My Girl Molly

My Girl Molly 
Adventures in MDMA
By Kate Letigre


The streets of Baltimore flew by—my feet punished the pavement with a quick pounding rhythm that consumed my brain and became a pleasantly hypnotic refrain.

I NEEDED to run. Even if I wanted to stop, I knew I couldn’t. I watched as the bewildered face of a homeless man on a bus bench whizzed by—no doubt wondering why a blonde woman, sans bra and wearing dress-sandals was sprinting by him as if pursued at 5:30 AM.

I was acutely aware of my surroundings, what I was doing, what I HAD done, but simultaneously unable to stop or control any of it. I would be able to recall every detail—every vividly sordid detail— later that day.

It must’ve been 6:30 or 7:00 AM because I saw the sun come up and fill my room with painful light. My room surrounded me in a blurry whirl, yet I felt every nuance, the myriad brightly colored scarfs hanging on the closet door started to shimmer and encircle me.

How long had I been there, standing in the middle of my room? Minutes? Hours? I’d managed to lie down in my bed, jaw tightly clenched, covers grasped in a death grip, the sun shining through me, piercing my head. I knew there was absolutely no way I would make it to orientation. There goes that job with the aquarium—there was no plausible excuse for an absence on the first day. Fuck.

The events of the previous night began to replay, on loop, over and over again as I lay there unable to escape, unable to shake away the residual effects of the night before. My jaw involuntarily ground my teeth to dust and my eyes remained fixed open and bugged despite my best efforts to force them closed.

Molly, you’re a fucking bitch.

“Come oooon, I don’t want to try this for the first time alone!”

I knew I shouldn’t have been here. I had already promised myself to never go there again, yet there I was—with the devil incarnate who was trying to force feed me little clear capsules filled with an unknown white powder. If I wanted to find someone other than myself to blame, I could easily point a finger at the creepers who had tried to follow us home from the bars screaming profanities and legitimately endangering us, or even Jillian for suggesting we run to the safety of her booty call (an unrequited love story that’s not worth telling), or the guys for stock-piling illicit substances in the hopes of having girls stumble in drunk and consuming them so that they could fuck them (I surmised). But I was the one who took the capsule from Jill’s palm, slowly placed it on my tongue, and chased it down with water from the bathroom sink in Cal’s room.

We headed downstairs to the sticky kitchen. Too drunk to be concerned with the cleanliness of the glass that I found on the counter and filled with water from the sink brimming with dishes, I noticed Jill texting frantically and knew instinctively that she was writing to Cal, begging him to return from the party with the guys. She had used her key to enter his house, and I felt uneasy about their return.

“Is it even working? Were we supposed to break it?” Twenty minutes had passed and we were googling “molly” and consulting Wikipedia about the effects of MDMA, and that’s when I felt it. MyGirlMollyPhoto2

“Oh my god, Jill. I can feel it now in my hands and feet. They’re tingling…”

Jill nodded her head slowly. She was already somewhere else.

The tingly sensation began to spread throughout my body.

I loved everyone! I had to tell them! I began to text everyone in my contact list to tell them how much I loved them. (Note to self: never-ever do drugs and text. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this away. That’s going to be embarrassing.)

“Kate, the guys are coming home soon, and Trent doesn’t know we have this… we have to hold it together until he goes upstairs.”

“Yeah, Yeah. I got this.”

“Uh…. You’re moaning.”

“Shit. I can’t help it. I know I’m doing it, and it’s weird, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. Sorry…”

“SHHH…. Here they come….”

I had unwittingly been moaning, muttering, and shaking slightly. I bit my lips to contain my words, but I was unable to stop the shaking. My legs were shaking violently.

And that’s when the waves smacked me in the face pushing me down and dragging me out with the tide just to go under, surface, and roll over and over and over again. I barely noticed Trent enter and go to his room to pass out or Cal and Sam join us. I vaguely made out that they had surreptitiously taken Molly behind Trent’s back at the party. How long did I revel in the ecstasy before I noticed Jill beside me, touching me?

I knew what was happening. I liked it, wanted it, and couldn’t have stopped it—even if I HAD wanted to. I can unclench my fists, maybe I can close my eyes. Nope.

Jill’s lips, pliable and vulnerable, found mine. Oblivious to my surroundings, Jill became an extension of my ecstasy, intensifying the waves of pleasure I was already experiencing. It was transcendent.

“I love watching you girls.” Cal stated dreamily. He watched us with a slow smile, eyes half-closed.

Torn-away from my kiss-trance, I began to frantically finish my love messages to random recipients. I really need to check who I sent what messages. Oh God. Can’t. Move.

“Do you need anything?” Cal asked.

