February
One day, we had a meeting with my Roman military reenactment group. When I arrived, it turned out to be an intervention, specifically for me. Danny, Harry, and the rest of the team were there. I was surprised and touched that they cared enough about me to organize such a thing. Everyone told me they were worried about my weed use and that I needed to stop. They also encouraged me to focus more on college, but I was ready to give up on it. I thanked them for the intervention and went home.
March
One afternoon, I was at Kašjuni beach, on the south side of the Split peninsula. I got high and watched the sunset. My phone rang; it was Harry, from my Roman soldier and gladiator reenactment group. He asked where I was, and I reluctantly admitted I was at Kašjuni, smoking weed. He said he wanted to talk about something important. I waited for him, and when he arrived, he told me I should stop smoking weed. I didn’t care and asked him what he was up to. He said he was planning a trip to Barcelona, Spain.
The plan was that on this trip, we would dress up in Roman soldier costumes in pairs and take pictures with tourists in Barcelona to earn money. We were counting on Barcelona being a large city with lots of tourists, assuming we could make a good amount. There were supposed to be six of us going, and we planned to fly there. Danny was one of the six, so I decided to go along. I was excited about the trip and wanted to keep it a secret from Stacey. I saw it as a kind of escape from her, a way to finally break up with her.
The night before we were supposed to leave for Barcelona, I was with Stacey, and we were talking about our plans for the next day. When she asked me where I was going, I hesitated, caught off guard. I’m a terrible liar, so I ended up telling her I was going to Barcelona the next day.
Naturally, she got angry and didn’t want me to go. She was hysterical and wouldn’t let me go home. I eventually made it home, packed my bags, and went to sleep. I woke up in the morning; my flight was at noon. I met the rest of the team at the airport, and then my phone rang. It was Stacey, but I didn’t want to answer because I was enjoying myself. We boarded the plane and first flew to Stuttgart, Germany. At the airport there, I noticed a lot of women looking at me and the rest of the group. We then flew to Barcelona, arriving in the evening. The “Spannabis” festival was happening in Barcelona during those days (from November 3rd to 13th), and I had briefly considered going, but ultimately wasn’t that interested. As we were taking the bus into the city, I saw a van from the company “Sensi Seeds” drive by.
It was cool because I had ordered some seeds from them.
We took the subway to our apartment in the Sant Andreu neighborhood. The address was Carrer de Castellbell 25, near the Fabra i Puig metro station. The next day, we explored the city and I noticed orange trees on our street. We took the subway to scout out the best locations for taking pictures with tourists.
We reached the city center and walked along the famous La Rambla. We saw some street performers who were actually living statues. They had a pedestal they stood on, and their permits were clearly displayed. We considered getting a permit ourselves, but that would take too long. We found a square near La Rambla that looked like a good spot to perform. Some dark-skinned men were selling toys that were essentially slingshots launching small helicopters that then slowly descended to the ground. Many people were passing through the square, and we chose it as our spot. Nearby, there was a luggage storage facility. The next day, we brought bags containing our armor and other Roman military clothing and paid the owner to store them there so we could change. We gathered and decided that Danny and I would be the first to dress up and start taking pictures with people. We did it, and it was a historic moment for our group. However, we weren’t making much money.
After our whole team went home, we decided to have some drinks and go out. After getting ready for the party, we mixed gin and tonics, and everyone started sharing some surprisingly personal and sensitive stories. One guy talked about how his father was a heroin addict and how he’d had to beat him up one night. I ended up in my room with Harry, and I confided in him that Stacey was constantly angry and resentful towards me because of her miscarriages, and that I honestly didn’t care. Harry called a doctor friend in Croatia and talked to him about the situation. After he hung up, he explained some things to me. It seemed I had either dodged two bullets, or Stacey had been lying, because when she went to her gynecologist, he didn’t write an official report stating she’d had a miscarriage. He had just talked to her without documenting anything, probably because she was a minor at the time.
We all went out and took the metro. I could smell weed on the train, and it smelled fantastic. I wondered where it was coming from. We went to the Opium Club near the sea. Harry was a good dancer and started dancing with a girl. I was with Danny, and then he went to the bathroom. I saw a beautiful girl standing alone, but I was too nervous to approach her. When Danny came back, he told me he’d been doing cocaine with some guy in the bathroom. He seemed very excited and happy after doing the cocaine. We tried to find someone to hook up with, but we were unsuccessful, so we went outside. I saw a beautiful girl from the club walking away in the distance, with some guy circling around her, hugging her and bothering her. I briefly thought about intervening, but I noticed she didn’t really seem to mind, and her resistance was lessening over time.
Danny suggested I pay a black hooker that charged $15. I thought, “Why not? Fuck Stacey and all her abuse, let’s go for it.” Prostitution was illegal in Spain so we had to improvise our place for sex and we walked a little further away from the Opium Club. I asked her where she was from and how old she was. She told me that she was from Ghana, at the age of 22. We found a park with bushes in the dark and hid between them. I was nervous and I lowered my pants. My cock was half erect and she barely put a condom on it. Then she lowered her pants, turned her back on me, and leaned forward. I didn’t penetrate her, but I just simulated to fuck her. She realized this and began to moan. I also started to “moan,” and then another sex worker approached. I grabbed her breasts, but she asked for payment first, so I gave up on that. I finished my fake encounter without even climaxing.
