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Content Warning (Please read before scrolling!):
In the last chapter, there was a burger left sitting out in the hot sun for hours with flies all over it, and Alicia, in her drunken, high-on-molly state, thought it was a good idea to cram all the meat and toppings into her vagina so she could smuggle it from Tijuana to the United States for dinner later. She did all that while she was blacked out and, as such, has no recollection of doing so. One can only imagine what would happen if a woman forgot that there was a spoiled burger [that’s unknowingly teeming with fly eggs] stuffed inside of her birth canal…
If that wasn’t a big enough hint for what lies ahead, you should NOT continue reading if the idea of having rot and maggots in intimate places makes you uncomfortable. Final warning: If disturbing/gross reads make you squeamish, please—for your own good—do not read past chapter 4 of Tijuana Burger Girl!
Enjoy the read!
Chapter 4:
Comedown on the Drive Up
Monday
A groan escapes me as I awake to someone shaking me by the shoulder. “Hmm?” I smack my lips obnoxiously to work up some saliva in my desert-dry mouth. “What?” I mutter groggily, wincing from the horrible headache and nausea.
“It’s 10:30. We overslept,” Payton whispers the moment I peek at her through one eye. Her eyes are all red and puffy, her hair is a disheveled mess like she literally just got up. “We gotta pack up the car and leave before check out.”
Palming my face while massaging my temples with my thumb and middle finger, I sit up and reach for the bottle on the end table. “I thought we had the place until tomorrow…” I croak.
“Today is tomorrow,” she says, her face scrunching up like she just confused herself as much as she confused me. “It’s Monday.”
“What happened to Sunday?”
She snickers. “Don’t you remember? You popped a molly, so Bailey preemptively called off in anticipation of us staying another day, then we all got shitfaced.” She sits on the edge of the bed beside me.
I gulp down the mouth full of water as I shift in my seat and spread my legs in an attempt to relieve this weird, full sensation in my vagina. “Oh yeah… I vaguely recall taking molly after breakfast, but I don’t remember shit other than dancing around the condo.”
She winces. “Yeah… Probably because you kept drinking during your roll—”
“Did I drink a lot?” I interrupt. “I feel like I’m still drunk.”
“Oh yeah. You chugged Vera’s drink a few hours into your roll, then you took a shot and guzzled a margarita before you finished peaking. When you finally did start coming down, you smoked weed and took, like, four shots of tequila back-to-back an hour later, so I’m not sure you even finished rolling before you blacked out around dinner time. Oh, then you smoked a bunch more weed and passed out right around sunset because, and I quote ‘if I don’t get stoned, I won’t be able to sleep on the comedown.'”
“Fuck, no wonder I feel like death…”
“Yeah… Speaking of death, we actually debated taking you to the hospital because you were sweating like crazy and unresponsive until Vera poured ice water all over your face… You were coherent enough to mumble a few words and drink water, so we figured you’d be okay.”
“Geez…” I snicker. “Sounds like that first time we all did molly all over again.”
Her expression goes serious. “You laugh, but this was way worse than that. We legit took turns monitoring you all night, hence the reason we overslept. Please never drink that much on molly again, okay? You scared the shit out of me—out of all of us.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t mix like that ever again. Promise.”
“Good girl,” she says with a smile, rising from the edge of the bed. “Now, since there’s no time to shower, do what you gotta do in the bathroom quick because we need to pack up the car and be out of here in ten. M’kay?”
“Kay!” I groan.
I’m so dehydrated that I don’t even have to pee, so I just wash my face and brush my teeth, squirming in place and widening my stance to try to relieve the constant feeling of fullness in my vagina.
Why does it feel like I have three tampons stuffed up there? After rinsing out my mouth, I pull down my pants and slip a finger between my folds. A string brushes against my digit as I push into my opening, then the tip of my finger presses into what feels like a massive wad of cotton a second later. Did I start my period early? I look around for one of our toiletry bags but I don’t see any, probably because they’re all packed up. Whatever. I’ll just leave it in there and change it out when I get home.