“Yes. Water. I need water. My mouth is so dry. Why is my mouth so dry? Is that normal? God, why can’t I open my mouth, my mouth is clenched shut and my legs keep shaking. Also, why can’t I stop talking? I know that I’m talking a lot and that it’s really, really weird but I can’t stop. I’m sorry, guys. I’m really sorry. I know it’s weird but I can’t stop…”

My words continued and I was unable to stem the flow of meaningless phrases escaping my mouth. Cal returned with some water.

“You have to feed it to me. I really want to stop my hands from texting but I really cant. Not even for water, which I really need…”

Cal put the glass to my mouth; the water did nothing to alleviate the dryness. Jill’s eyes were mostly closed and her hands continued to caress my leg. I noticed Sam reclined on a couch opposite us, watching languidly.

“Sam you’re really attractive, but I really don’t like you. I’m sorry, but you are kind of a douche bag, and you treat women really poorly, like they are objects.”

Sam stared at me, abashed and dejected. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s ok. I’m only saying this because of the molly and you should forget about it and I know it’s rude and weird for me to talk like this and I’m sorry but I can’t seem to help it at all.” OH MY GOD. What else did I say that I can’t even remember? I can never show my face again around those people. Ever.

“Maybe, we should go upstairs to my room.” Cal suggested.

“Yes, let’s go but let me finish sending these messages and then I will fuck all of you.” I stated emphatically.

Cal smiled, bemused. Jill kissed my mouth.

“I’m going to need help getting up the stairs. I can’t move my legs.”

I moved my legs but they were shaking too violently for me to stand on them. I noticed that I continuously moaned and muttered as the waves of pleasure rose and abated intermittently. Sam lifted me up easily and followed Cal and Jill up the stairs. I was getting off just being pressed against Sam’s brawny chest.

Cal had disappeared into the bathroom. Jill writhed about on his unmade bed tucked into the corner of the room. Sam and I landed in a heap next to Jill on the bed, and she immediately climbed on top of me, kissing my neck. The closet door was open, and I could see that Cal stored all of his clothing on the floor and piled on the various masses of furniture about the room, while the closet rack remained bare. My legs were now entwined about Sam. Jill began to undress me when Cal reemerged.

I had a couple of options at this point. Option One: have a threesome with Cal and Jill (an experience I had already had) who would inevitably be at it in a moment. Option Two: hook up with Sam, a high-ranking douchebag whom I had turned down on numerous occasions. Option three have an orgy. Not having sex was NOT an option in my state at that moment, neither was simply leaving. I needed it.

“Can we all fit in this bed?” I asked.

“You mean…?” Jill questioned.

“I mean, let’s all do it here,” I said nonchalantly.

“Alright,” Jill agreed with a little bounce.

“I’m down,” Cal shrugged.

“NO. I’m going downstairs,” Sam struggled to free himself from the tangle of quivering human bodies.

“Come ooooon. Stay.” I countered.

“No. No. No. I’m going downstairs.” Sam managed to jump off the bed and land on the floor.

“Well, I’m not a rapist,” I tried to reassure him. “I only want to do what everyone wants to do.” My teeth chattered a bit.

“You can stay here with us, Kate…” Jill began.

“I think I’m going to head downstairs with Sam”—I jumped onto his back, and he managed to stumble down the stairs without killing either of us.

The television was on, and in the dim light you couldn’t see griminess of the kitchen or the adjoining living room. We stood in the middle of the living room for a solid minute—or what seemed like an eternity—facing each other. Both of us waiting for the other to make the first move. Suddenly, in one movement, we were kissing and undressing simultaneously. I cannot tell you who made the first move or how it happened, but there we were, ripping each other’s clothes off, standing in the hazy light of the television. Every brush of the skin was euphoria. Every kiss was ecstasy. I knew that under normal circumstances I would never be in this situation— that the molly had, in part, taken over. But I didn’t give a damn.


“Come in,” I managed through gnashed teeth.

Luckily, I had left my door unlocked; I wouldn’t have been successful getting up to open it. Lori, my roommate, entered.

“Whoa. What happened to you? Aren’t you supposed to start at the aquarium today?”

“Mmmmolly,” I chattered. I was beginning to feel the comedown from the rolls. I knew that, chemically, my serotonin levels had peaked (like never before!) and now dissipated. My high was taking a nose dive. “I hooked up with Sam last night,” I told Lori.

“Daaaaaamn, duuuude.” Lori’s eyebrows had shot up to her hairline and her mouth hung open. “You must’ve been rollin’ hard! Last weekend you couldn’t stand him, remember?” Lori laughed, amused at my misadventures.

There was one little—and I mean little— problem: at first, he couldn’t get it up.

