s death in an auto accident when Linda was a Freshman, but it seemed that the family had been predisposed to accepting ways even before.
Linda had her mother’s eyes; a deep cobalt blue, almost Grey, they could be either burning hot, or ice cold, sometimes both in the blink of an eye. Her honey blond hair, and her lanky body she got from her father, as well as his high cheekbones, strong chin, and slenderness. Her intelligence and sense of adventure was a gift from both parents.
Linda acknowledged her fathers' death with a certain air of inevitability. She acted as if, though it had meaning, it was simply a bump in the road of life, and she would learn from it, put it behind her, and move on.
And move on she did. By the time Linda was a Junior in high school, she was hanging with the artsy crowd; experimenting with free love, going both ways, going off into rooms behind locked doors with all sorts of combinations; gay boys with straight girls, gay boys with other gay boys, bi girls with straight girls, you name it, she was always there, always participating. Giving head, giving tail, acting as den mother to menage a trios, sometimes just watching, but always getting what she wanted, or thought she wanted at that particular moment.
It soon came to pass that the normal partying just wasn’t getting it for Linda. It started to seem as if every party was the same old same old. Boredom was a curse, so she started inventing more and more bazaar games and behavior. She started to seek a little something extra, to heighten her sense of adventure. Alcohol just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. And while grass was OK once in a while, she really didn’t care all that much for it’s mind numbing effects. It was about this time that coke became all the rage. Now here was a drug that Linda could relate to. All the highs, all the sense of adventure and extreme sense of the here and now, without dumbing down. She started hanging with the artsy, drug culture crowd, where she knew that the coke was always flowing; be it lines the size of fat caterpillars, or freebasing; every room equipped with a Bunsen burner. She loved the high, the sense that she was on the cutting edge of cool, seeming to know more of everything about everything when she was stoked. She embraced the counter culture with open arms. Free love, free drugs . . . at least for a while.
Upon graduation, Linda’s mother decided to be a bit generous with Linda’s fathers' insurance money, setting up a trust fund, that Linda could draw on, so much per month. Whether Linda used the money for college tuition, or to buy a home and join the workforce, Linda’s mother felt that the choice was up to Linda, and that regardless of the choices that Linda made, it would all be learning steps down life’s road.
Linda’s choice was to become employed by a film company that, while doing some art films, paid its bills by producing X-rated material. She worked in the front office as a kind of receptionist, girl Friday to the company’s owner. This was a great job for her; all the adventure of being associated with creative people mixed with a strong drug base. The coke was there all the time, as well as a never ending supply of horny guys and gals wanting to party day and night, just like her. One day drifted into the next and overnight two years went past, not that Linda noticed. She was living a constant party, alternating coke with opium, always trying to maintain a certain level of high, but it recently seemed that the desired level was becoming more and more elusive, taking more of an effort, and more drugs to travel to Nirvana.
About this time there was a big drug bust, and several of the actors and directors were put away. Linda barely eluded the web, but her boss wasn’t so lucky and so the company was dissolved and with its passing went her job and her access to the fast life she craved. She fell in with an even harder crowd, switching in the process from opium to heroin and meth, and soon her lovely sinewy arms were covered with tracks. Her desire to be anything other than a pincushion vanished in a chemical haze. The downward spiral had begun in earnest as she forgot about just about everything, craving the oblivion that her next hit could give her. Her personal hygiene and her health began to fail, as a constant cough accompanied her as she shuffled from crack house to crash house, living in a daze.
Her silky blond hair lost its luster, her light curls becoming a rat’s nest of tangles. Her alabaster complexion became blotchy and acne scarred, and her athletic body shrank and sagged. She was anemic and her weight began to tumble, dropping below one hundred pounds. She remained the plaything of her dealers and the rest of the drug scum she associated with, sometimes barely conscious of who or what was on top of or in her.
She had no job, no desire for one, and all her stipend was being spent on more and more drugs. She lost track of what was going on around her, often unwittingly satisfying the Jones of a whole room full of junkies as she bought up, shot up, and passed out, leaving the rest of her drugs to be passed around. She moved out of her apartment and in with her sadistic dealer, who, while giving her a roof over her head, absorbed all of her money and, on a good day, used her as a punching bag. Linda’s face became puffy and bruised, which infuriated her dealer even more, inciting him to new levels of brutality. Still Linda seemed beyond noticing or caring, as long as sweet oblivion could be had. That her veins were collapsing and her heart had started oddly rhythmic palpitations meant nothing to her, and she barely took notice when her dealer disappeared for several days. She came out of her stupor long enough to realize that he was gone and that, with it, her drug supply and money had also vanished. Needing a fix badly she contacted another dealer and told him she needed a little something and could pay him when her next check came in. After being told that the dealer wasn’t interested in charity, or running a savings and loan, Linda pleaded with him and told him that she knew what he liked and would do the S&M thing for him. He just laughed and told her where to meet him, so Linda put on her leathers which hung from her anorexic like form, tried to apply some makeup; succeeding in only looking ghoulish, and staggered out of the building and down the several blocks.