The hustle and bustle that follows are torture. This headache is the worst I’ve had in a while, so lifting bags and walking faster than a snail’s pace makes the throbbing pain worse. It doesn’t help that I permanently feel like I want to throw up. Oh, and on top istanbul Escort Bayan of the hangover, I feel like absolute shit from the MDMA comedown. The after-effects of taking molly always suck. For me, I’m always crazy dehydrated, irritable, and anxious, and I usually don’t eat until a day after rolling. In the next day or so, I’m probably gonna be hella fatigued and depressed. The only reason I haven’t been depressed after taking molly on Friday and Saturday is likely because this bout of mania has likely been staving it off.
I knew I’d feel like absolute shit after this Tijuana trip, and I already planned on getting obliterated the last day but, had I known I’d feel this bad, I probably would’ve dialed it back a bit yesterday…
“Anyone wanna stop for food before we leave?” Payton asks as she climbs behind the wheel of her Toyota Camry.
“I’m too hungover to eat,” Baily groans from the passenger seat.
“Same,” Vera and Lacey harmonize from beside me.
Payton turns to the backseat and looks at me as I’m slumping against the driver’s side door. “Do you want to stop and get a burger from Asada’s since you threw yours away yesterday?”
“Wait, what?” I yelp, my eyes going wide. “Why the hell did I throw away my burger?”
“Because you were so fucked-up on molly that you had a hard time swallowing and you couldn’t taste your food,” Bailey replies.
“So I threw it away instead of putting it in the fridge?” I mewl, pouting afterward.
“Yeah,” Vera chimes in. “Remember? You left it outside for nearly three hours and the damn thing was covered in flies, so I told you to toss it. You tried to figure out a way to smuggle it home so you could eat it once you could taste properly again, but then you came to your senses and threw it out. Thankfully…”
I huff. “Well, that makes me sad…”
“You wanna just stop and get another one?” Payton asks again. “I’m sure you could finish it before we hit the border.”
I wave her off. “As much as I would love that, I’m too nauseous to even drink water, never mind eat…”
“Cheer up, buttercup,” Vera says, nudging my arm. “We’re too broke to keep partying in San Diego, so I’m sure we’ll be back here in a few weeks.”
I muster a tired laugh. “You’re probably right about that. I guarantee we’ll be back the weekend after the next wave of midterms.”
***
Between being completely zoned out and dosing on and off since we left the Airbnb, it feels like I blinked and we hit the border. Not that our beach house was that far away from it—about 17-minutes without traffic. In total, Tijuana is only about 27 miles from our apartment that’s across the street from the University of San Diego campus. What should only be a forty-minute drive normally takes over an hour due to backlog at the checkpoint. Unfortunately, there’s a crazy amount of traffic ahead of us today, so it could very well take an extra forty minutes to get across the border, which sucks because we’re, like, twenty minutes from home.
At some point, I doze off only to be woken up by Lacey when the border patrol agent asks to see everyone’s passports. It’s not until I pass my identification up to Payton that I look at the clock and realize that I’ve been asleep for nearly thirty minutes. Guess I wasn’t too far off when I guessed that we’d be stuck in this line for almost 40 minutes.
The muscular John Cena look-alike in the booth asks us a bunch of questions about what was the nature of our trip, where we are from, do we have any food, yada-yada—the usual list of questions we get when making this trip. And we do this trip pretty often. Us five come have visited Mexico almost once a month since we all met freshman year of college, but me and my old high school friends have been day-tripping to Tijuana since I turned 18 three years ago.
Satisfied without our responses, the agent hands our passports back to Payton before giving us the all-clear by saying, “Welcome back to the United States, ladies.”
For the rest of the ride, I lay my head on the pillow that I have bunched up against the door, not really sleeping, just resting my eyes in hope that I’ll pass out and just be home by the time I open my eyes next. Even though the girls are all quiet and the Taylor Swift music Payton has on is playing softly, I can’t pass out no matter how hard I try.
“Home sweet home,” Payton singsongs maybe twenty minutes later.
By the time I open my eyes, we’re turning onto the one-lane driveway leading to the elegant beige, luxury building that is Pacific Ridge Apartments. Not long after passing through the security gate, Payton drives us up to the fourth level of the parking garage where she pulls into her assigned spot between the stairwell and my Honda Accord.
