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When I was in sixth grade, a gaming center opened in the suburbs. Someone had set up twelve computers so people could pay to play games with friends. It was a LAN party setup. A local area network (LAN) connects computers and devices within a limited area, like a building or campus. The devices are connected via a common communication line or a wireless connection to a server. I loved playing Call of Duty 2 multiplayer and especially enjoyed using a sniper rifle to take out my opponents. I was skilled at the game, usually ranking in the top 3 on my team. After our gaming session, we went to hang out by the river. 

Lenny took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He offered us cigarettes, and we all took one. When I inhaled, I immediately coughed and decided I didn’t want to smoke anymore. 

I developed a crush on a girl who was in seventh grade. She had developed early and had a beautiful face. She was popular and usually hung out with athletes her age. Everyone laughed when I told them I had feelings for her because they thought she was out of my league. 

One day, our parents invited us to a family gathering at home. It was just my parents, my brother, my sister, and me. Then, our mother told us she was pregnant. We all rushed out of the room right away, thinking they were joking. At least, that was my reason for leaving. After we calmed down and came back, I started wondering why my mom decided to have another baby when there were already three of us. 

The next day, I met Lenny and told him about my soon-to-be brother or sister, as well as the fact that we were going to move to Split.

Lenny got the number of the girl I had a crush on and told me to call her and ask her out. I typed the number into my phone, called her, and put it on speaker. When she answered, instead of saying “hello,” I awkwardly said “good day.” It was a strange way to start a conversation, and I ended up not asking her out. But that didn’t stop me from trying again. 

The next day, I went to Lenny’s place, and there was a seventh-grader hanging out with Lenny’s older brother. That seventh-grader turned out to be my crush’s boyfriend. When we talked about how I was in love with her, he jokingly said he would “send a guy after me who would take care of me.” I found it funny and laughed, wondering why he couldn’t do it himself. 

It was the last day of sixth grade, and after school, I went home to play Call of Duty. I was engrossed in the game, and when I met up with friends later that afternoon, they told me I’d missed something exciting. A bunch of kids from fifth through eighth grade had gone to the river to swim on that warm June day. They said that when my crush got wet, her breasts became visible. I was disappointed to have missed it, but I was also feeling down because I wouldn’t be going to school with them anymore, especially since they were moving on to the last two years of elementary school. 

That summer, my family and I moved to Split into a newly built building in one of the city’s older neighborhoods. On the opening day, all the future residents gathered in the square between the buildings. A man and a woman gave speeches, and everyone clapped. We walked to the entrance of the building with large glass doors, windows, and an intercom system. It felt like high-tech luxury for someone from a small suburb like me. Everything was so clean and new. We took the elevator to the fifth floor and entered our apartment. It was empty, but it smelled good. Everything was brand new. We had a large balcony. A new shopping center had also been built nearby. I tried to look through the peephole in the door but accidentally broke the cover. It was advanced technology for someone from a small suburb like me. Over the next few weeks, we began furnishing our apartment. I discovered cable TV, and after everyone else went to bed, I would secretly watch Hustler TV. It showed hardcore pornography, with clear images of penetration. The breasts were also very visible. I lowered my pants, began masturbating, and quickly ejaculated.

I saved up $200 to buy a brand new Sony Ericsson V630.

I couldn’t watch porn videos on it because mobile web browsing wasn’t very advanced back then. I did find some sexually suggestive images, which I used to masturbate. 

While my brother and sister made friends easily in our new building in Split, I struggled and became withdrawn and isolated. I missed my friends from the suburbs. We bought a PlayStation 2, and I played GTA Vice City Stories. I became immersed in the game again, though not as much as I had with GTA San Andreas. I discovered YouTube and watched videos of other people playing San Andreas, often with interesting modifications or performing stunts with bicycles and cars.

It was summertime, and I was spending it at home. My father became angry about this and forced me to go to Bačvice beach with my brother and sister. I hated the idea and pretended to leave the apartment, closing the door behind me, but actually staying inside. I hid under the bed while my siblings went out. Eventually, my father found out and got very upset. I became angrier than I had ever been and went to the kitchen. I grabbed a knife and, for a moment, considered using it on him, but I eventually put it down. No one ever saw me holding the knife. Afterward, they told me to go to the beach, so I left the apartment and ran into my siblings outside. I told them they could go without me, went back inside, and stayed home. 

One evening, my siblings were playing outside, and my sister came to tell me that a girl my age wanted to meet me. I hesitated at first, but eventually, I went down to meet her. We exchanged a few words, but I felt down and disappointed, so I told her I was going home. 

You could see my mom’s pregnant belly, and I was going to have a brother in just a few months, right as school was about to start. 

School started in September, and I was 13 years old, about to begin seventh grade. On the first day of school, I was outside with my brother and sister. I felt really uncomfortable because I didn’t know anyone. My siblings went to hang out with kids their age, so I did the same. Eventually, I ended up talking to some eighth-grade students. I was nervous about meeting new people, and when I said something awkwardly, one of the kids remarked that I reminded him of another weird kid.

I went inside and met my new teacher, who was much older than my teacher from the suburbs. We walked into the classroom, and she introduced me to the others. Then, it was my turn to introduce myself, so I said I was from the suburbs and shared a bit about myself. I found out that one girl had left their class, and I had a big gap to fill. I was a clumsy kid when I tried to fit in with them. I had some funny songs on my phone, so I decided to send them to a classmate via Bluetooth. I didn’t know any better and was about to start spending time with the “nerds” in class. They weren’t nerds in the traditional sense, just a group of kids who studied hard and had good grades. That’s when I met Danny. Danny was part of a group of smart kids, but he seemed versatile and could fit in with different groups. During the break, a few of us stood in front of the school while the younger kids played, and we talked about my move from the suburbs. 

I went home, and my dad suggested I try a new sport—rowing. I had entered puberty a few years ago and was starting to develop an impressive physique.I was 6’2″, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, which gave me a V-shaped appearance in the upper part of my body.I had well-developed leg muscles. My penis was 6.5 inches long with a 5.9 inch circumference. It was a grower, meaning it appeared smaller when flaccid and grew significantly larger when erect. A “shower” penis is larger even when flaccid and primarily just straightens when erect. I’ve always wished I had a shower.

On a sunny afternoon, my father took me to a rowing club in the western part of Split. I distinctly remember Roxy Music’s “Avalon” playing on the car radio. When we arrived, the same song was playing at a nearby bar. I was nervous about my new adventure in rowing. My coach introduced me to the world of the sport. Inside the hangar, there were consoles with rowboats stored upside down. In front of the hangar, a large plateau extended toward the sea, with a concrete pontoon where the boats were placed into the water. They showed me where we kept the paddles and sneakers, as well as the gym and the indoor “paddling simulator”—a setup with two pools divided by a fixed boat with paddles for training. I went to the locker room to get ready for my first session. Instead of rowing on the sea, I had to run and work out in the gym. After training, I went home feeling satisfied. 

