Corruption of a Family (Part 3 of 5)

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Life was ideal in my new mountain home. As a matter of fact, it couldn’t have been better given only a few months earlier I had been staring through the tangles of a barbed wire fence and sharing a musty room with 40 or so fuck-ups just like me; talk about paradise.

My first few months of newly granted freedom I tooled around a great bit, taking in my new territory from Broomfield to Denver to Boulder and more. Colorado was breathtaking and the urban bustle of Houston which I was used to was nonexistent. Wealth seemed to be everywhere I looked and people were very…well…friendly. I can remember walking in to fraternity parties near the CU campus and strangers greeting me. You didn’t greet strangers in Houston. You stayed close to your own and took your time to get a feel for strangers. You never knew who the fuck might be walking into a party there.

I have always tended to have more girl friends than guy friends and it didn’t take me long to find a pair of girls to show me around and give me more of a personal tour of my new surroundings. I definitely needed to know where to score some dank and we all know girls get the best drugs. I was tired of cruising “The Hill” in Boulder looking for a dreadlocked cracker with a dingy backpack. I bet “The Hill” has the highest ratio of white people with dreadlocks per square block than anywhere in America. And they ALL have backpacks with salivating cargo.

The girls were of course much more to me than just a weed connect. One was a model and both stood taller than me; I am almost 6 foot. Mariah I met while buying groceries and the Amazonian model was her friend. I can recall going to the Denver Broncos Super Bowl parade in downtown Denver accompanied by the model and groups of people parting for her as she carved her own little twisted swathe through the crowd. I had been in awe of how great a berth was provided her. I, on the other hand, was getting shoulder-bumped every time I tried to squeak through the masses like some kind of chump.

These two girls and I wrecked shop. We celebrated New Year’s Eve together – never mix mudslides and champagne by the way – and countless other intoxicating adventures. These usually resulted in me coming home and passing the fuck out. On a night I’ll never forget, because so much of my life’s path I believe could be altered by having not participated in the event I am about to betray, I came home drunk and did just that….passed the fuck out.

When I woke, which should have been early afternoon but was instead only minutes after falling in to my slumber, I was being straddled by Mrs. Thompson in a black negligee. The scent of red wine radiated from her and even her lips were stained with the stuff. Maybe for a moment I thought of asking why she was atop me, but that was quickly replaced by an urgency to remove my clothes. Shock would have to wait for later. I was way too drunk to give a fuck then anyway. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)