How I Got Cucked on Acid

Do you ever look back at something you did and genuinely wonder how you descended into such a mental fog of pure, unencumbered retardation that it almost feels like it was a completely different human making those decisions?

Me too, happens all the time actually.

My life was fucking terrible in the spring of 2020 so I was feeling more impulsive than usual. Forced out of NYC due to the viral cough that killed a couple of fatties, I was living at my parents’ house and had spent months cooped up against my will scrolling Twitter, sending solicited dick pics to a girl with pierced nipples thousands of miles away, and generally Being Pathetic.

With no work or school to keep me occupied, I was overjoyed when my friend Cody offered to sneak me back to my college town for a night of poker and boozing. Finally, some face to face time with people under the age of sixty who don’t want to erode in front of CNN all day memorizing the latest Fun Fauci Facts Of The Week! More importantly, Cody is guaranteed to bring illegal substances.

Cody loves psychedelics but he isn’t very good at doing them. Every single time he’s taken mushrooms he spergs out and scares himself, becoming a verbal eunuch who is only able to repeat a phrase over and over. He got startled in the woods one time by a loud bird and kept bellowing “WE’RE JUST WALKING.” to calm himself down. Another time he got stuck spamming “MCDONALDS SPRITE” when forced to decide what drink to order in a Raising Cane’s drive-through. He falls into these mental loops with frightened deer-in-headlights eyes and nothing you can say will help him escape his self-created prison. Why he still does drugs that temporarily lobotomize him, I haven’t the fucking clue.

The drive up was nothing special, and the poker game was the perfect setting to consume seven beers. I lost fifteen dollars, which used to nearly bring me to tears – broke wigga shit. I was feeling a little loose but I wanted to feel ALIVE, so when Cody suggested that we all take acid at midnight I said “Sir yes sir!” instead of “That is one of the worst ideas I’ve ever heard.” I am now a firm believer that under the influence of psychs you should avoid Darkness, literally and figuratively, at all costs.

Matt was the only other interested party. He was a massive goofy Asian drug addict / drug enthusiast before his natural evolution into Asian management consultant. He’s a strange guy who’s unafraid to broach any topic with anyone1, call it confidence or autism, it sure beats me. Matt was currently subletting my room since I thought I’d be in NYC all semester, turning my happy home into his playground of degeneracy. When I peeked in my room I saw DMT atop my desk, mushrooms growing in my credenza, and loose bags of ketamine floating around the ether.

Everyone besides Cody, Matt, and I called midnight acid a weird and retarded idea and decided to continue their pursuit of becoming shitfaced. I’d only done mushrooms before, which can get a little weird sometimes but it’s never been traumatizing, and I just wanted to FEEL SOMETHING on my one night of freedom for the foreseeable future.

Fuck it, Acid Is On The Tongue. Walk time.

All my friends are soulless assholes so they spent the walk trying to frighten Cody, the easy target, in his newly vulnerable state. Matt, also tripping sacks, was acting a tad psychotic – sprinting off the path into bushes and then screaming HELP for no discernible reason. This clearly was trolling to me, but Cody can’t really separate jokes from reality and was getting trapped in a cycle of “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO,” fully tweaking out about our humongous disappearing Chinese companion.

The climax of the stroll was when Matt bounced on a long extended tree branch over the freezing lake while holding onto another branch above his head for balance. This dude was acting like an ADHD monkey the entire trip and it finally bit him in the ass. The branch below him snapped and Matt dropped into the water, flailing for his life as the fellas rushed over to yank him back up onto dry land. This was the straw that broke the Cody’s back, who began demanding “I DRIVE HOME. I DRIVE HOME. I DRIVE HOME!” as he watched Matt get dragged from the lake in horror.

Everyone put the trolling on pause to try and placate poor Cody, but man did those goons put him through the wringer. I definitely would’ve been the one losing my mind from all the hijinks if Cody wasn’t there to fulfill the stereotypical Can’t Hang On Acid Guy role2. My trip to that point consisted of laughing at the chaos, hallucinating that the ground was deeply breathing, and having a private mental conversation with myself about whether I’m a good person or not. There was lots of conflicting evidence to sift through.