The sex workers left, and then some guys came up to me and showed me a bag of weed. I immediately wanted to buy it, but they insisted I take a walk with them to some secluded alley. We walked through the park, and they spoke to each other in a language I didn’t understand. Suddenly, police officers appeared out of nowhere and demanded IDs from all of us. As they began searching us, they asked me what I was doing with these guys. I told them they had just offered me a walk. The police officer likely realized what was going on and let me go, while the other guys were arrested.
I left and went back to the front of Opium to find Danny. He was there talking to some African sex workers. I joined them, and Danny told me he was going to pay for my next encounter. I wanted redemption for my previous failure and accepted the offer. I assumed we’d go to a more private location, but she took me to the pier at the local port. We sat down on the wall, and I lowered my pants. My penis was only about 20% erect, and I started masturbating. The sex worker, probably feeling sorry for me and wanting to justify the money I’d given her, desperately tried to help me by also masturbating me. My erection was still non-existent, and then some men walked by, which really turned me off. I gave up on sleeping with that sex worker and went to meet Danny.
Dawn was breaking, and we went for a walk around the city. We met a suspicious-looking couple and asked if they knew anyone who could sell us weed. We went to a building, and the guy rang the doorbell on the intercom while Danny and I waited to the side with the girl. The guy assured us we could call there anytime and get weed, but no one answered.
We were disappointed and about to leave, but the guy stopped us and offered us some cocaine. I wanted to try it, and he made three lines on his smartphone. He snorted the first one, Danny took the second, and then it was my turn. I checked to make sure my nostrils were clear. I thought they were ready, but as I snorted the line, some cocaine fell out of my nostril onto the phone. I quickly snorted the rest to make sure I got it all. I asked the guy when it would start working, and he said immediately. I didn’t feel anything; it was probably fake. The four of us went for a walk and discovered that the couple actually lived on the street. They told us about their trip to South America and how they’d tried ayahuasca, a powerful psychoactive substance. I found it interesting as I watched Barcelona wake up and begin a new day. Danny and I said goodbye to the couple and took the subway back to our apartment.
The next day, Danny and I went to work as Roman soldiers. We encountered a high school excursion of students from Italy. I met my doppelgänger and took a picture with him. After that funny experience and a reasonably good shift, we went home. We decided to go out alone that night, so we dressed up and headed towards the Opium club. We got there and started dancing with some Asian girls. Then two men who were nearby approached us and asked if we had money to spend time with them. We realized they were their pimps. We declined their offer and went to find other women.
We found two more women and started talking to them. I told one of them that we were from Croatia and had come to Barcelona to dress up as Roman soldiers and work for tips. Danny then pulled me aside and told me not to be so serious. He said he’d told his date he drove a Ferrari, which was a more exciting story than mine. Eventually, Danny went off somewhere with his date, and I stayed to talk to the other woman. After a while, I asked her if she wanted to have sex with me. She said “maybe,” which I’ve always thought was a clever answer. A “no” could have potentially put her at risk of me becoming aggressive, and a “yes” would have forced her to be intimate even if she didn’t really want to. She went to the bathroom, which I took as a rejection, and I lit a cigarette to console myself.
Suddenly, a drunk girl came over, took my cigarette without a word, and left. That threw me off a bit, but I pulled myself together and lit another one. Danny came back and told me he’d had sex with his date in the bathroom. Danny was a real player, and I wanted to be more like him. We left the club and took the metro. I smelled weed again and wondered where it was coming from. We boarded the train, and the smell became stronger. I noticed a guy in the back of the train secretly smoking a joint.
He walked toward us, likely trying to blend in, but he caught my attention. He walked past us and kept going, and Danny and I looked at each other in the train window and realized we looked like lost puppies. I thought, “If I’m not going to get laid, at least I can get high while I’m in Barcelona.” So, just before the last stop, I went after the guy with the joint. I approached him and asked if he wanted to sell it to me. He said, “$10!” I reached for my wallet and pretended to be confused as I pulled out a $5 bill.
I told him that was all I had, and he agreed to give me the joint for the $5. We got off the train and walked up the stairs while the joint was burning. We reached the street, and it started to rain. I tried to shield myself and protect the joint as if it were the last one I’d ever have. We started walking toward our place, and the rain intensified, but luckily, we found a covered spot next to the street.
We started smoking the joint, and it was delicious, especially considering we were in the middle of Spain. We got high and then went home. I’d accomplished my goal of getting high while in Barcelona and fell asleep soundly that night. The next day was a day of solo wandering for me. I wanted to explore the city more, and my sense of adventure was strong. I took the metro all the way to Camp Nou, the Barcelona football club stadium, but I only saw it from the outside because I didn’t want to pay the entrance fee. I went to Park Güell and later took a selfie in front of the Torre Glòries building. That was the end of my Barcelona trip. The next day, we packed our bags and went to the airport. Just before takeoff, the flight attendants gave the standard safety briefing. Danny watched it all and then said, “What is this crap? Let’s fly!”
As we reached Croatian airspace, it was nighttime, and it was a cool sight to see the city lights below. We landed in Split, and my dad and Henry were waiting for me at the airport. Danny didn’t have a ride, so we offered him one. On the way home, I noticed how simple and uncomplicated Split seemed compared to Barcelona. There weren’t as many lanes and lights around the city. About half an hour after I landed, as we were driving home, my phone rang. It was Stacey. I suspect she’d asked some of Danny’s other friends when we were landing and calculated the right time to call me. I ignored her calls. When I got home, my family asked about my trip, and I said it was good. I called Danny, and we went to meet our drug dealer to get some weed. We talked about our experiences in Barcelona, and the dealer said my eyes were shining with joy. We drove somewhere by the sea, and I finally got high after a long break.