On September 11, my mom gave birth to my youngest brother, Henry. Now, I had two brothers and a sister. We were all happy to have a baby in the house. At school, I didn’t mention his birth to anyone. My teacher later told me she was surprised I hadn’t shared the news and only found out at the parents’ meeting. She brought it up in class, and while most students just reacted with an indifferent “okay,” only a few congratulated me. 

A few days later, we had PE at a small stadium with an athletic track around it, located near my building. The class was for boys only. We practiced long jumps while the teacher evaluated us. I did a few jumps and landed in the sandbox. Some students were assigned to level the sand, but they were disinterested and lazy.

I made another long jump, but when I landed on a hard part of the sand, I heard a crackling sound in my right leg. As I tried to stand up, a sharp pain shot through me—I had broken my leg. Whether it was the frustration of it happening so early in the school year or the sheer pain, I couldn’t hold back my tears. PE came to a halt as everyone gathered around me. Embarrassed and sobbing, I felt all eyes on me.The teacher dismissed the other kids and called my father. When he arrived, he and the teacher helped me off the track, and we drove to the hospital. After a few scans, the doctors confirmed that I had broken a bone near my ankle. The injury required surgery, which made me nervous. They put a plaster cast around my foot and admitted me to the hospital. 

My father visited me and brought me a new Adidas tracksuit from the mall near our building. While in the hospital, I met an older guy, and we spent time watching “Pimp My Ride” on MTV. I laughed as Xzibit installed all sorts of cool things on people’s cars, like plasma TVs in the trunk. 

The day of the surgery arrived, and a nurse shaved the area around my injured leg. I lay in bed, wearing only a hospital gown, as they wheeled me into the operating room. The doctor administered anesthesia, and I drifted off. When I woke up, I had a metal screw in my ankle. A few days later, I was discharged to recover at home. I mostly stayed on the couch and had to use crutches to move around. My mom wondered why the rowing coach didn’t visit me, but I didn’t hold it against him.

I spent my days at home playing with Henry and on my PlayStation 2. I missed about a month or two of school. Later, I had another surgery to remove the metal screw from my leg, and they gave it to me as a keepsake. Danny visited me several times to explain what they were learning in school so I wouldn’t fall behind. I ended up forgetting about 

his help, and he had to remind me to return his notes. I don’t know why I acted that way. To make it up to him, I took him to the local mall for a meal at McDonald’s. 

One day, I was finally ready to return to school, though I arrived 15 minutes late. As I entered the classroom on crutches, carrying my bag, my classmates erupted into applause and cheers. It felt amazing. 

Over the next few months, my leg fully healed, and I was prepared to take on the rest of 2008. 

I got back into my routine and resumed rowing practices. I could not only walk again but also run. During training, we would run from the rowing club to the forest on the Split peninsula. The entire peninsula was covered in pine trees, with roads surrounding it. 

Some of the paths led to the top of a hill with a flag. We ran around the peninsula and then made our way back to the rowing club. After a while, I was allowed to row in a rowboat. Rowing is a sport in which you move in the opposite direction from where you see because you pull the oars towards you. It was strange at first, but I got used to it. I rowed in a type of boat in which there are four rowers, each holding two oars.

It was a very pleasant experience. We were by the sea, enjoying the fresh air and the healthy activity. Danny from school also started rowing training. I made some other friends there as well. After training, when it was time to shower, I wasn’t as self-conscious as I had been at the suburban soccer club. I undressed completely and took a shower. 

One spring day, Danny invited me to his birthday party. I dressed nicely, bought him a gift, and went to the center of Split. He lived in the ghetto area, which is located in and around the ancient Diocletian’s Palace, dating back to around 300 AD. The palace ghetto consists of many small, narrow streets where people live. I arrived at Danny’s house, and some other classmates were already there. We had snacks and then went to the movies. We watched Cloverfield (2008), a movie that included a scene filmed from someone’s camera at a party in New York, before a huge monster attacked the city and people fled for their lives. It was similar to a remake or spinoff of Godzilla (1998). We enjoyed the movie, and after leaving the cinema, we imagined what it would be like if a giant monster came to Split and started destroying the city. We were having fun, and at some point, someone mentioned a TV channel called TV1000, which showed softcore porn movies every night. 

One night, my siblings were sleeping, and I heard my parents having sex again. I heard my mom moaning and my dad clapping her ass. Then she stopped moaning and I heard my dad moaning. He was probably cumming at that moment. 

Sometimes, when we were at my parents’ house, my sister would say things like, “I heard Mom and Dad say “ah, ah, ah,” and then the embarrassed mom would laugh and tell my sister to stop talking like that. At home, my mom commented that my father’s friend’s wife didn’t go to church. Then, when we were at that father’s friend’s place, this woman would say something, to which my sister would say, “Yes, but you don’t go to church.” Mom laughed again and told my sister to shut up. I witnessed that awkward moment and wondered what was wrong with my family. 

On another occasion, when I sensed something was off with my family, my mom shared a story from her work. She worked as a nurse at a health center in the suburbs and collaborated with a dentist there. He was an older man who was known for making jokes and teasing people. During a dental appointment, my mom wore a pink shirt. The dentist made a comment about a color, then, referencing pink, touched my mom’s breast. My mom remained smiling and conversational throughout the interaction, while my dad listened silently without reacting. Looking back, I feel he should have confronted the dentist. I’ve always wondered why my dad didn’t defend my mom in that moment. 

One time, I was in my room and walked through the living room where my dad was using the computer. He was checking his email, and as I passed by, I glanced at the screen and saw an email subject line that read: “7 inches is enough.” 

I visited my old classmates in the suburbs. I went during their class and sat with them. There I felt like a stranger. After the school ended, I was invited to drink and smoke in an abandoned unfinished motel near the football field. We went there and one of them brought a bottle of whiskey. Most of them took a sip and lit a cigarette. They then began singing a song, which both shocked and amused me. I noticed how much they had changed since I left the suburbs. I was sad to have missed their eighth-grade field trip. 

I was a good athlete. Danny and I would row in a double scull, while other boys rowed in single, double, or quad sculls. The coach would follow us in a speedboat. We’d row for miles, going around the bay where the rowing club was located, all the way to the tip of the peninsula and back. 

I became so proficient at rowing that my coach suggested I participate in a regatta. This competition brought together many young rowers from nearby cities and counties. In the greater Split area, numerous rowing clubs would set up a 1.2-mile- long rowing course on the sea using buoys. The starting point was located at the 1.2- mile mark, with additional buoys placed at the 0.6-mile point and the final 500 yards. 