Upon arrival home it seemed we had convinced Cody to stay the night, watch some TV, and try to relax. He stopped chanting I DRIVE HOME and appeared fragile yet docile again. But when Cody got up to use the bathroom in the back of the apartment, that was the last we saw of him that night. He snuck out through the back door and sprinted to his car to drive all the way home at 3AM, unable to trust that Matt would stop jestermaxxing and tormenting him with sick pranks. We discovered this twenty minutes later when we investigated the empty bathroom and checked his location.

What should we do?

Well, he’s got a massive lead on us, and everyone here is way too hammered or drugged up to drive…

I guess we just toss up a prayer and hope for the best…?

Yes, let’s keep checking his location and if he stops in the middle of the highway we call an ambulance. That’s what good friends would do.

Good. I believe in Cody. He’s a great driver, and he barely drank.

Yeah, it was just a lot of acid.

Yeah. But he’s done acid a lot… so it’ll be fine.

We all kept hanging until we had visible confirmation that Cody had survived his voyage, praise The Lord! Everybody besides Matt and I decided to go home and go to bed, and boy was I envious. My body was tired but my mind was buzzing from LSD; there was not a chance in hell I was sleeping tonight. It had been such a long trip and I was feeling overstimulated like an autistic man that lost his emotional support model train, but alas we were only halfway through our mental voyage. The walk was enjoyable but I was beginning to come to terms with how much I despise being indoors on psychedelics, there’s nothing fun to explore and there are way too many right angles.

“So, Matt, uhh, wanna like watch a movie or something, since we still have so much time left?” I offered meekly, flustered by the corners of the room being so… sharp…

“Hmm, no. You know Asher, the they/them? Well, they’re still up, so I’m going to get some dome.” said Matt, before cartoonishly pantomiming pushing a head up and down over his crotch.

I was quite familiar with Asher. They were originally a she when Matt met them3, a seventeen-year-old semi-chopped prodigy who was three grades ahead and already halfway through college. Matt was their tutor in English and Receiving Dick, developing a relationship that lasted through two sets of pronouns and one eighteenth birthday. We loved to joke and call Matt a groomer, and he would laugh it off… Haha, oh you guys are a hoot, I’m not a groomer… anymore! They’re eighteen now!

“...How are you horny right now?” I questioned. I was staring at my own hog while pissing a few minutes ago and felt as if it may never become hard again. It looked and felt like an Auntie Annes pretzel nugget. “This acid is still kicking my ass…”

“I really need that dome right now, I’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Alright, well good luck going back outside, man. I guess I’ll just watch Planet Earth in my room or something…”

Matt flashed me a devilish grin and began cackling to himself.

“Hmm, no, I’m not going back out there, and you’re not going back in your room! Asher is coming over here. They’re going to give me head in your room!”

This fact immediately floored me like a shotgun blast to the gut. There was nothing I could do to stop this putrid act from taking place. I had totally forgotten Matt was subletting my room that month, he had more power in my own apartment than I did. He paid for the legal rights to Trail of Tears me out of my own bed and into the living room.

I pleaded with Matt, please, out of the kindness of your cold, Chinese heart, just let me chill in my room. I’d been through so much already, and there was still so much of this living NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE left. I just wanted the comfort of my own bed and Goyflix to whisk me away to the finish line of Normal Brain.

Matt found my begging quite amusing, but planned to take full advantage of his right to bust on my bed. He was giggling to himself and rubbing his chin, acting as if he might be persuaded if I continued to grovel. Matt relished in my pleading humiliation ritual but eventually decided to hit me with the cold hard truth: he was getting sucked off in my room whether I liked it or not.

“Sorry buddy, tough times make strong men! You’ll be fine, I promise I won’t make a mess!”