I decided to grow weed again in the same location as the previous year. In the spring, I ordered about 20 seeds online. I wanted to improve my soil mix, so I also ordered Neem, a substrate that provides nutrients and pest protection for the plants, and more water retention gel. I planned to start earlier that year, instead of waiting until late summer. Since I needed a place to store everything, I rented a garage in Split.
Someone asked me why I was renting the garage. I told him I planned to do some horticulture in the suburbs. Ironically, this guy worked in the customs department of the police. A few days later, I went to my grandfather and Uncle Benny’s place in Split. I needed money for my new weed-growing venture. I asked if they could lend me $2,000. Uncle Benny didn’t have much or didn’t want to lend it, but my grandfather gave me $1,000. I’d also saved some money from working as a Roman soldier, but my desire for profit was stronger than ever. I bought twenty 4-gallon containers, ordered a large amount of garden soil, and bought a can of green spray paint to camouflage the containers. I also bought tightly woven nets to protect the seedlings from insects while still allowing them light. I ordered Neem, water retention gel, perlite, and purchased duct tape.
May
In the spring, my grandfather from the suburbs passed away in his sleep. It was the first death on my mother’s side of the family, and it was a huge shock for all of us. We all went to the suburbs to mourn him. My weeping grandmother said that only saints die in their sleep. She cried as she told me I would take only good deeds with me when I go to heaven. The priest came, and we prayed for my grandfather. While everyone was praying, including me, I cried loudly for a short time, then stopped and left. The funeral was a few days later. First, we were all in the morgue, where other people came to offer their condolences. Then, we had a procession to the church for the Mass. When it was over, I went outside first and saw an older guy taking pictures with a cheap, small camera. I assumed he was a local oddball and told him to stop, but he continued, so I got angry. We had another procession to the grave, and the same guy was circling us, taking pictures. I still thought he was just a local lunatic and again told him to stop. He said he was doing his job, so I buried my grandfather feeling angry. Later, when I told my uncle what had happened, he told me that he had asked the man to take pictures. I felt terrible.
Since we rented our apartment to tourists during the summer, we needed somewhere else to live. My youngest brother Henry overheard my grandmother and uncle talking on the day of my grandfather’s death. They said we could stay in the house in the suburbs that summer. Our whole family moved back there. When I got back, I felt like a stranger and longed for city life. I’d even forgotten about Lenny and all my other childhood friends.
June
I broke my HTC HD2 while working out at home. My dad took it to someone to fix, but they didn’t have the spare parts. I ended up ordering a brand new Lenovo Vibe K5 for $100.
One afternoon while working as a Roman soldier, there were many opportunities for romantic encounters. I didn’t succeed with every single one, as my flirting skills weren’t the strongest, but I enjoyed the interactions with the various women. One day, a girl came to take a photo with me and a colleague. I asked for her phone number and where she was staying in Split. She told me she was going to Makarska in a few hours, and I said I would meet her there. I was so determined to sleep with her that I drove to Makarska that evening. It was an hour’s drive, but I was really focused on this. I arrived in Makarska and met up with her. We went for a walk along the coast, away from the city center, and I found a secluded spot to roll a joint and smoke. I offered her some, but she declined. We walked back towards the city center, and that’s when we ran into some of her friends. The girl told them I’d come all the way from Split to see her, and one of her friends became overly protective. Everyone started to leave, and her friend made it clear I wasn’t welcome. They all walked off, leaving me alone and disappointed. I headed back to Split. I got in my car and started driving through Makarska. I was pulled over by the police and handed over my driver’s license and registration. The policeman saw my last name and said he knew my dad. I was extremely lucky because I was high at the time. He let me go, and I returned to Split.
While working as a Roman soldier, I met a girl from Argentina. I was interested in sleeping with her. I told her my birthday was coming up and I wanted to celebrate it with just her. One night, after working as a Roman soldier and checking on my growing operation, I waited for her at my apartment in Split. She told me she was having dinner and would contact me later. I was exhausted, so I lay down on the couch and reluctantly fell asleep. When I woke up an hour later, I saw a message from her saying I hadn’t responded to her messages and that she’d gone back to her own apartment in Split. I’d missed my chance.
She mentioned that she planned to come back to Split in July.
July
I kept in touch with a girl from Argentina, and she told me she would be returning to Split. One evening, we met in the city, and I had an apartment available that was usually rented to tourists. We walked from downtown to my old neighborhood and sat under an overpass near the hill where I used to get high. I rolled a joint, and we smoked together. We got high and made our way to my apartment. Once there, we sat on the balcony in the dark, the only illumination coming from the lights of my neighborhood. I rolled another joint, and we smoked again. At some point, we started kissing, our bodies pressing together as we stripped down to our underwear. I stood up, guiding her toward the room with my hand tugging at her thong. She grabbed her phone to play music while we made love—it didn’t bother me. St. Germain – Sure Thing played in the background.
In the room, we stripped down completely. I laid her on the bed, parted her legs, and teased her with my tongue, drawing soft moans from her lips—this was just the beginning. I kissed her again, trailing my lips down her neck. Then I lay back as she took me into her mouth, glancing up with a playful look. She murmured something about not having had one this big in a while. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. With the music still playing in the background, I reached for a condom. She lay back again, spreading her legs, anticipation hanging in the air.