The course was divided into imaginary lanes for each rowing boat. At the starting line, about five or six rowboats, including the two-seater I was sharing with Danny, were positioned, with judges overseeing the event from a nearby speedboat. It was the spring of 2008, and this was my first regatta. As we waited for the race to begin, the judges used a megaphone to direct us into our starting positions and ensure all the boats were aligned. I felt nervous. Finally, with all the boats in place, the starting command rang out: “Ready, set, GO!!” 

As we began rowing, I was filled with adrenaline. With 1.2 miles to cover, we started strong but then settled into a more sustainable pace. I could hear the judges correcting boats that veered off course, yelling things like, “BOAT NO. 3, ALIGN LEFT!” Danny and I were doing well. After the first 500 yards, I was already exhausted, but I pushed through. As we all paddled, I glanced over to see where we were in the race. We were among the fastest two boats. In the final 500 meters, I gave it everything I had to finish strong. 

The siren sounded, signaling we’d crossed the finish line. I quickly looked over and saw that we were in first place! 

Danny and I were gasping for air. After catching our breath, we rowed to the pontoon. During the medal ceremony, we stood on the top platform and received gold medals and books about rowing. I was thrilled to get home and share the news with my family, and we were all delighted with my accomplishment. 

Throughout the rest of the spring and early summer, several more regattas took place around the Split-Dalmatia County. Danny and I continued to compete in the same event, winning numerous gold, silver, and bronze medals. 

At school, some eighth-graders teased me for being from the suburbs. They demanded money for lunch, and I gave them a dollar. Another time, during break, they bullied me and a classmate. After they left, I almost cried, and a girl noticed. I tried to hide my feelings with a smile. One day, during PE class, someone stole my Sony Ericsson phone. 

School ended, but my rowing training continued. In July, the national championship was scheduled to be held in Zagreb, so we began preparations. Training was intense, at least five times a week, including running, gym workouts, and rowing at sea. Since training sessions were held both morning and afternoon, we would often jump into the sea from the pontoon and swim after each session. We weren’t always completely focused during training; sometimes, when the coach assigned us a task in the gym, we would take short breaks. 

At the beginning of July, we set off for Zagreb. The bus trip was five hours long, with us younger rowers sitting in the front and the older ones in the back. 

We arrived in Zagreb and went to our hostel. Danny and I shared a room. After unpacking, we went to lunch. Afterwards, we took the bus to Lake Jarun. As we drove around the lake, we saw numerous small buoys marking about eight paddling lanes. The lake was surrounded by grassy areas and woods, and at the finish line, there was a photo-finish building with spectator seating. On the opposite side were pontoons and large boathouses belonging to various rowing clubs. Beyond that was a large grassy area where trailers carrying rowing boats were parked. Rowers from all over Croatia were there. 

Danny, two other guys, and I competed in a four-person boat. We finished second in the national competition, losing to a team from Zagreb. I suspect their more disciplined training regimen gave them the edge. 

During the winter holidays, I was invited back to the suburbs to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2009 with my old friends. We went to a friend’s house where his parents were upstairs. This didn’t stop us from bringing drinks, cigarettes, and playing music. I drank two glasses of straight vodka and got drunk for the first time. I felt feverish, but it was a good feeling. I went for a walk with a drunk Lenny, and we talked about how much everyone missed me. Later, my father picked me up and quickly realized I was intoxicated. He found it amusing. When we got home, my mother was watching the New Year’s Eve celebration broadcast from Split. Singers were performing on stage while the audience cheered. Inspired by the moment, I yelled, “Dance, motherfuckers!” My mom looked confused and asked if I’d been drinking. 

My father was deployed on a peacekeeping mission to India and Pakistan, where he remained for a full year. 

After the winter holidays, I returned to school, a crucial time for achieving good grades to get into high school. I hoped to enroll in the High School of Civil Engineering and Geodesy in Split. 

In our final year of school, we had a new subject: chemistry. Our teacher was an older woman, and we all struggled with the material. I noticed she had large breasts and often didn’t wear a bra, making her nipples visible. I found myself getting aroused and, later at home, masturbated while thinking about her. A few days later, she announced she would offer extra lessons after class for anyone who was interested. Since it was the last class of the day, everyone else went home, leaving me alone in the classroom with her. I wanted to sleep with her but didn’t know how to initiate anything. She gave me some chemistry assignments, but I wasn’t focused on them. Eventually, I abandoned the idea of trying to sleep with her, which was probably for the best. I went home, masturbated again, and had an even more intense orgasm. 

I created a Facebook account, but I wasn’t as popular as some others. I initially wanted a lot of friends, but eventually decided to focus on quality over quantity. My first Facebook experience was awkward. A girl posted “meow” as her status, and misunderstanding how Facebook worked, I sent her a private message saying, “hello kitty, how are you?” She replied that I wouldn’t have spoken to her that way if I’d stayed in the suburbs. She was right. I added some friends from the suburbs on Facebook and looked at pictures from their recent trip. 

In the spring, my school organized a field trip to Dubrovnik, a city 120 miles south of Split. I’m not sure why I agreed to go. Danny was going, but not all of my other friends. Knowing it would be a long drive, I planned to sleep most of the way. The night before the trip, I stayed up all night playing GTA San Andreas.I barely made it to dawn before I had to get ready for the trip and leave. I packed my bag and went to the front of the school where the bus was waiting. I chose a seat between the first and second doors, closer to where the teachers were sitting. For some reason, I didn’t sit with Danny. We began driving south along the Croatian coast.

We passed by the sandy beaches of Omiš, where I used to go with my parents. We continued towards Makarska, a city located between Omiš and Dubrovnik. The sun began to rise, and although I’d planned to sleep, I couldn’t. We arrived in Dubrovnik and explored the city. After lunch, we continued the journey and eventually headed home. I thought I would finally get some sleep on the bus, but everyone started singing, waking me up. I was frustrated that I hadn’t slept the night before. I stopped celebrating my birthdays, and my friends lost track of when it was. 

School was finally over. One sunny summer day, Danny and I were hanging out in Split, walking and talking as we headed toward Bačvice beach. We sat on the cliffs, and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and offered me one. I accepted and smoked my first cigarette. I inhaled, exhaled, and coughed a little at first, but eventually stopped. We shared a few more cigarettes and then went home. 

One day, Danny invited me to see the movie “Wounds” (Rane). It was a 1998 Serbian drama about two teenagers growing up in Belgrade in the 90s. 

The film depicted sex, drugs, and violence, and its popularity in Split influenced our local culture. 