“It’s the Molly. It’s hard to get hard while on E or Molly,” Sam reassured.

That’s why he didn’t want to be with the others.

“Well, let me help.” I said, confident in my abilities. I tried to moisten my mouth. There was no saliva. “But first, I’m going to need some water.”

Sam retrieved a huge tumbler of ice water, and I threw it back, spilling half of it onto my naked body. I kept an ice cube in my mouth and went to work. I could tell he was also rolling hard. He stood before me while I sat on the couch, still shaking slightly. I could feel his body trembling, as well, as he suffered roll after blissful roll. After maybe 20 minutes of vigorous work and another water break, I stopped and looked up, concerned.

“This feels amazing. Even though it’s not hard, it’s still the best feeling ever.”

He pushed me back on the couch and kissed my throat. I had to close my eyes. He traveled down my body and I couldn’t contain my groans of pleasure. Usually, I am very easy to please, but that night it took barely a brush.

I couldn’t tell whether I was orgasming or rolling—the sensations blended together and all I could feel or see or know was wave after wave of sheer, frenzied ecstasy. I gasped for breath; I screamed out; I pleaded for mercy; I shook and lurched about; I squeezed my eyes closed until tears ran down my face. I kicked, and Sam had to sit up, hold me down at the chest with one hand and finger me with the other. He watched me with incredulous fascination. He had a raging boner.

I wrangled my way up, and Sam sat on the couch. I needed some semblance of control again. I straddled Sam. There was no need for lube. It felt almost as if I were having sex for the first time; Madonna must have been rolling when she wrote “Like a Virgin.”

I began to slump into a deep despair. “Lori, I just want to know what’s the point? What is the point in life?”

“It’s normal to be depressed after rolling. It’s going to fucking suck and probably last a day or two. Do you need anything water? Food?”

“I used up all my serotonin last night. Now I want to die. No I can’t eat. I feel sick—like I want to be sick. Yes, water. I need water.”

My mouth and throat felt like sandpaper, and I had to take another water break. A mischievous plan took shape in my mind. I jumped up, grabbed Sam’s hand, and dragged him into the kitchen. After hydrating, I shoved the dirty dishes into the sink and hopped up onto Cal’s kitchen counter. I smiled to myself as Sam took me there, knowing that Cal wouldn’t get around to cleaning up for a couple weeks. He’d be making his breakfast here in the morning.

Sam apparently derived the same devilish pleasure from fucking me on the edge of the kitchen counter. I don’t know if I asked him to pull my hair or if he took initiative— words left my mouth without passing through my brain first. There was a complete disconnect of my body and mind. My mind was completely occupied with swell after swell of pleasure and unbridled surges and sensations.

Sam came with a shout.

His body slumped despondently and he gasped, “I can’t anymore. I’m completely finished off—I’ve got nothing left.” He slinked off to the living room and retrieved his shorts. He handed me my clothes as he sank to the couch eyes closed and as I took them from his hand, he began to snore.

I thought about falling asleep on the other couch, but my legs bounced wildly. I had to run.

Buy Cream City Magazine at Atomic Books or Online!

Some of the exciting ads you'll find exclusively inside of Cream City Magazine

Some of the exciting advertising you’ll find exclusively inside of Cream City Magazine

Christmas is right around the corner and you haven’t even begun thinking about what to get your friends and family, you miserable sack of shit. Well, here’s the answer to your holiday dilemma: Cream City Magazine. That’s right, it’s been on sale for over a month now, and you can buy it at Atomic Books in Hampden (if you live in Baltimore) or right here, online, through our publisher (if you don’t live in Baltimore). Your loved-ones will never forget your seasonal generosity.

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There are also articles and shit

This commemorative 5.5 x 8.5, color-and-black-and-white magazine features something for everyone: a review of a male strip club, a playlist of Baltimore sex music, an investigative report on glory holes, lewd artwork from the Baltimore club music scene, and some of the skeeziest advertising this side of the US-Canadian border. However, it is for adults only—always remember that.

Andre Novak’s Photos Featured in Gallery 788’s 6th Annual Erotic Art Show

'Mount Royal Prophylactics' by Andre Novak, on display now at Gallery 788

‘Mount Royal Prophylactics’ by Andre Novak—on display now at Gallery 788

Yes, that’s right—Cream City’s resident sleazebag-photographer somehow snuck his work into ERO6, Gallery 788’s 6th Annual Erotic Art Show.

ERO6 opened yesterday and it closes on November 29th. Wanna see an entire gallery space oozing with high-quality creative sexiness, smut, and filth from over 50 amazing artists? Don’t miss out—get to Gallery 788 NOW!