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Sex Drugs

Real Viagra Stories

Fair warning: my real Viagra stories are mostly funny, not sexy, though of course there is sex involved in some of them.

My real Viagra stories start with the admission that I have no REAL Viagra stories. The stories are all about sildenafil, in a rainbow of other forms, but none of them that holy grail of pills appearing under the brand name Viagra. 

I wonder, actually, what the real difference is between generic sildenafil and brand name Viagra? Anyone who has something to say about this please comment on this post! I would love any Viagra knowledge or stories dropped.

Another confession or admission: I do not have any personal real Viagra stories about myself taking Viagra. I’m a woman, I know it does something to women, but I’ve never fucked around and found out. 

All my real Viagra stories are about either buying Viagra or about a man taking it in order to fuck me.

I feel a lot of ways about that one. Not sure I really need hard cock to be a part of any fuck enough to expect a man to take a drug for it. 

Plus then there’s the whole “am I responsible for this or is it the drug?” question. Like it or not I’m hooked on knowing that a guy is hard because of and for me. If he has to think about someone or something else: why are we here?

(Related – this is why morning wood doesn’t hit the same. It’s just there, I didn’t do that, he just woke up that way.)

It’s always been the man’s choice to take the drug in the stories I have about men who have taken the drug. I don’t have many. Almost certainly as I age I will have more. I am a believer in Better Living Through Chemistry, and am well aware that my ambivalence about sildenafil is afforded by the privilege of youth.

There was a strange, unlucky, thankfully now almost forgotten period in my sex life where none of the guys I was fucking could get hard. 

I was literally fucking three different guys ranging from ages twenty-five through forty-five, and they all had issues with getting and keeping erections. 

Pretty sure this was indeed my fault, but I do have a tendency to take responsibility for everything including the weather. 

Me and my high expectations. Which, again, do not include that the dude get hard, but, well, translated into male language it’s different. I think in general my hotness, appetite, short patience for orgasm gaps and bedroom sexism, and reluctance to play into most pathology puts pressure on a man that can manifest in droopy dick. Maybe.

Or maybe it was just bad luck. 

In any case, it’s over, that soft spell, and you don’t see me pointing out all the other myriads of times where the multiple men I was simultaneously fucking had beautiful, raging hardons aplenty. Oh wait I just did and believe me it was and is glorious.

Anyway, it’s during the soft spell that DH and I are visiting Bangkok. Dunno if you have been to Sukhumvit at night, but basically it’s a sea of tables selling vice and sin to go along with the sex and drug tourism available. The number one thing that is sold on these tables is Cialis, which may or may not actually be brand name real. 

Almost certainly the one that we buy is not brand name real, but it is sildenafil. DH takes half a pill and experiences every effect of the drug (sweating, increased heart rate, seeing blue) except the intended one (still floppy-do). We laugh it off as a fun drug experience if not the most exciting of real Viagra stories, and go to sleep. 

It’s a year or so later that I find myself standing in a giant parking lot in the middle of the irrigated desert that is Ashgabat, Turkmenistan, peering around for some Jeeps and Land Rovers that should contain my people.

I’ve never been good at spotting one thing amidst a sea of other similar things. 

Clutched in one hand is a fistful of generic Viagra that seems manufactured in India, but the writing is in Cyrillic and it was indeed sold to me by a Turkmen pharmacist, who when I asked for “VEE-AH-GRA” asked me back “MAN OR VOOMAN?”

Had I been thinking more clearly and not in a hurry to stand in a parking lot desperately trying to locate where I am supposed to have been ten minutes ago, I probably would have chosen VOOMAN, because what the fuck kind of sex enhancement drugs for women exist in Turkmenistan?????

Sadly I will never know. I chose the MAN version, and she pulled out out like five different ones to choose from, which seemed to have different doses but also possible herbal enhancement or maybe different drugs too. The other women behind the counter clearly felt bad for me being out of my element and they all pointed to the one I ended up buying by way of recommendation. 

Cool. Four out of five female Turkmen pharmacy workers recommend it.