One night, Danny and I decided to get drunk. We somehow managed to buy the cheapest wine, Coca-Cola along with some cigarettes, and headed to Bačvice. The area was lit at night, so we weren’t in complete darkness. We sat on a bench, mixing the wine with soda, drinking and smoking until we were properly drunk. Being drunk was a strange but generally pleasant feeling. The cigarettes tasted better than ever. We played Serbian folk music on our phones and had a little party. When we’d had enough, we went home. Danny headed toward the center of Split, while I wobbled toward the bus station. It was around midnight, and I was waiting for the last bus that would take me closer to home. I boarded the old, empty bus—only the driver was present. I sat down on one of the worn wooden seats and suddenly felt nauseous, likely from the bus’s motion. I threw up on the floor. The driver either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and I simply got off when the bus reached my stop. I remembered something my grandfather from Split once said on my way home: “Youth gets drunk and vomits on buses, and that’s sad.” I had become that youth. When I got home, my family was already asleep, so I managed to sneak in without anyone noticing I was drunk or smelled like cigarettes. The next morning, I woke up with a hangover from the cheap wine, but no one suspected anything—they just thought I was tired. That evening, I met up with Danny again, and instead of getting drunk, we went to Bačvice to play picigin, swim, and hang out with some classmates. With the lights around the beach, it was easy to play picigin, and there were others there swimming, sitting, or playing in groups. 

My younger brother was still a child, while my other brother and sister had become teenagers. 

I settled into a routine of school, rowing, and everything else that comes with being a teenager. When school began, I focused on studying as much as possible to get good grades for high school. Thanks to my success in rowing, the Croatian Rowing Committee awarded me extra points for my high school application. 

I was 14 years old, in eighth grade—the final year of elementary school. As the oldest students, we were no longer bothered by upperclassmen. However, one day during a school break, a younger student who was in my brother’s class lightly harassed me. I noticed him laughing behind my back. 

I didn’t initially realize what had happened, but my classmates pointed out that I had bird droppings on the back of my shirt. It was clearly spit from that younger kid, but I chose not to do anything about it, and I didn’t tell any teachers or my parents. 

With good grades at the end of the school year, I was confident I would get into my desired high school. As an eighth-grade class, we had a planned graduation trip to Zagreb. We packed our bags and set off. Once again, I chose a seat between the teacher and the second set of doors on the bus. We arrived at a small village near Zagreb where our hostel was located. I shared a room with Danny. That night, we went to a local club where I drank Coca-Cola. Students from other cities were also at the club. I met a girl, we talked, and exchanged phone numbers. A girl in my class joked that I finally had a girlfriend. 

Danny and I left the club around midnight and went back to our room. We turned on the TV and watched Showgirls, a 1995 NC-17 rated film known for “nudity and erotic sexuality, explicit language and sexual violence.” There was a famous pool sex scene, and afterwards, I went to the shower and masturbated. 

The following day, we took a trip to Zagreb. We explored the city center and toured the Dinamo Zagreb football club stadium. In Split, our hometown, we supported Hajduk, the football club that was the main rival of Dinamo. 

We returned to our hostel, and I spent the time listening to music. I couldn’t help but feel disconnected from my classmates and longed to be on a trip with my friends from the suburbs. After a few more days, I was relieved to finally be heading home. Once I logged onto Facebook, I saw that my friends from the suburbs were on their own trip, tagged in numerous photos, and I felt a pang of regret for missing out.

During the summer, I applied to high school to become a geodetic technician. It was one of the most popular programs at the school because it was considered an easy job with good pay. There was only one class for future surveyors, while construction technicians and architects had two classes. The school was located in a large building in a newer part of Split, and my high school, along with three others, was housed there. A few days later, I returned to check the enrollment list and found my name. It was somewhere between the middle and bottom of the list. I recognized some new names, many of whom would later become my friends. Danny, on the other hand, enrolled in a different high school, just next door. 

I was 15 that summer, and high school was supposed to start in September. On the first day, I met some new people. They were from the entire wider Split area and islands, and one of them was even from Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was exciting to start meeting people from scratch like in the suburbs because I was able to create a better connection unlike the seventh grade of elementary school in Split. Every morning I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and took the bus to school early. I listened to music on the way to school. I hung out with some guys who were also early. I expected to have as many girls in the class as possible to find a girlfriend, but there were only four girls. 

I took a picture in the bathroom, shirtless, styling my hair and showing off my muscles, including my six-pack. I set it as my Facebook profile picture, hoping to attract a girl. 

However, the only response I got was from a gay man who messaged me saying I was beautiful. I felt frustrated and blocked him. A classmate did comment that I looked strong. 

My closest friends in high school were Jim and Barby Jo. Jim was a talented tennis player. Barby Jo was from Bosnia and Herzegovina, was wealthy and swore frequently, a habit I picked up, now regularly using phrases like “God fucked you” and “fuckin’ Jesus,” sometimes even jokingly. 

Overall, I enjoyed my time in high school. 

Most of the professors were good. However, our biology teacher, an older, overweight woman, was an exception. Initially, she refused to discuss condom effectiveness, claiming she “couldn’t say that.” Later, during a discussion about body mass index, she referred to “body weight.” Remembering what our physics professor had taught us about the difference between mass and weight, Jim raised his hand and corrected her, saying it should be “body mass,” not “body weight.” The biology teacher became angry and told him never to correct her, emphasizing that she had a PhD. She even wrote him up, requiring Jim’s mother to come to school for a meeting. Not all the teachers were bad. One, in fact, was the kindest and most attractive MILF (Mother I’d Like to Fuck). I often masturbated at home thinking about her, as did Jim and most of my classmates. Our history professor was an older man nearing retirement. Despite his age, he was the coolest professor in the school. 

One day, after class, he asked Jim, Barby Jo, and me to stay behind. I was worried he was going to reprimand us or something similar. Instead, he pulled out a book called Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. He sat us down at a table and asked us to read a few passages. As we began reading, we realized the passage described a character having sex. The description was very direct and explicit. We all laughed and complimented our professor on being so cool. I mentioned that the book was a refreshing change from the incredibly boring books we were required to read in Croatian class. We then started talking about our MILF professor, and the history professor surprised us by saying she was “good and wet.” 

A few days later, I was in town running errands and ran into this professor in front of a local sex shop. From that moment on, I considered him the coolest professor ever. One day in history class, he even asked the entire class how to say “penis” in Greek. I knew the answer because I had read Bratoljub Kljaić’s Dictionary of Foreign Words, but I hesitated to raise my hand, thinking it would be embarrassing to say it aloud. After a pause, the professor, looking disappointed, revealed that the word he was looking for was “phallus.” I regretted not raising my hand and giving the correct answer; I probably would have gotten a good grade for it. 

In rowing, I became known as the first in my group to shave my pubic area. While some initially criticized me, they soon followed suit and came back the next day with their own shaved areas. 

I liked the way it looked. It reminded me of my early experiences with masturbation back in the suburbs, before I’d gone through puberty and developed pubic hair. 

My father returned from his peacekeeping mission in India and Pakistan, bringing us many gifts. He gave me a brand new HTC HD2 smartphone. 