The dealer met her at the door; told her she looked like shit, and led her down the outer hallway to a friends' room. She followed like a puppy dog, starting to shake now, jonesing badly. The dealer handcuffed her and attached her to a pulley that stretched her arms over her head. He zipped open her jacket and disappointed by her total lack of cleavage told her she looked like a fucking boy. He took a riding crop from the wall and began rubbing it against her slack form. Linda pleaded with him for a little taste, which caused the dealer to sneer a sickening smile and get out his needle. He laughed as her eyes showed life for the first time and decided he’d make her wait just a bit.
He unzipped her pants and watched them fall to the ground as there were no hips left to keep them up. He used the blunt end of the riding crop as a dildo and Linda started to writhe. He then turned the whip and thrashed her thighs and stomach, raising ugly red welts where the crop slashed her skin. Linda cried out weakly as blood began to flow from a deep wound across her abdomen, then dropped her head and went limp, what little reserve of energy easily spent. Seeing her sag, the dealer shook his head, told her she wasn’t much of a good time, but supposed she deserved what she came for, and finding a vein in her leg, jabbed in the precious ooze. Bon a petite he laughed as he left the room.
The stuff was bad. Linda awoke in a hospital room having no idea how she got there or what time, or even what day it was. The room was still moving in and out of focus, and all her world was taken just in noticing that an IV was attached to her arm. She felt terribly weak and quite nauseous. She blinked her eyes, trying to clear them, gave up and fell back into sleep.
When she awoke a nurse told her that her heart had stopped twice and she was lucky to be alive. Linda didn’t feel lucky. Right now she would have probably preferred death to the way she felt. Her body itched. She needed a hit, and she was now aware enough to know that one wasn’t forthcoming here in the hospital. When her doctor arrived he informed her that she was on a morphine drip, but it was a slight one and that she was going to be going through a rough withdrawal. Linda told the doctor to fuck off and let her die, to which the doctor just shook his head, Hippocratic oath and all. He informed her that a nice man from the psyche department would be by to see her, and Linda would have thrown something at him, except she was too weak to even raise her arm. The doctor assured her that he would get her back into physical health and that the psyche consult would work on her mental health.
Through some harrowing times the doctors kept Linda from giving up on herself, finally getting her to the point where she found her own inner strength and a will to continue to inhabit the world outside of her drugged heaven. The psyche doctor discovered after several long conversations that Linda’s sainted father had molested her from the time she was seven or eight years old, and that Linda blamed herself for his dying in the car wreck; figuring that his guilt had driven him to driving into a crash/suicide and that it was her fault for not being a good enough lover to him.
The doctor worked long and hard on her self esteem, trying to get her to believe that she was a victim and not the cause of her fathers' death, and several weeks after the MD had pronounced her physically fit, was himself convinced that he had gotten through to her enough that she could face the real world without the crutch of drugs. He was proud of the progress he’d accomplished with her and swelled with pride like a proud papa when she humbly accepted the job he’d procured for her at a nearby bakery. Figuring that he’d only need to see her once a week as an outpatient, he’d given her his blessing and sent her out to the real world.
Linda was still very weak and somewhat undernourished when she arrived at the Tasty Bakery. Through the de-tox and the IV drip at the hospital she had regained a bit of strength and enough weight to tip the scales at ninety-five pounds on her five foot five frame. The owner of the bakery was aware of her condition and being a bit of a mother hen anyway, took Linda under her wing, trying to make her job as easy as possible. Linda slowly eased back into the here and now, talking seldom at first and spending a lot of time trying to figure out just who she was and what the hell she was doing living in a dingy apartment and working for this crazy Norwegian lady who seemed bent on smothering her with affection. Life was certainly strange.
Her life developed into a routine. Dressing for work, smiling at the customers, bearing up to the boss’s constant nurturing, and then returning home to mindlessly gaze at the TV. Not quite the party life, but for right now all her burnt out synapses seemed to be able to handle.
Linda didn’t really mind Mrs. Hertzells nurturing all that much. In fact she was somewhat amused and actually a bit touched by it. Mrs. Hertzell was always giving her sweets from the back room, telling her that pastry was a comfort food and she was so thin that she was worried about her. To tired to fight, Linda accepted the sweets, and even the boxes of cakes and cookies that Mrs. Hertzell began presenting her with when her shift ended. Slowly, the sweets began to become her reason for existence, replacing her drugs and sexual adventures with a new euphoria: the sugar high.
Linda began looking forward to the end of her shift and seeing just what goodies Mrs. Hertzell had stashed for her today. She couldn’t wait to get them home so she could devour the brownies, and cakes, covered with rich icing. She started salivating at work whenever she had to go into the display rack, almost forcing herself to give the bear claw to the customer instead of ushering it into her own mouth. She took to stealing a cookie or two when no-one was looking, getting off on the sugar high as well as the sense of adventure at doing, once again, something that was forbidden.
