The peak had set in after Loady was lolling on the floor, at brief moments stopping in the middle to stare at the carpet, which he saw was flowing in itself as an ocean of fabric. His huge eyes must have vibrated in their sockets, beaming to all of the world the size of his pupils and the colors oozing from them. It must have been from the kaleidoscopes etching themselves through everything if he looked long enough. The little marshmallow could sense each ounce of blood that traveled through his vessels, heating his skin in some fuzzy static of lust and euphoria. His heart worked hard in two ways, one with blood, and the other with what incredible emotions surged throughout him. Everything he had some sort of connection to. Especially me. I took the drug with him. He loves me to death. He wants us to connect our souls. He wants us to express our intimate love for one another by furiously and passionately making out. Dominant and submissive at the same time, in which he will aggressively follow my desires or exert his own upon me with great enthusiasm. Once he orgasms, his mind begins to fracture. His very thinking shatters into smithereens of fragments, pouring out his face in a hot magma flow. He may dissociate completely. He may believe I am a god. He may believe he's peeling back layers of realities, trapped in dream-like trances, in multiple places at the same time. It doesn't matter. He and I feel great. It's fun.