Unloading our luggage from the car is just as grueling as it was packing the trunk over an hour ago because my head throbs painfully istanbul Escort with each heartbeat. At the end of the main hallway, Payton and I go left to our apartment a few doors down past the elevator while the other girls go right. When we moved here, they didn’t have any four-bedroom apartments, so me and Payton ended up living together just like we have been since freshman year, and the other girls got a three-bedroom place just down the hall from us, which is super convenient.
“I think there are some frozen veggies in the freezer still,” Payton says as she holds the apartment door open for me. “And there should still be some rice left, so I think I’ll whip up some stir-fry.”
“Mm. As yummy as that sounds, I’m going to have to pass for now,” I say, dragging my feet towards my room. “Think I’m just going to smoke some weed and sleep until this headache is gone.”
“Okie-Dokie!” she says chipperly. “I’m definitely gonna nap too after I eat.”
“Alrighty, see you tomorrow morning!” I say, stepping into my room and setting my bags off to the side.
“Alicia, it’s almost, like, 1:00 p.m…. There’s no way you’re going to sleep from now until morning.”
“Challenge accepted.” I smirk sleepily at her. “You know how I get after consecutive days of rolling on molly. Last time, I hibernated for nearly two days straight, barely ate, and the only times I got out of bed was to get something to drink.”
“Oh yeah, you did disappear for days last time. It’s a miracle you’re passing any of your classes… Well here,” she says, opening the fridge and grabbing two water bottles and two Vivo drinks—these low-sugar, organic, coconut water beverages with added vitamins and electrolytes from this amazing company called Florus that I always drink, especially when I’m hungover. “You can have these so you don’t have to get out of bed.”
“Thanks!” I say, taking the cold bottles from her.
“Do you have any tryptophan and 5-HTP supplements left?”
“I think so… I finished what we brought with us, but there should still be some in my bathroom cabinet.”
“Good. Don’t forget to take them. It’ll help you get your serotonin levels back up so you’re not all depressed for three days again. If you need more, text me and I’ll add it to the grocery list.”
“Kay! See ya when I see ya, Payton!”
“Happy hibernating, Alicia!” she squeals back.
As soon as I shut the door, I pull down my jeans and kick them over to the laundry bin, then I drag my feet to the bathroom. It’s only after I start peeing that I feel my vaginal walls clench around that jumbo tampon I found earlier. Not gonna lie, I totally forgot it was up there, probably because I acclimated to that weird vaginal fullness and I no longer felt all uncomfortable down there.
After the last bit of urine drips into the toilet water, I wipe myself then I reach down between my thighs and pull the tampon string nice and slow. Based on how wide the first inch of this cotton menstrual product is that slid out of my cavity, I’m almost positive that it’s a super-plus Tampax, which means I must’ve stolen it from Lacey. Because she’s the only one who uses this size.
The moment the tampon slips out of my tightness, it swings heavily in my grip like a soaked teabag. When I lift it out of the toilet to drop it in the trash, I freeze and retch at the horrible sight dangling from the end of the string. “Bleh!” I gag, my face scrunching up in disgust. “Ugh… gross… Why does it look like that?” I whisper, staring in horror at the engorged tampon that’s completely saturated in dark brown slime as though it was soaking in a bowl of beef gravy.
Upon closer inspection, find that the end of the tampon opposite the string is coated in a dark, thick, and oily sheen, and it’s also speckled with these little chunks. Some chunks are brown while others are grayish, sort of reminding me of brain matter. Neither variety looks like any blood clots I’ve ever seen, nor do they resemble anything that’s ever come out of my vagina before, so I’m not sure what they are…
As I’m lifting the tampon to the light and leaning in closer to get a better look at the weird little grayish-brown bits, my nose is assaulted by something that smells putrid and vile, like a bin full of rotten food left baking in the hot sun for two days. The foul odor instantly makes me retch with a wet, gurgling “BRRRMP” sound as salty bile rushes into my mouth. Thankfully, nothing comes up while I’m scrambling off of the toilet, probably because there’s nothing in my stomach. Unfortunately, when I stick my face over the bowl in preparation to puke, I take a deep breath only to catch another whiff of whatever stench seeped out of me after extracting that tampon. The potent, putrid scent that’s hanging in the bowl like a dense fog makes me dry-heave again.
“Bleh, oh fuck…” I groan, chucking the gross tampon in the trash before standing Escort istanbul up.