I eased into her slowly, and in that moment, we became one. Our rhythm built naturally, moving together in sync. After a while, we switched positions—this time, I lay back as she straddled me. She guided me inside her, rolling her hips, lost in the moment. Our breathing grew heavier, and soon, her moans filled the room, growing louder as pleasure overtook her. She became incredibly passionate as she took control, speaking in Spanish. Her words, “yes papi, yes,” added to the intensity of the moment. We decided to try unprotected sex, which felt more intimate than using a condom, but I remained cautious due to the risk of pregnancy. The night lasted until dawn, and afterward, we shared a joint. Even though I didn’t reach climax during our time together, it was still a fulfilling experience. I walked her to the bus stop, returned to my apartment, and later took care of myself.
I met another woman from Australia who I was interested in. Wearing a Roman soldier costume seemed to boost my confidence. We planned a date, and I picked her up in the center of Split. We went to a hill near my place and smoked together, then headed back to my apartment where we relaxed and smoked again. In the dimly lit living room, with music playing in the background, I made a move to kiss and touch her, but she pulled away. I decided to try a different approach—I went to my room, changed into a towel, and returned to the living room, hoping to catch her attention. She smiled, but I misinterpreted her reaction and assumed she wasn’t interested in taking things further. I got dressed again and joined her in the living room. That night didn’t lead to anything physical, and I told her she might regret it later. We stayed in contact, and she eventually admitted that she did regret it. It seemed like she might have been teasing me, but I sensed there was some interest on her part.
One mid-July afternoon, I woke up around 4 p.m. and headed to the garage to prepare the soil and containers for planting. It was a lot of work. First, I painted the pots green to make them less noticeable from above. Next, I mixed soil, neem, and water retention gel into a single blend and filled the pots with it. After that, I cut pieces of netting and wrapped them around each container, securing them tightly with adhesive tape. By 3 a.m., I was exhausted, so I took a break to eat and smoke a joint on a hill near my old neighborhood. As dawn started to break, I returned to the garage to continue working.
I loaded as many soil-filled containers as I could into my car and drove to the mountains. My goal was to arrive before sunrise to avoid both people and the heat. To save time and reduce the risk of running into police officers who occasionally patrolled a known spot on the interstate about a mile north, I took a shortcut. I reached a dirt road near my growing site just as the sky was beginning to brighten, though the sun hadn’t fully risen yet. I started unloading the containers and carefully carried them to their designated spots, making sure to avoid creating any visible trails that someone might follow. By 8 or 9 a.m., I was done. I took a moment to smoke a joint, then headed back home to the suburbs. But my work wasn’t finished yet.
In the afternoon, I had to head back to Split to prepare the remaining containers. Despite feeling exhausted, I forced myself to stay awake and had lunch, though the stress of what I was doing made me feel nauseous. By late afternoon, I was back in Split, working through the night to finish preparing the soil and containers. The thought of the potential money kept me going, even as I faced another sleepless night. By dawn, I had completed everything, loaded the soil-filled containers into my car, and drove to the mountains. Once there, I carried them to my cultivation site, completing the task.
It was grueling work, but I finally finished around 5:30 in the morning. Exhausted, I returned to my car, rolled a joint, and smoked it to unwind. The drive home took about half an hour to the highway, then another stretch along the highway to Split. Along the way, I stopped at a parking lot near Stobreč to smoke a bit more. That joint hit me so hard that I ended up falling asleep in my car around 7 a.m. After being awake for nearly 39 hours—working physically and navigating a risky, illegal activity without the aid of stimulants like speed or cocaine—I desperately needed rest. I woke up suddenly around 9 a.m., relieved that no police officers had noticed me in the parking lot. I drove the rest of the way home and finally got some proper sleep.
A few days later, I met up with Harry to discuss the possibility of “laundering” the money I might make from selling weed. When I asked him about it, he questioned whether I was prepared to face jail time, to which I replied that I wasn’t. He hinted that we might be able to work something out. The following day, he called and asked me to meet him again. During our conversation, he offered to connect me with an indoor weed grower, suggesting I could make a significant amount of money. However, he made it clear that if I were caught, I couldn’t mention his name. After considering the risks, I decided to decline his offer.
In mid-July, I felt the urge to swim naked and decided to head to the only nudist beach I knew of—a spot known to be popular with the gay community. I arrived on a sunny afternoon and found the beach empty. I undressed, feeling a sense of freedom and a bit of excitement. After swimming in the sea, I came back to the shore and noticed an older man, also naked, approaching me. He complimented my appearance and made it clear that he was interested in a sexual encounter. I politely declined his offer and began rolling a joint, using my hat to cover myself as I did so. Once I finished, I walked over to a rock by the sea to sit down. I had brought a joint, a lighter, and my hat with me. As I sat there, I kept my hat over my lap to protect myself from the sun. The man approached me again, persistent in his advances, but I firmly declined once more. I lit the joint and started smoking, eventually offering him a hit. He took a few puffs and mentioned he hadn’t smoked since his trip to Amsterdam. After handing the joint back to me, he reached for my hat, trying to remove it. I immediately became angry and told him to stop.
Another naked man appeared on the beach and stood there, watching us. I suggested to the man who had approached me that he might want to spend time with the other guy instead. He replied that he wasn’t interested in “feminized men.” By then, I was feeling the effects of the joint, and eventually, both men left. Finally alone, I enjoyed swimming naked and stoned, savoring the moment of peace.