He brought new smartphones for my siblings, too. The night he returned, I was in my room exploring the features of my new phone. I noticed my brother was also looking at his new phone in his darkened room. When I went to the bathroom, I saw my sister similarly engrossed in her phone. Returning to my room, I continued to explore my phone. It occurred to me that there was something strange about all of us staring at our devices. I suppose a new technological era had arrived in our home.

That winter, Jim and I were invited to Stobreč by a classmate to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2010. Stobreč, a coastal area near Split, is located between the suburbs and the Split itself. It was supposed to be a mixed party with both guys and girls. Feeling hopeful, I shaved my pubic area the night before, not wanting to feel self-conscious if anyone got undressed. When I arrived, however, it turned out to be a low-key New Year’s Eve, nothing like the orgy I’d imagined. I talked to a girl on the balcony, but we didn’t even kiss. Around 3 a.m., when it started raining, my dad picked up Jim and me and drove us home. I was disappointed that I hadn’t hooked up with anyone and felt a strong desire to lose my virginity as soon as possible.

Danny and I discussed smoking weed. He told me he’d tried it and described feeling pleasantly dazed and relaxed. He never pressured me to try it, but my curiosity made me want to experience it for myself. We were 15 years old and had limited access to weed, especially since it was illegal in Croatia. Danny somehow managed to get a few buds for $20. We knew we were overcharged, but we didn’t care. We bought rolling papers and filters, went to a secluded alley in the ghetto, and tried to roll a joint. Both of our rolling skills were awful. In Europe, it’s common to mix weed with tobacco in a spliff, but I didn’t know that. I rolled a joint with pure weed. It was so poorly rolled that when I lit it, it burned up quickly, wasting time, weed, and money. That didn’t discourage me from trying weed again.

I finished my first year of high school with acceptable grades. We celebrated the last day of school at a cafe above our school. We bought a lot of drinks, got drunk, and sang along with an accordion player who was there. As the sunny day turned cloudy, we decided to go swimming at Bačvice beach. I boarded the bus with my classmates, and we headed toward the city center. Just as I was about to get off at the last stop, I threw up on the bus floor. Unlike the last time I’d gotten sick on the bus at night, this time there were other passengers who witnessed it, making me extremely uncomfortable. I glanced at the vomit on the floor and quickly exited the bus. As we walked toward the beach, I apologized for getting drunk and asked for forgiveness. Everyone was understanding. 

When we arrived at the beach, I was exhausted. Entering the shallow water, I kept falling over. I was so drunk that I had to lie down on a bench. To add to my embarrassment, I then saw my sister walk by. 

That summer, Jim, Danny, Barby Jo, and I went to a “matinee” at a club in downtown Split. These parties lasted from 8 pm to 11 pm and were designed for people our age— too old to be stuck at home, but too young to be out all night. Barby Jo bought us a bottle of Jack Daniels and Coca-Cola’s. We mixed drinks, drank, and smoked. The club was crowded, and the DJ mostly played Serbian turbofolk music. Every so often, he’d announce, “There’s a discount on Johnnie Walker mixed with ‘Coca-Cola’, and in the morning, we can all sober up with Nescafe. 

A few days later, Danny told me he’d bought us two pre-rolled joints, and I was very excited. One warm July night, we went to the coast of the Split peninsula to smoke weed. We chose this spot to get as far away from the police and other people as possible. Danny pulled out two joints. It was the first time I’d seen properly rolled, cone-shaped joints. They looked beautiful, like perfectly formed cigarettes. He lit one and started smoking. The earthy scent filled the air, and I loved it. He handed me the joint and told me to inhale three times and then exhale. The grassy smell was wonderful. I took three more puffs and then passed the joint to Danny. After we finished it, he asked how I felt. It wasn’t as intense as I had expected. We smoked the second joint and then had some cigarettes. The cigarette smoke felt different going through me after the weed. 

We went for a walk, but I didn’t feel any particular effect, while Danny seemed to be high. We ran into some of our rowing teammates and told them we’d gotten high. I’d rate my experience a 2 out of 10. One of our teammates even called us junkies. A few months later, at a regatta, I beat him in a race in single sculls. 

I was still determined to try weed again. 

In August, while on Facebook, I noticed a girl named Stacey commenting on Jim’s status. I decided to add her as a friend, and she accepted. We started chatting, and I mentioned that I had recently started smoking weed. She replied that there was some weed in her father’s closet. We exchanged a few more messages and remained Facebook friends. 

A week later, Danny and I were taking an evening walk when we crossed paths with two girls walking the opposite way. I recognized Stacey and stopped to greet her. We exchanged a few words before continuing on our separate ways. I became curious to learn more about this intriguing girl. Over the next few weeks, we chatted on Facebook, and I found out she was 14 years old with a birthday on New Year’s Day. In September, Stacey invited me to her apartment, which was near my high school. I was excited at the prospect of finally having sex, so I brought condoms. I went to her building and took the elevator to her apartment. She opened the door, and I noticed the apartment was dark. We went into her room, and she then mentioned that her grandmother was in another room, so it turned out we weren’t alone. I could have easily had sex with her, but something made me decide to talk to her instead of whispering. This disturbed her grandmother, who came into the room to see what was happening. She was surprised to see me there with Stacey, but Stacey calmed her down by saying we were just hanging out. I felt foolish for missing the opportunity to have sex with her, but I wasn’t ready to give up. 

I started my second year of high school. My academic performance wasn’t as stellar as it had been in elementary school. I’d become unmotivated, simply tired of the constant schooling. First, there was the half-day commitment, and second, the books we were assigned for Croatian class book reports were incredibly boring. 

The only exception was George Orwell’s Animal Farm, which had a somewhat interesting plot. There was also a bizarre book by Franz Kafka called The Metamorphosis, in which a man wakes up one morning to discover he has turned into a giant cockroach. It reminded me of when I watched Wounds with Danny. One character in the film, leaving class with his friend, commented on how boring Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment was. He’d said that in Crime and Punishment, a guy kills a woman, and the rest of the book is about him agonizing over his actions. The character in Wounds then says, “What if the guy had just fucked some hot girl instead? As if they would ever recommend that kind of book to young people…” 

School had already started, and I was in some kind of relationship with Stacey. Barby Jo showed me Stacey’s Facebook profile, saying he found her interesting. I didn’t say anything—no “She’s my girlfriend,” no “Back off, friend,” nothing. I’m not sure why I reacted that way. Then Jim mentioned that I had added her on Facebook and that we were in a relationship. Barby Jo seemed confused, but then said he wouldn’t pursue her. Winter arrived, and I settled into the familiar routine of school and rowing. Danny had found a new girlfriend. She had an ovarian cyst and was on medication similar to contraceptives, which meant Danny could have unprotected sex and ejaculate inside her. I wanted the same thing; condoms felt so unnatural to me. 

