Psychedelic Voyage of Fornication

Psychedelic Voyage of Fornication

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


What would you do if a beautiful hippie girl held onto your hand and slipped acid into your mouth? Would be freaked out by the wisdom coming out of her mouth or hypnotized by the mountains in her eyes? One thing led to another in this story, thanks Delilah.


What would you do if a beautiful hippie girl held onto your hand and slipped acid into your mouth? Would be freaked out by the wisdom coming out of her mouth or hypnotized by the mountains in her eyes? One thing led to another in this story, thanks Delilah.


Submitted: May 27, 2013

A A A | A A A


Submitted: May 27, 2013



Her name is Delilah, a random hippie goddess that I just meet walking through a festival packed with naked painted chicks and fuzzy beards stapled with sunflowers. Her hand clamped onto mine and our sweat met together in harmony and mystifying power. The heat is too heavy on my northern brown skin until she showered me with glittery water.

She stopped walking and spun me around. The music in the background made every move she made perfect. With her sundress floating along with her long brunette hair and her pupils growing and shrinking in her mud-colored eyes, she is irresistible in where there is no measurement to get the message. Her hand let go of my and slid onto the back of my head, she pushed her tongue into my mouth and it seemed very casual in an environment like this. She turned back and showed her porcelain teeth off.

The moment was perfect, in her tent that you can walk in without bending over like an old man. It was more like a bedroom. Steady bed, a brown rug, an oil lamp which became useful since dusk hit. Most importantly, the guitar case that held her guitar and…

The guitar case was a drug stash for the trippy and tripper. The normal party stuff like alcohol and weed was stored in there. She said she didn’t have much due to her girlfriends consuming most of the drugs, but out laid sugar cubes causing a glass vessel not vacant. Some white powder in crystal form layered a baggie. Acid and MDMA is a perfect combination, if given to the right hands. If some fighter took MDMA, his impulse would be to what made him happy, breaking a table or two.

Surprisingly she had a record player running on D batteries. Several records were nestled aside; Grateful Dead, The Doors and other hippie shit to listen to for a comfortable trip. She pulled me over with her index finger as she sat Indian style on her bed.

“What do you want in life?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer the question without smile. Kids, family, a secure home. The usual shit any animal wants. Kids to look after, a wife to talk and fuck, a secure home that is protected under the second amendment.

I asked her the same question and she said she only plans short term goals. With that, you can get ahead in life. Focus on the closer things than the things too hard to see. The rules of endearment quivered me with chills down my back and I felt quarter chubbed.

She leaned forward to kiss me again right after she dropped two sugar cubes in her mouth. We passionately kissed with my tongue whipping the roof of her mouth. We were juggling the acid back and forth in our mouths. She pulled back and one of her sugar cubes ended up in my mouth. Next she, pulled out the bag of MDMA a dipped her pinky into the crystals and laid it on her tongue where the sugar cube dissolved.

I procedded to do the same thing and sprinkled the MDMA in the middle near the tip of my tongue. The taste was unbearable; it tasted something on the cross of salt the taste of water after you popped some speed.

The record kept spinning playing the classic melody of Jerry Garcia’s guitar and what seemed like to be fireworks with a dash glow sticks going at it outside. I wasn’t occupied with the sights and sound from outside of the tent, which was all background static to my ears.

All five senses were on her.

I can taste her breath as she kissed me. Her happiness played a jovial tune. My heart wanted to leap out of my ribcage and enter her brain, to see what it meant to be one. One plus one is one again, in emotional mathematics.

My eyes jolted back and forth, I have the jackhammer visual effect. I am in control, but unbridled. I don’t know how much time has passed or what came over us. We were naked and I was moving in and out of her. Her moans did not scare me since I can taste the passion from her saliva. The salvia layered with battery acid.

Could this woman be the one? Or is it the drugs thinking for me? It couldn’t be. Even when her face lit up red from the lighting outside which embarked her to be Lucifer didn’t bother me. Love will compel evil into jettison. The most in evident couragment is swung with brass strength of the one who follows through. Pain can be added with an L and make plain, but the cost of sensitivity is edible.

Could we have been fucking for hours or mere minutes? I know time doesn’t exist and shit, but it does when the drugs are kicking. Feeling paranoid that Delilah could read my thoughts and she would quickly feel the need of disagreement, that I quickly change my pace of thoughts to the highway urging my way through the psychedelic voyage… with her.

The delectation of skin to skin contact made me explode inside her. This happened to be my climax; the rest was an orgasm peaking when we first made eye contact. I laid on her with me breathing and her breasts matching the beat to her heartbeat. My eyes gently closed and I rolled over. She still held me close; the bed was a nest of the altered minds belonging to young adults. We both fell asleep with a party still roaring outside the tent. The end can be the beginning of thinking into the unfamiliar. Slowly fade into black without a care in the world. Sleeping is weird and I feel both.

I woke up in a daze. I looked to my right and discovered that Delilah is missing. Was last night a dream? I thought this till my eye contacts jotted in on a note. Loose-leaf paper, it read:



I had a great time last night and I apologize that

I didn’t leave information for you to contact me. You

Told me that you are a writer and maybe the

Universe can match us up again like yesterday.

Take care,



I folded your clothes neatly on the bedside.

Those weren’t my drugs we consumed last night. Only

Some random man who said he belonged to a motorcycle

Gang. You better get moving.


Fear swept over me. I quickly jumped into my boxer briefs and gathered my clothes. I peeked out of the opening of the tent and saw that people were still drinking and dropping acid. I notice two guys with leather chaps, the type that would ride motorcycles. My cardio is good, very good.

I tore the opening of the tent wide open. The two men stopped and stared at me. A crow echoed its caw from the distance. I had to make way. My feet were barley touching the ground when I ran; the fear of being killed made my adreleran pump quicker. They barked orders for me to stop as they chased throughout the breathing circus. I was coming down from my peak from the acid peak last night. I was tripping, but still aware of my surroundings.

The two motorcycle gangsters were chasing me. Dodging and moving zigzag lines only made look like an idiot. I spotted some clowns were drinking out of Jack Daniel’s bottle. Literally, clowns, makeup, with red noses and big shoes. I could have been hallucinating, but my hand instinctively grabbed it and my mouth met with the opening.

Motorcycle gangsters and clowns were chasing me; it was the ending of the finish line.

I saw my friends from afar and luckily they had the equipment packed up in the jeep. The fear on my face told them that we had to go, NOW. My bearded buddy still wasted climbed in the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition. The sound of an engine never made me so happy.

My two other friends clumsily stock-piled and I jumped into their laps and shouted my bearded buddy to drive. He did. I looked behind and saw my chasers standing still. Watching the one and only who took their drugs, booze, and fucked on their bed.

“What the fuck was that about?!” my bearded buddy ordered me to tell them all.

I made my way to wedge my friends to take the window seats, the third best seats in a car. It was a long story, but it was a long road ahead of us. Starbucks sounded good and they agreed. I dug in my pockets to find sugar cubes to go with the hot coffee that we would soon be getting.

The brunette goddess still swirls in my thoughts at night.

© Copyright 2019 David J Singleton. All rights reserved.

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