Eventually Asher appeared at the door and waved before quietly scurrying into my room with Matt. I almost warned them about the high retail value of my mattress but didn’t bother. Well, at least I won’t be exposed to whatever vile shit is going on in there, I thought to myself as I tried to watch TV in the living room. I was quickly disillusioned.

While I luckily could not see behind the closed door, it was impossible to tune out Matt’s unexpected monologue on the other side. This crazy fucker was hooting and hollering about gender roles, his future, and the physical sensation of being guzzled, in a truly David Foster Wallace Footnote-esque stream of consciousness flow state. While I was unsure if Matt’s speech was more impressive or disgusting, I was certain that this was The Loudest Blowjob in The World.

“I can’t BELIEEEEVE you’re doing this, and to think you call yourself a feminist! Actually… maybe this is feminism?”

“To have your sweet, tender mouth on my cock fuels me, it excites me! It motivates me to be a better man! To go forth and prosper, and get a job to provide for us!”

“I have come to the conclusion that a hand can only feel twenty percent as good as a mouth!”

These are selected bits of from, I shit you not, a twenty-minute-long somewhat poetic soliloquy that completely overpowered my puny television’s max volume. I felt the inside of my skull melting into a defeated, mushy pulp as my dear friend Matt had conquered my land and my mind, shouting his battle cry through the halls of my home.

I frantically ripped apart couch cushions hunting for a lost pair of headphones or a gun to shoot myself with. I plugged my ears with my hands, but it didn’t provide enough muffling. Even running the shower and sink didn’t do much since the bathroom shared a wall with my room; I was fucked, plain and simple.

Why didn’t you just go outside, you may be asking?

I didn’t live in a great part of town, standing on the sidewalk alone at 3AM on drugs felt like asking for trouble. I didn’t expect this blowjob to last so long. I didn’t expect Matt’s pleasure-podcast to last so long. I figured he’d run out of shit to say, or they’d take his schlong out of their mouth and say “Can you Shut The Fuck Up?”

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I should’ve risked it on the streets, because I truly hated having to hear the show’s conclusion: “Oh wow, oh wow, you’re doing GREAT, keep it up keep it up keep going keep it up, ohhhhho oh oh, I’m letting loose! ArghghhHHGHGHGH yowwwWWWW aaaaHHHHhhHHH, Fuck yeah baby!”

A minute later Matt flung open the door of Goon Central Station and popped his head around the corner with a psychotic grin and asked, “Do you have any spare tissues in here?”

Sigh…. “Check the closet.”

“Thank you!”

Asher scampered out of my room minutes later and exited the premises. Neither of us said goodbye to one another. Matt emerged from my room and plopped down on the couch across from me as I glared in his direction.

“Wow, that was crazy! I just started talking to myself while they blew me, and just kept going! I can’t believe they let me do that!”

“Yeah man, I heard.”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you could hear me through the door.”

“I think I could’ve heard you through a fucking bank vault.”

“Ahh! Hahaha, well, thanks for being a good sport about it, man. What were you up to out here?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Gotcha! Well, I’m going to go back in your room and watch something, the TV in there is way nicer than the one out here! Let me know if you want another tab!”

I declined Matt’s generous offer and spent the rest of my trip pondering whether the $2,400 I earned through subletting was worth it, and attempted to numb myself with a Pawn Stars Wildest Deals Compilation. My first and last time taking acid certainly made me FEEL SOMETHING, which is what I asked for…

If you made it this far, I’m curious if you think this constitutes getting cucked. My friends all say I got cucked, but I think they’re biased because it unlocks a new insult to sling. On one hand, I witnessed4 two people getting freaky in my bed while I sat in a chair and did nothing. On the other, Asher wasn’t my theyfriend and I did not enjoy the experience, so does that mean I was technically just a sex witness? Is that a thing? Would love to hear your personal definition of cuckolding below, if you have one, and let me know if you think I fell victim to an absolutely brutal cuckening.