The next morning, I returned to the same beach. Since I was alone, I took off my clothes and smoked again. As I went for a walk, I came across an older man who was fishing, completely nude. I noticed he was well-endowed, but we simply ended up chatting about the beach and the people who frequented it. He mentioned that there was another nudist spot at Kašuni Beach in Split. During our conversation, I asked if he was okay with me rolling another joint, and he had no objections. I lit a joint and offered him some. He took a couple of puffs, then pulled out his tablet to play some music. I climbed up the slope to relieve myself, and when I turned back, I noticed him pointing his tablet in my direction, seemingly trying to take a photo. I quickly covered myself and said, “No,” but I suspect he might have taken the photo anyway.
While on the beach, my companion offered to share some cannabis with me, producing a pre-rolled joint in a plastic container. He cautioned me about its potency, suggesting I limit myself to two inhalations. The effects were indeed quite strong and left me feeling disoriented. As we continued our conversation, I observed several unclothed older individuals walking by, which made me realize these beaches primarily attract an older male demographic. During our discussion, I made an insensitive remark about the LGBTQ+ community, which I quickly recognized was inappropriate and offensive. My companion also expressed disapproval of my comment. Before parting ways, he recommended “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle, suggesting it contained valuable insights about meditation practices.
I departed and continued along the beach, hoping to encounter some female sunbathers. While still clothed, I noticed several women behind a rocky outcrop. I decided to disrobe but waited until I felt composed enough to walk past them respectfully. They paid no attention as I passed by. I set up my beach spot a short distance away and went for a swim, occasionally glimpsing them enjoying the water. While nothing transpired at the beach, the encounter left a lasting impression in my private thoughts later that evening.
July 20, 2016 proved to be memorable. I visited Kašuni Beach, located on a peninsula. While the main section featured conventional beaches – where I received Harry’s call – the western area toward the peninsula’s tip had a different character. This section was marked by rocky shores interspersed with small pebble beaches beneath pine-covered slopes. The secluded nature of this area made it perfect for naturist activities, away from the more populated main beach.
Following a path overlooking the shoreline, I spotted a small cove nestled among the rocks, situated between the main beaches and the peninsula’s point. Upon descending the rocks, I found someone had thoughtfully hung a large sheet between the rocks, creating a shaded area. Taking advantage of the private, empty spot during the intense midday heat, I laid out my towel in the shade, undressed, and made my way to the water. I swam naked, hoping a woman would come along so I could have sex with her on the small beach. I swam between the rocks to the shallows and urinated in the sea. Afterward, a mature woman approached the rock next to me, and I greeted her in English, asking where she was from. She replied that she was Croatian, and we both laughed. She then broke the awkward silence by completely undressing in front of me.
I was surprised I didn’t get an erection, unlike the previous day when I’d seen women at the gay beach. I suppose I’d become desensitized to seeing naked bodies. I swam back to shore and got out of the water. As I reached my seat, an elderly couple descended the rocks. They were both wearing swimsuits; the woman was topless and had large breasts. Upon reaching a small beach, the elderly couple and the woman I’d spoken with earlier had a verbal altercation. The woman told them they couldn’t use sheets to reserve space on the public beach. The older woman retorted that she could do as she pleased. After a brief exchange, the woman lay down, while the couple began talking to me. The man chuckled, commenting that women always argue. I asked if they were bothered by my being near them under the covers, and they said they weren’t. As I chatted with them, I rolled a joint, occasionally glancing at the woman. She looked stunning sunbathing nude with a summer hat.
I finished rolling my joint and walked over to her, feeling nervous but telling myself I had nothing to lose. I asked if she minded if I smoked next to her. She said it was fine, and we began talking. She told me her name was Ava and that she was 48. I was 22, but the age difference didn’t bother either of us. In fact, she said I was close to the youngest she’d consider. We chatted a bit more, and I got high. She suggested a swim to cool down, then dove gracefully headfirst into the water. We swam and continued our conversation. Returning to the shore, the older woman who’d argued with Ava earlier remarked that she thought Ava was around 48 or 49. I agreed, suspecting she’d overheard our conversation. Unconcerned, I grabbed my towel and belongings and placed them next to Ava, who was just emerging from the water. We spent time together on the rock, and as the afternoon wore on, we both got sunburned.
I suggested we go to a café. While I hoped to have sex with her, I also genuinely enjoyed her company and considered her a friend. We drove to a café in the Split ghetto. She ordered a coffee with milk, and I ordered milk, hoping it would lessen my high. We talked for a long time, and she revealed that she was divorced and had a daughter. After more conversation, I drove us to a large park towards Kašuni. I felt a little self- conscious being with her, worried about running into someone I knew and them seeing me with someone old enough to be my mother. The slight discomfort wasn’t overwhelming, but it was irritating. We spread our towels on the grass, and I rolled and smoked another joint. After about an hour, I drove her home. She lived between my old neighborhood and the ghetto. During our goodbye, we both expressed a desire to see each other again. Back home in the suburbs, I tried searching for her on Facebook, but I couldn’t recall her last name. Fortunately, we’d exchanged phone numbers.
On July 20, 2016, I began documenting my cannabis cultivation online. Since I only grew autoflowering strains, I found a helpful website called autoflower.org. I started my own thread there called “Container Guerrilla,” using the username “Badger.”