On December 11th, my relationship with Stacey became official; we started dating. Our dates usually consisted of going to cafes, drinking coffee and smoking, or walking around Split. Stacey was a heavy smoker, so I found myself smoking more than usual when I was with her. We smoked blue Phillip Morris cigarettes.

It was a blue pack with white filters. One night, we were sitting on Bačvice beach, and it was freezing cold. I held her close and kissed her. We both wanted to have sex, but we had no idea where or how to do it. Our homes were never empty, and neither of us had a car yet. As we walked from Bačvice toward Split, we passed under an overpass where no one was around on that cold night. I stopped her, pushed her against the wall, and started kissing her. I unbuttoned her jacket and touched her intimately. I already had an erection. I pulled her shirt up, revealing her bra. I took off her bra, finally exposing her beautiful breasts with their equally beautiful areolas. There was no time to waste, so I lowered my pants, and she immediately started giving me oral sex. I wasn’t particularly fond of that, but that first time always holds a special place. Just as I thought we were about to have sex right there, two women walked by, cheering and clapping. We laughed, stopped what we were doing, and decided it was time to get dressed and go home.

Stacey had a female friend, the same one who was with her when I first met her. Her name was Melissa. Even though I was in a relationship with Stacey, I wouldn’t have minded sleeping with both of them. That’s why I accepted Stacey’s invitation to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2011 with the two of them. The weather was nice and calm, and we went to Bačvice to drink and smoke. At midnight, Split erupted with the sounds and colors of fireworks and firecrackers. Melissa immediately wished Stacey a happy birthday and New Year. Since she’d just turned 15, I wished her a happy birthday as well. We took pictures, had fun, and then went home. 

In the winter of 2011, I turned 16 and received my first ID card. It felt like a ticket to the adult world. I could stay out past midnight, and Stacey could be with me because I now had proof of age. 

I found an old VHS tape of me and my brother’s baptism. Since we no longer owned a VCR, I took it to a store to have it transferred to a CD. Watching the video again, I pointed out to my mom that I was making a strange, almost devilish gesture with my hand. She told me that all newborns do that. 

Whenever I went on a date with Stacey, she would ask me to walk her home. She lived in a neighborhood near my high school. It was a somewhat rough area, and her parents preferred that I escort her home to ensure her safety. We would usually wait for the last bus, as she had an 11:30 pm curfew. After long kissing and hugging sessions in front of her building, I’d have to catch the last bus home. Eventually, we started staying out later and later, which meant I had to walk. It was a 35-45 minute walk, depending on how fast I went, but I considered it a sacrifice for her. One night, as we walked toward her apartment, we passed a group of guys who had known her for years. She spoke to them, said something they didn’t like, and one of them called her “a stupid bitch.” I didn’t react at all; I just stood there silently, scared, until we moved on. I wish I could’ve stood up for her. 

In April, we went for a run around the peninsula one afternoon. I took her to a trail that ran between the upper and lower coastal roads. As we were running, dusk began to fall, and we were alone on the trail. I became aroused and positioned her on a rock by the path, so she was sitting down, and then I lowered her pants. I pulled her panties down, revealing her wet vulva. I was eager to penetrate her as quickly as possible, so I hurriedly lowered my own pants. As my pants came down, my erect penis was exposed. I looked at her eager face and slowly moved closer to her. I gently inserted my penis into her vagina, and it was the hottest, wettest, and most pleasurable feeling of my life. I thrust a few times, and we both enjoyed it. 

Unfortunately, I felt like I was about to ejaculate, so I pulled my penis out of her.

I then asked her to kneel in front of me, and I began to masturbate while she took my penis in her mouth. I ejaculated into her mouth, finally experiencing sweet release. She swallowed my semen and commented that it was “salty.” We got dressed and headed home. Almost immediately, I began to worry that she might be pregnant because I had penetrated her without a condom. I started to panic, wondering if the pre-ejaculate had gotten her pregnant, or if I had ejaculated inside her without realizing it. I regretted my first sexual experience; it felt like a total failure. She reassured me, saying that everything would be fine. 

One Sunday in May, probably May 15th, my little cousin from the suburbs had her Holy Communion. My family and I went to my aunt and godfather’s house in the suburbs for the celebratory lunch. Afterwards, my brother, a cousin, a young man, and I went to a local soccer field to play and hang out. On the way home, I got a text from Stacey asking what I was up to. I told her I was at a communion lunch and wasn’t sure when I’d be home. We exchanged a few more texts, and I mentioned that I could head home earlier. I told my parents I was going to leave the Communion celebration early to go to Split and hang out with friends. I left and started walking toward the shore to catch a bus, as bus service to and from the suburbs was limited on Sundays. I walked quickly to the bus stop and finally boarded a bus that took me closer to home. I went to my apartment and texted Stacey to come over. 

When she entered the apartment, we immediately started kissing. We went to my room and helped each other undress. We were finally naked in front of each other and I told her to lie down on the bed. 

When she lay down, she spread her legs, and her face and body were lustful.  

I lay on top of her and kissed her lips and neck. She moaned softly as I squeezed her breasts. I nipped at her nipples like a hungry wolf, licking them, then her whole breasts. I then moved down to a good position to lick her vulva. I started with one long, slow lick from the bottom to her clitoris. She moaned a little louder, and I was thrilled by the taste of her juices. I was thirsty for them and continued to lick her sweet vulva. I inserted two fingers and began moving them as if I were beckoning her, gently teasing her. Her body twitched. I stopped and reached for a condom. 

My penis had never been so fully and rigidly erect, but I somehow managed to roll the condom on from top to bottom. As the scent of latex filled the air, I put some saliva on my hand to lubricate my penis. I looked at her young body and her lustful face. I inserted my penis into her vagina, but now, with the condom on, I felt far from climaxing. I began thrusting gently, and we both made sounds of pleasure. I continued for a while longer, and it felt amazing. First, I had sex with her in the missionary position, watching her breasts move with the rhythm. Then I pulled her close and continued in the same position. She moaned and seemed to enjoy it. As I held her close, I kissed her neck and gently pulled her hair. She responded, “Yes, DO THAT!” I got up and turned her onto her stomach. I told her to spread her legs for me, and then I penetrated her from behind. I thrust into her rhythmically, and she started to scream. I loved the sight of my penis going in and out of her vagina as I pressed against her buttocks. I hugged her from behind, reaching for her soft breasts. I then grabbed her shoulders and pressed myself hard against her as I continued. I turned her onto her back and entered her from above. We slowed down the pace, and the sex became more tender and loving. I licked her neck and kissed her lips. I pulled my penis out of her vagina to lick her breasts some more. I licked her latex-flavored vulva, and then I’d had enough. I took off the condom and lay on my back. I told her to take the tip of my penis in her mouth and get ready to swallow my semen. I masturbated and finally ejaculated a large amount into her mouth. I was satisfied, and so was she. We lay naked next to each other and cuddled, discussing our experience and happy with how it went. It was my first time having sex, but not hers. 