After several months her psyche seemed satisfied that she had successfully acclimated herself. She was still gainfully employed, had moved to a cheerier, albeit still small apartment, and had even seemed healthier. Yes, she seemed to have gained a good six or seven pounds, and her complexion had gone from sallow to rosy. The doctor patted himself on the back for a job well done, and told Linda that he wouldn’t need to see her for another six months. Linda told him she was grateful for all his concern, and thanked him for getting her such a wonderful job.
As the months passed and Linda got stronger Mrs. Hartzell began trusting her with more responsibility, letting her prepare and even begin to do some of the baking herself. Left to her own devices, Linda started sneaking raw cookie dough when no-one was looking, and then making extra batches of all kinds of pastries, which she nested in a cubby hole to devour when she had a moment alone. Mrs.Hartzell, a quite large woman herself, beamed with delight as she noticed Linda’s form start to swell. Her weight advanced slowly at first, and soon she was back to her pre drug radiant self, except the 125 pounds on her were mostly sugar fat.
Her post hospital clothes and her work uniform were becoming revealingly tight, showing a bit of tummy bulge and the return of hips that had vanished under her drug habit. Her face regained its' luster, although still remained somewhat pasty and her breasts were making a return, as evidenced by the way the top button of her uniform was stretched to almost popping. Underneath it all she was flabby and soft; still with little muscle tone as most of the thirty pounds she had gained being gelatinous fat.
Linda supposed she looked pretty good with her clothes on, but really could care less. The last thing in the world she wanted was a relationship with anyone, let alone some sweaty guy with only one thing in mind. Her world existed of eating sweets and dreaming of eating sweets. It gave her satisfaction to taste the sugar, and in some weird way the high she received from consuming great amounts of cake and pie; the tight feeling she got when her stomach was filled to bursting with cheesecake, was almost sexual. In fact, after gorging herself on rich, high caloric treats, it was easy to enter a space whereby rubbing her distended tummy and kneading her flabby breasts, she could bring herself to an easy orgasm.
Such became her life. Living and dreaming about pastry and sweets. Getting off on stealing away cookies, and scarfing them down when no one was looking. Reveling in the adventure, the what if, if she got caught. She loved taking a bathroom break; closing the door behind her and stuffing her face with a dozen do-nuts one after another and then licking the sticky, sweet frosting from her lips returning to work all normal like.
Linda soon graduated to a new uniform, and in no time was in danger of overwhelming it as well. Mrs. Hartzell seemed pleased that Linda had regained her appetite and actually seemed to encourage her to take more cake and pies home with her, even giving her a healthy raise and taking her to long high caloric lunches. She was so happy that Linda seemed happy, her mother hen instincts satisfied that she had reclaimed a fellow human being.
After six months Linda returned to her psych’s office and he had to do a double take. The creature that waddled through his door just couldn’t be the same twig of a girl he had last seen. She was wearing a cotton print dress, her large cleavage exposed by the open top button and threatening to overwhelm the second button. The material was stretched tightly across her breasts, showing the inches of flab oozing out from the sides of her bra. Her face was flush and jowly, her small mouth painted red. She licked her lips and smiled at him, her chubby cheeks dimpling. As she spoke her hello, her jaw dropped and her double chin bounced. She sat across from him and he couldn’t help but notice the huge expanse of belly that separated the cloth between the buttons. As she settled herself down, her belly accordianed in several folds of flab, her hips spreading to fill the chair to overfull. She reached into her purse and brought out a piece of hard candy, which she unwrapped with cubby fingers and plopped into her moist mouth.
The doctor was flabbergasted. What was this fat thing in front of him? How could it be? What was she, a good 170 or 180 pounds? He was no expert on such things, but he knew that she was certainly nowhere near the skinny girl he had put back into the world six month ago. Had she really gained seventy or eighty pounds in that time? How could she? But looking at her again as she smoothed her dress over her corpulent belly, and as he watched her upper arms jiggle as she moved, had to face facts. He probed whether she was happy, what she thought of her job. Did she have any friends; did she interact with others?
Linda answered all the questions correctly, being, above all, a smart girl, and easily figuring out just what the doctor wanted to hear. In reality all she really wanted to do was get back to her car where she had the second dozen do-nuts she had purchased on her way to his office. She daydreamed about the chocolate cheesecake she had seen in a bakery window just down the block from his office. Yes, she would have to stop in and get that too on her way home. She could taste the sweetness and feel the sensuous texture already. Of course she would have to stop in and visit with Mrs. Hartzell, as she was sure the old bag was good for at least a box of cookies or two. That way she wouldn’t have to spend too much money at the grocery store buying ice cream. She began to salivate and licked her lips again as her doctor watched, having no clue that the addict had merely substituted one drug for another. At least this one wouldn’t kill her.