A few days later, it was Danny’s birthday, and he threw a big party at his house. His parents were away, so we brought some weed. He also made us a three-course dinner, which was quite an experience. We all got high, and then I received a message from Ava. She invited me to join her in Stobreč by the sea, saying she had work to do there and was waiting for me. I accepted and drove to Stobreč in the evening. We met at a local campsite and went for a walk under the streetlights. We reached the beach, and she spread out a towel for us to sit on. We talked, and eventually, I worked up the nerve to kiss her. After the kiss, she jokingly asked what took me so long. I’d been thinking that after Stacey, things would never be the same, and that I’d lost a lot of my passion.
A few days later, Ava and I were on a sunny beach, kissing and caressing. I became aroused, and she became lubricated. She lay back and spread her legs, and I penetrated her without a condom. We both moaned with pleasure. I began gently, then increased the pace. To my surprise, she reached climax quickly, and I doubt she was faking it. To my even greater surprise, I ejaculated inside her, though I did so reluctantly due to my fear of pregnancy.
Despite the low probability at her age, she was still menstruating, which was a major source of anxiety for me during sex. My other concern was that we always had sex on the beach, exposed to voyeurs and passersby. Afterwards, she stood on the rocks by the sea, and I watched her from behind. She leaned on one leg, and I thought she had a magnificent body. I wanted us to have a better sex life. I realized I’d lost much of the passion I’d had with Stacey and that I probably wouldn’t be able to satisfy Ava the way I had Stacey.
One day, Ava and I were between the public beach in Kašuni and our usual secluded spot. There were more people around than usual, and the beach was pebbles, not rocks. We swam and then moved to shallower water. We embraced, and I became erect. She noticed and then mounted me right there in the shallows. I thrust for a few moments but then stopped, feeling too embarrassed to have sex with so many people nearby.
Ava and I decided to take a day trip to Makarska. We left in the morning, and she drove. We passed through Omiš and arrived in Makarska about an hour later. After buying some food, we parked under the pine trees. We went to the beach, and the heat was so intense that we couldn’t wait to swim naked. We walked past several “clothed” beaches before finally reaching a nudist beach. We laid out our towels and went into the clear blue water.
We got out of the water, and I rolled a joint. I lit it while lying naked with her, with people passing by just 50 feet away. In front of us, two men, presumably foreigners, were also nude. She remarked that they were looking at me and were probably gay. I didn’t care; I was on a nudist beach with a beautiful woman, far from home.
We had lunch and stayed on the beach until evening. We got dressed and bought ice cream. On the drive home, with her at the wheel, I got hungry and started spreading pâté on bread. She then mentioned she was hungry too, so I gave her pieces of the pâté-covered bread as she drove. A few days later, she told me that it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her.
I grew marijuana and worked as a Roman soldier in Split. I visited my plants once or twice a week to check on their progress, sometimes cycling all the way to the mountains. On one occasion, I nearly became dehydrated while watering them and stumbled upon a workshop with an outdoor water tap.
Growing marijuana was both exciting and nerve-wracking. One day, while tending to my plants, I heard a loud whirring noise that sounded like many helicopters. It turned out to be a large flock of birds flying overhead. Another time, I saw a military helicopter in the distance flying towards Split. I had to quickly hide behind some bushes to avoid being seen.
I often biked from the suburbs to Split, as I didn’t always have a car. I began getting high before every shift while working as a Roman soldier. One day, while working with Danny, some women came to take pictures with us. I asked them for a tip, then forgot I’d already asked and asked again. They ended up tipping us twice, which made for an awkward situation. After the shift ended, Danny and I went to count the money. Typically, we would make between $100 and $150 per 4-hour shift, which was great money back then. We would get high again and in the evening we went to Matejuška, a part of the city of Split by the sea, behind the Riva (the promenade), towards the peninsula. We ran into some American tourists and got high with them. We talked about weed strains and I was proud to know so many strains. I almost told both them and Danny that I was growing weed. When we finished talking to them, we went to another part of Matejuška to meet some people. They offered me and Danny some speed and Danny took the first fat line. Then it was my turn and I snorted the next thick line.
I felt good, despite my eyes watering from the speed. We all laughed, agreeing that it was high-quality. We got a little more stoned, and then I headed back to the suburbs. It was a six-mile bike ride, both uphill and downhill, but I didn’t mind. On the interstate late at night, I coasted downhill, enjoying the warm night air. As I neared the suburbs, I decided to go to the river. It was the middle of the night, and no one was around, so I undressed and felt like swimming. I didn’t fully submerge myself in the cold water, worried about having a heart attack. I went home and tried to sleep, but the speed kept me awake. I occasionally felt a sharp pain in my heart.
I bought “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle and learned some breathing exercises, including continuous breathing. Normally, people pause briefly between inhaling and exhaling. One evening, while reading, I decided to try continuous breathing, even though it’s recommended against when trying to sleep. I put down my book, lay on my back, closed my eyes, and began breathing slightly faster than usual, without any pauses. Suddenly, I felt like I was teleported to a road near my neighborhood in Split, floating above it while hearing a white noise sound. The sensation lasted two seconds, and then I was back in my body.
A few days later, while sleeping on my back, just before waking up, I had a vivid sensation of observing myself lying in bed with my eyes closed as I rapidly approached my own body. Then I woke up.
August
One sunny morning in August, I drove my car into the mountains to visit my plants.