That was the worst thing I’ve ever smelled coming from another person, I think, staring down at the slimy brown tampon while shaking my head. Why did it smell so foul? And why did it look so gross? How long was it in there for? Couldn’t have been more than a day because I don’t use super-plus tampons… Do I have an infection, is that why it smelled and looked like that?
There’s no discharge dripping out of me or anything, nor do I feel any itching or burning in my vagina. I don’t feel feverish either. Considering I’ve had a nasty case of vaginitis before and know what signs to look out for, I take those lack of symptoms as a sign that things are okay. For now.
I probably just had some weird reaction to keeping in a brand of extra-absorbent tampon I never use for too long…
Since my coochie needs to breathe to recoup from whatever was going on in there, I don’t put in another tampon, nor do I pull my panties back up. One of the solutions to treat a yeast infection is to sleep without pants or undies so the vagina can get some oxygen, so I figure that’s the best course of action right now.
If I wake up and things are worse, I’ll go to the doctor, I think, setting a towel on the bed. After grabbing the weed and my pipe from the drawer, I scoot my bare ass back across the bed to the headboard, sitting with my legs spread. For now, I’m just going to sleep. I pack the weed into the bowl and then spark it up, sucking in air until the embers glow red. Sleep after I get too zooted to stay awake anymore. Because I can never sleep the day after rolling unless I get super baked.
Chapter 5:
Rot Pocket
Tuesday
Aside from instantly being greeted by flu-like malaise, body aches, and a light tickling sensation between my legs the moment I awake from a bizarre dream, I feel waaaay more out of it than I normally do following a deep sleep. Loopy almost. Like, my mind is hazy and I feel like I can’t form a coherent thought to save my life, sort of like that time I mixed alcohol and Xanax.
Even though I’m lying still, something deliberately tickles my thigh and labia again, so I grab the sheets with the intent of lifting them only to get distracted by this funky odor lingering in the air. It smells like Payton forgot to take out the trash, but the scent is too strong for it to be coming from the kitchen. Releasing the sheet that I don’t remember why I’m holding; I sit up a bit and start sniffing around to figure out where the stink is coming.
While slowly panning my head from right to left, my gaze falls on the bands of sunlight striped on the wall across from me. Suddenly I can’t remember why I was sitting up or sniffing around, so I lay back down, pulling the sheet up over my shoulder, still staring at the bands of light.
The sun is up, but I can’t tell if I’ve been sleeping for a few hours or if this is a new day. I don’t have a clock in my room, so I grab my phone from the other side of the bed, hit the power button to wake it, and lay there staring at it for several seconds waiting for the screen to illuminate.
Wait, why am I staring at a black screen? I hit the power button and wait for it to wake the screen.
I press the power button and wait.
I press the power button and wait.
Out of nowhere, it dawns on me just how many times I’ve done this only for my cell to not turn on.
Wait… maybe it’s dead, I think, holding down the power button this time.
My eyes glaze over as I slip into a daydream about nothing, the mental equivalent of TV static.
Judging by the ache in my thumb, I’ve been holding this button down for over a minute, and the screen has yet to come on. The battery’s dead, I think, squinting when I realize just how delirious I am. It feels like I took too many weed edibles again. I reach for my charger, wincing from how achy my muscles and joints feel. But I didn’t eat any last night… I just smoked… Right? I vaguely recall Payton telling me about how I popped molly and drank a bunch the other day. Maybe my brain is just fried from doing molly multiple days in a row and drinking way too much during the last roll.
Right as I grab my charger cable, something tickles my inner thigh—something that’s certainly not the bedsheet or fabric of any kind. A second later, my body shivers pleasantly from more tickling against my clitoris and folds.
What is that? Is something crawling on me?
The delicious sensation of something moving across the sensitive nerve bundle between my legs makes me contract hard. Warm slickness dribbles out of my hole as my vaginal walls clench around something squishy yet firm deep inside me, like there’s a tennis ball-sized dollop of soft clay packed against my cervix…
Did I forget to take out my menstrual cup or something? Wouldn’t be the first time I forgot it was up there for more than two days…
Now that I’m focusing on my vagina, I notice how full and uncomfortable it feels, how warm and itchy it is in there. It’s itching deep inside of me around that mass I feel, but there’s more of a tickling sensation going on between my labia as well—between my pussy lips and a bit deeper too.
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