At school, I asked Barby Jo if I could use his dorm room to spend time with Stacey. He agreed, and one evening, I took her there, and we had a intimate experience together. I kept up my successful rowing career, and one summer afternoon after practice, a guy named Harry, who was a few years older than me, invited me to join his newly formed group. They were focused on recreating the lifestyle of ancient Rome. The aim of our group was to create a performance featuring the marching of the Roman army and gladiator battles. Harry and one of his friends purchased replicas of 1st-century Roman soldier armor, swords, spears, and other equipment. Danny’s father contributed by crafting wooden shields. 

Even though Split was established in the early 4th century, we relied on the fact that people’s ideas of Roman soldiers were shaped by Hollywood movies, so we aimed to match their expectations of what a Roman soldier should look like.

My role was to be a gladiator, and I began training with a few of Harry’s peers. One of them was an experienced martial arts expert who had a deep understanding of combat, movement, and how to execute or evade attacks. Together, we worked on creating a choreographed routine that mimicked a gladiator battle. We practiced using wooden swords and makeshift shields. I struggled with coordination, and my movements felt awkward and unnatural. 

The following day, I told Danny about my gladiator training, and he asked Harry if he could join us. Harry agreed, so Danny participated in his first gladiator session. It turned out he was much more agile and quick than I was. As a result, I ended up taking on the role of a Roman soldier, marching and forming formations like the famous ‘turtle shape.’ We had to develop a choreographed routine so we could earn money from performances. Our second way of making money was by taking photos with tourists in the center of Split. 

Tourism in Split was booming during those years, especially in the summer when visitors from around the world flocked to the city. We would dress in replicas of ancient Roman tunics, sandals, metal armor, helmets, and carry swords, spears, and, of course, a pouch to collect money. Everyone wanted a photo with guys dressed as Roman soldiers, and we capitalized on that. After snapping a picture with us, we’d politely ask for a tip, and most people were happy to oblige. It was my first job and it was so simple. I knew English well and had good communication skills. I was happy that Harry introduced me to his community, and my parents were happy too. I bonded even more with Danny because he was my age in that group, while the others were a few years older. 

We rotated in four-hour shifts, and it turned out to be quite profitable for all of us.

On warm summer days, Stacey and I would head to the sea for a swim. We often went to Bačvice beach, swimming out to the buoys that separated the swimming area from the boat zone. While there, I kissed her and began caressing her gently underwater with my fingers. She couldn’t resist and gave in to the sensations. On summer nights, we would go swimming on the peninsula. We’d walk along the shore until we found a secluded little beach. There, we swam naked, and it felt magical. After getting out of the water, we started with some foreplay. I suggested we try the 69 position, with her on top. I pleasured her while she took me into her mouth. I encouraged her to suck gently, and afterward, we shared an intimate and passionate experience. 

In the summer of 2011, I was at a mall near my building with Stacey when my father and brother Henry unexpectedly showed up. I introduced them to Stacey, as no one in my family had known about our relationship until then. A few days later, my mom suggested I bring Stacey over to our house, so I did. I introduced her to my family, and while I was occupied with something else, Stacey and my mom had a conversation. 

Later, when we were alone, Stacey told me they had talked about my mom’s second pregnancy, which hadn’t gone well. It was a pregnancy that occurred between my birth and my brother’s in 1997. The pregnancy lasted a few weeks, but the embryo didn’t survive. During the winter, I traveled to the island of Brač for a rowing regatta. When we returned to Split, Stacey asked me to meet her at a café. When I saw her, she seemed deeply upset. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she had experienced a miscarriage.

I felt confused and sad, though not as heartbroken as she was. The event had a profound impact on her. 

We moved forward and continued our relationship, including being intimate, as though nothing had changed. Occasionally, she would bring up the topic, and I would do my best to comfort her. During that time, I also met one of her friends from the neighborhood, who happened to be a drug dealer. He became our go-to source whenever we wanted to get weed. 

Back then, we were paying $15 for 1/28 oz of weed, and we could manage the cost. One night, we were in a park in the center of Split. We found a shaded bench to hide on, and I rolled a joint. We smoked it and got pretty high. At first, we were laughing and having a good time, but eventually, I started experiencing some unsettling hallucinations. I kept seeing movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, no one was there. Eventually, the hallucinations stopped, but they started up again briefly before I managed to shake them off. We headed to the bus, which was running late. At the bus stop, it was just us and another younger couple. Out of nowhere, an unmarked police car pulled up, and two officers stepped out. They were dressed in plain clothes but identified themselves as police and showed their badges to the other couple. I was too high to feel scared, though I was slightly concerned. Luckily for us, the girl from the other couple started arguing with the police. She was an orphan and wasn’t supposed to be out at that hour. They ended up arresting her and taking both her and her boyfriend to the police station. The officers asked me to show my ID, which I did. After checking it, they left. I was extremely fortunate they didn’t search me for drugs, as I still had some weed in my pocket. 

The next day, Stacey and I went to a café in a shopping mall near my building. Stacey’s mom texted her, telling her to come home with me. We weren’t sure what to expect but knew we had to go. We took the bus to her place and entered her apartment. It was my first time meeting her parents, and they were both visibly upset. Stacey and I were confused about why they were so angry until her mom took us to her parents’ room. 

They had a computer there, and Stacey’s Facebook account was still logged in—she had forgotten to log out. Her mom had read through her messages, including some about buying weed from her friend. Her mom asked me if she should contact my parents, and I said ‘no,’ which made her even angrier. In the end, she didn’t reach out to my parents but punished Stacey. Her father then sent me home. 

During the winter months that followed, Stacey and I went on a few more dates. Since we had no place to be intimate and it was too cold outside, the most we could do was get to ‘second base,’ and I would finger her. I loved the lingering scent on my fingers as I headed home afterward.

January 

My father went on another peacekeeping mission to India and Pakistan. At the start of 2012, I was 17 and a half years old. Around that time, there was a prom held at a hotel in my neighborhood, and I brought Stacey as my date. 

We all couldn’t help but admire our attractive MILF professor—even Stacey did. I was a skilled writer, and the MILF professor always complimented my work. For the prom, I was tasked with writing poems about the teachers, which were traditionally read at the event. I wrote around 15 to 20 poems, each creatively describing a different professor. Rhyming came naturally to me, and I found it simple and fun. By the end of the night, though, I felt down and went outside to sit alone. Stacey found me and asked what was wrong. I didn’t have a clear answer, but I think it was the sense that there had to be something more out there for me than just a mediocre prom. 