Everything was going well with my plants, so I rolled a joint to celebrate. I put on sunglasses, smoked it, and then drove to Split for my Roman soldier job. I drove down towards Solin, a town near Split, while high and with a bag of weed in the passenger seat. I glanced in my rearview mirror and noticed an attractive girl in the car behind me. Looking back at the road, I suddenly braked, causing me to rear-end the car in front of me.
I immediately threw the weed out the window. Fortunately, the driver of the car I hit was calm, and the damage to both vehicles was minor. The only issue was that it was a company car. We exchanged numbers, and he said he’d contact me about insurance. I got back in my car and drove to Split for my Roman soldier shift. Later, foolishly, I returned to the scene of the accident to look for the bag of weed I’d thrown out, but I never found it. Since the damage to my car wasn’t significant, I made up a story about hitting something. Two days later, the other driver called to say he’d handled all the insurance paperwork.
A few weeks later, my Roman soldiers group organized a trip to Slovenia. Fifteen of us were going, so we planned to travel in two cars and a van. One sunny morning, I was driving one of the cars, with Danny and two others as passengers. We planned to smoke a joint while driving and decided to do so after a short break in Knin, a town near my hometown. We stopped in Knin and then continued on to Slovenia.
Danny pulled out a pre-rolled joint, and we lit it. As we drove and smoked, I got a little higher than I intended. I had the sense to not wear my seatbelt. We were driving towards Slovenia when I saw a police officer standing on the side of the two-lane highway. We made eye contact, but he didn’t react. We dodged a bullet there. We continued into Slovenia, and I then saw a line of stopped cars. I decided to overtake them, then realized it was a road construction zone, and the cars were waiting for a green light at a temporary traffic signal. Fortunately, I ended up in the construction lane, which was gravel. Cars coming from the other direction honked at me as I passed. Danny and the other two passengers, who had been sleeping, woke up and saw what happened. After dodging another bullet, we stopped, and I asked one of the other passengers to take over driving.
We arrived in Slovenia and settled into a campsite with small cabins near Ptuj. We had a performance that evening and then returned to the camp to sleep. The next day, we had a morning performance, followed by an afternoon break. Danny and I went to a local coffee shop, where I openly asked people if they had any weed. No one did, so we returned to the camp.
Our whole group had dinner and then decided to drink at the campsite cabins. We gathered in one and gradually got drunk, singing and being loud. Some of us, realizing it was time to stop, went to bed. Others, including Danny and me, decided to go out. We took a taxi to Ptuj, paid the fare, and found a nightclub under a large tent. I was very drunk (9/10) and feeling great. I saw a DJ on stage, and people were dancing. Then it started raining, and everyone moved under the tent. I was the only one who stayed dancing in front of the stage and the DJ, getting soaked but having a fantastic time. When I got tired, I went back to Danny, who showed me a video of me dancing in the rain. We laughed and went back to the camp. A few days later, we left Slovenia and returned home.
I spent the rest of the summer working as a Roman soldier, smoking weed, and going to the beach. One day, I went to the gay beaches to get high and swim naked, hoping to meet someone. However, the only people there were gay men. I moved further down the coast towards Stobreč, got high again, and, unable to contain my horniness, masturbated. I then went for a swim, heading in the direction of Stobreč. I noticed two women sunbathing on the beach. I swam a bit further and then started to approach them. I got out of the water a little distance from them and walked towards my spot. As I passed the women, I saw that one was a tanned, topless mature woman, and the other was much younger. I walked by them and went back to my spot.
After a while, the wind picked up, and as I watched the sea, I noticed an inflatable mattress about 50 yards offshore, drifting away. I immediately swam out to it, grabbed it, and brought it back to shore. I wondered who it belonged to but decided to keep it. Shortly after, I looked towards Stobreč and saw the tanned, topless mature woman approaching me. I suspected it was her mattress and waited to see what would happen. Soon, she was close by, and I stood up naked and walked towards her.
We met, and she told me her name was Amber. She asked about the mattress, and I confirmed I’d retrieved it. She then asked what I was doing there, and I told her I was swimming naked. I asked her age, and she said 46. I told her I was 22, and she mentioned having a son my age. She then subtly straightened up, almost as if offering her breasts. I wasn’t interested. I explained that I’d been on the beach all day and had already masturbated. I suggested we exchange numbers, which we did. For some reason, she had her phone with her on the beach.
She told me to keep the mattress. I went back to my spot, and she lingered nearby for a while, but I didn’t pay much attention. Eventually, a man came to the beach near me, and she greeted him. They chatted while I rolled another joint. Amber went into the sea, and by the time I finished rolling, she was walking in the shallows near some rocks. She was a beautiful sight, but I wasn’t interested, especially with the other man now present. Suddenly, she grimaced in pain and sat down in the shallow water. I went over and asked what was wrong. She said she’d stepped on a sea urchin—common on those beaches. I went into the water and asked her to lift her foot. I examined her foot but couldn’t find any sea urchin spines.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her looking lustfully to the side, and she was probably looking at the guy on the beach who had come a few minutes ago. Her face had a look like these women.
Later in life, while writing this book and searching for images, I also came across this one.
Realizing there was no sea urchin issue, I returned to my spot. She then joined the man on the beach, who was a nudist. I saw her beckoning me over, so I joined them.
The man asked my name, and I introduced myself. I joined them, and we stood in silence for a few moments. Then, I began kissing Amber and untied her swimsuit. She knelt down and began performing oral sex on me. I was nervous about my first threesome, and my arousal wasn’t what it used to be, but eventually, I became erect. She was impatient and stood up, turned her back to me, and presented her rear.