This thought runs through my mind as I finally spot the entire group jumping and waving to me from an obvious spot in the parking lot, and tear off towards them running, with a bottle of Turkmen vodka in one hand and the fistful (two packets, four pills each) of Turkmen Viagra in the other.

Though the Russian driver is exceptionally hot and buys me ice cream on the way to the desert, I do not create real Viagra stories with him. Instead I hang onto these drugs, because, well, they are cool. 

I flex my cool by giving half of them to the Englishman with whom I try Tantra. We don’t use them together. I tell him at some point that I do think that Englishmen are sexy.

“Is it the villainy?” he asks, without missing a beat. I pause.

“Uh, yes, it is…” I realize.

The first time I use the Turkmen sildenafil is with my Favorite Lover. We’re tired, he’s a little drunk, I break out the drugs to show off again, and before I know it he’s bit off a chunk of one of the pills and is bemoaning his choices.

“What have I done? I’ve just eaten generic erectile enhancement drugs.” he regrets, eloquently, on repeat. 

I marvel at the strangeness of dick on these drugs. It’s almost not harder than it is when not on these drugs.

The core of it is harder, but the outer dick layers are softer, more meaty. Almost like there’s a solid stick at the center with springy, spongy tissue wrapped around it.

It changes the texture and what I can do with it entirely. It’s like a different model sex toy. However, the original model is better, and the novelty wears off quickly.

Contrary to our pattern and expectations, we have sex for about half an hour, neither of us come, and we fall asleep. 

Almost a year later I’m back in Barcelona and high on love for my Favorite Lover

High on love goes really well with high on drugs and drunk on alcohol, though.

I’ll have you know my notes for this section say: “British dude in the whisky bar with the jelly.” So, you know. Get ready for some more real Viagra stories.

I’m at La Whiskeria, which is a lovely whisky bar in Barcelona, with a lovely upstairs that is usually empty. Today I am not upstairs though, I am at the bar, drinking Scotch.

Next to me is a middle class British traveling salesman that stopped in for his final beer of the night on the way back to his hotel room where his girlfriend half his age is nagging him to get back to. 

“I just stopped in for the last beer of the night, didn’t realize I’d popped into a serious whisky bar.” he says, self-aware, pointing at my dram of Octomore 9.1.

“Aye.” I respond.

I’ve been having many anti-English conversations with the Irish, the Scottish, and the Spanish. It impacts me for a moment, but this Englishman is just jolly, and the perfect amount of drunk to not be annoying.

Like that amount of drunk when he’s touching me to emphasize his statements and stories, but he never really makes contact with me in any physically annoying or gropey way, just a pat on the shoulder with the back of his hand, which doesn’t actually land half the time and is more of an insinuation of a pat on the shoulder. He’s a good one, I can tell, even if he is a stereotype.

And so we talk and I confess this blog, give him a link and blow his mind. We have a jolly chat about age differences in dating and cultural differences and, well, the beautiful and grotesque Barcelona.

On his way out he tells me he has a present for me.

This is when I learn just what kind of traveling salesman this guy is. Perhaps the gf half his age should have been the clue. He sells massive amounts of prescription drugs to people without a prescription. Benzos, Adderall, Opioids, you know – scrip pills. He’s been taking advantage of the redirect in personnel from customs to covid testing and moving some serious stash.

The gift he has for me is a branded foil packet continuing a milligram amount of sildenafil dosage inside a jelly for rapid uptake. This milligram amount is not legal for prescription use anywhere in the US or Europe, he brags to me. 

So, this is probably the best of the real Viagra stories, the five minute rant the Brit goes on describing to me in detail in that kaleidoscopically colorful way only the British really can express exactly what this high-dose sildenafil jelly will do to a man, and what a man will do to me once he has it in his system.

Given the ups and downs of his description I am not yet sure if it is lucky or unlucky that I have not found a partner willing to suck jelly for real Viagra stories.

Perhaps this is my cue to fuck around and find out what it does to my own body…


That Time My Favorite Lover Took The Turkmen Viagra

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