The "Coke Dick" Dilemna

For some time now, there's been no question in my mind that the negative side-effects of coke use far outweigh the "positives" that come from it. Without a doubt, the punishment of a bad, next-day "coke-over," coupled with the rampant depression and sinus destruction that necessarily follows a night of heavy "partying," in theory, don't make a few hours of coke-induced euphoria/paranoia even close to being "worth it." That said, the burden of such side effects hasn't really slowed my use down in nearly 10 years, so there must be something else, something intangible that keeps me coming back, time and time again, no matter the effect upon my physical well being or my mental sanity.

And no, it's not the fact that cocaine is "addictive." At least I don't think, anyway, but what the hell do I know--I'm 29 years old, and have managed to deplete my septum to the point at which I can probably almost poke a hole right through it with my pinkey finger. Stevie Nicks didn't even get to that point until she was in her mid-forties, and she was really a rock star, whereas I only have ideations of being one, having been permanently stifled by my lack of musical acumen/balding head.

One side-effect Ms. Nicks never had to deal with--at least first hand--which may explain why she continued to use blow for so many years, is "Coke Dick"--that is, the phenomenon of not being able to achieve or maintain an erection/and or orgasm while under the influence of the sauce. And for the longest time, I didn't really suffer from coke-dick either. Sure, on the occassional night where I was blown out of my skull high, of course I couldn't get it up, but then, on those nights, I could barely stand or even talk, and under such circumstances, "certain sexual side effects" were more than understandable. For a while I basked in the glory of not suffering from coke dick--while friends would use and then not be able to perform, I was a stallion in the sack, able to go for consecutive minutes at a time, rather than my traditional "sober seconds" display. There were even nights where I would bump a few lines just to ensure that I would perform well. And man oh man, did I perform--or at least the women faked really really well.

Recently, however, my ability to perform under "pressure" has seemed to elude me. In the last few months, I've found myself in a few situations where, because of blow, it just "hasn't happened." In each of these situations, of course, like countless cowardly men before me, I've pleaded with the women to believe that it's never happened to me before. Look away, I'm hideous, I'll say, in a half-joking, half-serious attempt to avert attention away from the embarrassment of it all. And even though the girl will usually tell me it's not a problem, deep down, I know what they're really thinking, and there's no situation more emasculating than failed sexual performance--save for being caught with your pants down in a barn full of roosters and pigs. But that's a story for another day.

Of course, the catch-22 of it all is that once you do coke, you're horny as hell, and all you can think about is sex. Yet at the same time, it becomes virtually impossible to engage in the act. To reconcile the embarrassment that inevitably follows "coke performance woes" with the coke-user's insatiable desire to "get off," lately I've just taken to coming home after a night of carousing, to attempt to "whack it." And like clockwork, this leads to even more problems--problems of the type that someday, I believe, might cause me to quit coke for good.

It may come as no surprise to you that blow is not my only vice. Indeed, as a person with very limited self-control and a severly addictive personality, I am an "enthusiastic" masturbator as well, to put it lightly. Recently, however, it seems that my "coke dick" problem has impeded upon my ability to masturbate regularly. You see, when I'm on coke and attempt to "jerk the jerk," it takes a herculean effort to get it up, much less to get anything out of it. Most of the time, it takes close to an hour, by the end of which my arm is so tired and my guy is so raw and numb, the effort wasn't even worth it at all. But worst of all--and I warn you, this is gonna get a little gross--often times I'll wake up the next day with abrasions on my unit, from wanking so hard the night before. That's right, actual cuts, right there on the ol' penis. Like any normal cut, these too take time to heal, and if the healing process is impeded--say, by wanking again before the wound shuts itself--it'll only make things worse. Yet because I'm a chronic masturbator, its hard for me refrain from floggin the ol' dolphin for a few days after a heated zapper. And if in the days that follow, I find myself in the arms of a lady, it can be quite embarrassing attempting to explain my penile abrasions, which I promise, are not any sort of disease, but rather are merely the side-effect of violent, coke spanking. And from experience, I've learned the hard way, no pun intended, that the "my dog bit me" excuse doesn't play out well when it comes to discriminating women--although "crackheads" usually don't seem to notice.

Friends, I don't know how I can reconcile my need to do blow with my need to chronically masturbate in the hours and days that follow a good, old fashioned coke binge. And given my propensity for masturbation, which I took to long before I developed my cocaine tongue, I'm not sure if I can keep up my coke habit if I continue to thrash upon my "little guy" after every time I get involved. If anyone has any suggestions as to how I can deal with this dilemna, I would very much appreciate hearing from you. Thanks for listening.

-Edgar