I penetrated her, and she finally got what she wanted. I was happy too; there’s nothing better than sex without a condom. I began thrusting, and she simultaneously masturbated the other man. He had a slightly aggressive look on his face and was telling me to “fuck that whore good.” I felt myself about to ejaculate, and she sensed it. Just before the point of no return, I pulled out. She moaned in disappointment, but I was worried about pregnancy. The other man then continued having sex with her. When he finished, I asked her to lie down so I could have sex with her. She refused, so I masturbated and ejaculated on her breasts. People on the beach, including gay, bisexual, and straight men, began approaching, so we all got dressed and left.
The day after the incident on the beach, I met Ava in Split and proudly told her I’d had sex with another mature woman. She simply turned and walked away. I couldn’t blame her. She forgave me a few days later.
Amber contacted me afterward, asking if I wanted to do it again. I declined, and she then blocked me.
I continued to go to the gay beaches to get high. The attention I received from the men there made me realize how women feel when they’re constantly pursued by men who don’t understand social cues—it’s absolutely exhausting. I was no longer the hunter; I had become the hunted.
September
One day, I went for a nude swim with Ava and showed her pictures of my marijuana plants. That evening, I drove her home and then went to a parking lot by the hill in my neighborhood to get high. As I was rolling a joint, Stacey contacted me. I don’t recall the subject of our conversation. I ended the call and continued rolling in my car. I had my grinder and weed in the passenger seat when I noticed another car entering the parking lot. I was the only one there, and it parked to my left. A man got out and approached me. He identified himself as a police officer and showed me his badge. He asked what I was doing there, and I replied that I was meeting my ex- girlfriend and could prove it. He declined to see any proof and asked for my ID. I was scared, hoping he hadn’t noticed the weed in the passenger seat. He ran my information with his colleagues at the station. Since I had no record, he returned my ID and left. I was incredibly lucky, yet again.
October
By early October, my cannabis plants were thriving.
Some of them were ready for harvest and drying.
November
In November, Ava told me about a friend of hers who worked in bioenergetics. Bioenergetic therapy explores the interconnectedness of body, mind, and spirit. Bioenergetic therapists use movement, breathing, touch, and dialogue to help clients release physical tension that can contribute to emotional and mental stress. She suggested I try it because I had digestive issues and was addicted to marijuana.
I accepted her offer and one day went to Solin, a city near Split. I met the bioenergetic therapist, and he began playing Eastern music and lit a candle. I explained my situation, and then we began the session. I lay face up on a massage table. He placed his hand on the table near my groin, but I didn’t react. It didn’t bother me; I saw it as part of the process. He then placed his hands on various parts of my body, and soon the session was over. I paid him $30 and never saw him again.
December
Around Christmas 2016, I finished my cannabis harvest. I’d read that hanging the entire plants upside down to dry allows the nutrients to be drawn out. I hung them to dry on trees near my place. A week later, I returned to find one plant missing. I assumed someone had discovered my grow and taken one plant, perhaps out of pity for leaving the others. The remaining plants were dry and ready to smoke. I placed each one in a glass jar. I had about ten jars full of dried cannabis. It was time to drive to Split with my stash, a risky undertaking, but I hoped for the best. I drove towards Split with all the weed and, luckily, didn’t encounter any police checkpoints. I bought a large, airtight plastic container to store my stash. The plan was to hide the container in the woods above the gay beaches. I went home, got a digital scale, and then went to the location above the beaches. I weighed all the weed, and it totaled about three ounces. I had invested around $1,500 and made roughly the same amount in profit. I hid the container with the jars in the bushes, covering it with a thick layer of pine needles.
One afternoon, I went for a bike ride to check on my stash. For some reason, I decided to take all the jars with me, put them in a bag, and then went to meet Danny. We planned to smoke at our usual spot, the place where the Roman soldiers and gladiators trained. We were alone there, and I then pulled out all the jars of weed.
He was shocked to see I had so much weed. He asked where I’d gotten it, and I told him I’d grown it myself. I asked him to keep it a secret. He was happy and opened one of the jars. He smelled the weed and commented on how pleasant and “healthy” it smelled. I explained that these plants were grown outdoors and fertilized organically, which is why they smelled like mountain herbs, not the skunky weed you usually get from a dealer.
It was the cold winter of 2016/2017, and I went to Zagreb with Danny and Jim to celebrate the New Year. Jim’s mom made sandwiches for the trip, Danny brought a pot of beans for several meals, and I brought the weed. Jim drove us up the A1 motorway, with Danny in the passenger seat and me in the back. I pulled out some weed and started grinding it. Once finished, I gently blew the ground weed toward the front seat. They soon smelled it and started laughing. We stopped at a gas station and parked a little further back. Danny and I smoked, but Jim declined. We got high and arrived in cold Zagreb at Danny’s apartment.
It was warm inside the apartment thanks to the advanced heating system. We ate and got high again. We went to the city center to wait for the New Year, and it was incredibly cold despite the lack of wind. We went to the central square where Psihomodo pop was performing and counted down from 10 to 0. We returned to the apartment and went to sleep. The next day, they wanted to go out again in the evening, but I didn’t feel like it. They went out, and I stayed at the apartment, wanting to sleep. I wasn’t happy and wished I were somewhere else with someone else. I couldn’t sleep and was awake when they returned. The next morning, we packed our bags and headed back to Split. We had some weed left, which we saved for the return trip.
@Limbo 
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