I injured my back while rowing and went for an MRI, which revealed two protruding spinal discs. I blamed my coach for pushing me too hard without properly teaching the correct rowing technique. When he saw my MRI results, he dismissed my concerns, insisting that I was making a fuss over nothing and could continue training. Frustrated, I decided to quit rowing. 

March 

In the spring of 2012, my high school class had an excursion. Our entire year— surveyors, construction technicians, and architects—was set to travel to Prague, Czech Republic. Just a few days before the trip, Stacey was hospitalized for some reason, so I went to visit her. The day before my departure, when we talked about the trip, she became hysterical and almost didn’t want me to go. I suspected she was afraid I might cheat on her. 

One morning in March, we all met in front of the school and boarded the bus. Since we surveyors thought we were cool, we took seats at the back. Right from the start, we played Serbian turbofolk music, but quickly turned it off since it was still too early. As we headed north, I sat next to Jim. As we neared the Slovenian border, we made a stop and got off the bus. One guy pulled out some weed and began rolling the thickest joint I had ever seen. He ground up massive chunks of buds like he had an endless supply at home and didn’t have a care in the world. When we lit it up, I experienced the best high of my life—at least up to that moment.  

I put on my sunglasses and headed over to meet Jim and Barby Joe, who were sitting at a nearby café. As I laughed uncontrollably, they looked at me curiously, wondering what was going on. 

That’s when I admitted that I was high. I was having a great time—until it was time to cross the border. The guide grabbed the bus microphone and instructed everyone to take off their sunglasses and keep a straight face. Panic set in. I snapped a few pictures of myself and saw that my eyes were bloodshot and half-closed—I was convinced the border guards would arrest me on the spot. 

At the border, we stepped off the bus, and despite my paranoia, I somehow made it through without any issues. We reboarded and continued our journey to the Czech Republic. After spending the night in Graz, Austria, we finally arrived in Prague the next day. The city was stunning, and I couldn’t help but admire our bus driver for maneuvering through its streets so effortlessly. 

Once we checked into the hotel, I shared a room with Jim and Barby Joe. Wasting no time, I covered the smoke detector with a small plastic bag and lit a cigarette. Later, after dinner, I stepped outside for another smoke. A guy nearby was openly smoking weed—after all, it was legal in the Czech Republic. 

I wanted to buy some weed but had no idea where to find it. Some guys from the construction technician class attempted to score from some sketchy dealers in an alley, only to realize later that they had been scammed with a piece of rubber in a plastic bag. 

The following evening, we headed to a nightclub that had been converted from an old church. A DJ was playing Balkan music on what used to be the altar, while our professors sat above us in the area where the choir once stood. I was on the dance floor at a table, drinking with Jim and Barby Joe, soaking in the surreal atmosphere. 

I was so committed to drinking that I downed a glass in one go and slammed it on the table to prove my intensity and determination. Barby Jo grinned and said, “THAT’S the kind of drinking buddy I need!” 

Out of nowhere, the unmistakable scent of weed filled the air. Curious, I scanned the club and spotted a guy lounging on a couch across from our table, casually smoking a joint. Without hesitation, I walked over and asked him where he got his stash. 

He told me he had a connection in Prague and handed me a joint. I took a few hits, realizing how surreal the moment was—I was getting high in a club that was once a church, while our oblivious professors sat up in the choir section. 

The mix of weed and alcohol hit me hard. I felt unstoppable, dancing and singing on the couch like I owned the place. Then, as if the universe was in on the joke, a song about weed started playing, making the whole experience even more unreal. 

It was Kokuz by Dubioza Kolektiv, and the lyrics went: “due to the world crisis, I don’t have enough money for rolling papers, there is no ganja neither, I need some.” I couldn’t resist dancing to it, pretending to roll and smoke a joint, and my classmates laughed along. After we left the club, Jim, Barby Jo, and I made our way back to the hotel. 

On the way, a group of guys from Spain approached us and asked if we had any cocaine. For a moment, I was caught off guard, but I quickly responded with a firm “no” and carried on. Back in the hotel room, we took a few pictures, and I eventually passed out. 

The next morning, we decided to “rent” a hookah from the hotel and smoke. When I checked out the photos from the night before, I noticed my eyes were red and sleepy, but honestly, the whole experience was worth it. I had a blast during the trip, and getting high made it all the more memorable. 

The next night, we headed to another club, and I ran into the weed guy once more. We were outside the club, smoking when just as I was about to take another hit, a police car drove by. It felt like I had activated some cheat code from GTA San Andreas to escape the cops, and it was like they couldn’t catch me. 

We spent the next few days exploring Prague before heading home. On the way back, we stopped in Vienna, Austria, and visited an amusement park. I tried the slingshot ride, where Jim and I sat in two connected seats facing up, and then we were shot about 50 feet into the air. As we reached the highest point, the seats rotated so we were facing down before we started plummeting. The adrenaline was incredible, almost like jumping off a cliff at Bačvice. 

Eventually, we made it back to Split, and life quickly returned to the normal school routine. 

A few weeks later, Jim, Danny, and I traveled to Bosnia and Herzegovina to visit Barby Jo. The ride took about an hour and a half. He lived in a village called Klobuk, near the town of Ljubuški. Barby Jo was a great host and welcomed us along with his family, who offered us food and drinks. That evening, he drove us to a nightclub in Posušje called ‘Elephant,’ where there was a concert by Boban Rajović. Jim, Danny, and I got drunk, while Barby Jo stayed sober to drive us back. We spent the night at his place. The next day, we had lunch outside his house. We sat at one end of a long table, while his family and some of their friends, including a priest, sat at the other end. As the priest talked with Barby Jo’s parents, Barby Jo mentioned that the priest was highly knowledgeable, a good person, and well-informed about many things. Listening to this, I felt inspired and wished to have that same depth of knowledge someday. 

A few days later, we had a math class with a new teacher. We waited outside the classroom until she arrived to unlock the door and let us in. She was an older woman but still attractive. As she walked past us to the door, she was far enough away that Jim felt comfortable making a comment, saying he would have slept with her if he were an older man. I thought to myself that I would have slept with her right then and there. The math class itself was pretty dull, but at the end, she mentioned she’d be willing to tutor anyone who needed extra help at her home. Since I really needed the assistance, I got her phone number after class. I contacted her the next day, and she gave me her address. When I arrived the following day, she answered the door wearing a two-piece pajama set. 

We met, and she let me in. Once I sat down at the table, I realized we were alone. We started studying, and she was a great help. We talked about my future education, and she asked me where I wanted to go to college. I told her I was interested in geodesy, but more importantly, I wanted to make educational videos to improve the education system and ultimately change the world. She was pleasantly surprised and smiled. Her smile was beautiful, and I wondered what it would be like to sleep with an older woman like her. I assumed she was menopausal and couldn’t get pregnant, which made me think how wonderful it would be to ejaculate inside her. Time ran out, and I left. From that moment on, I wanted to meet an older, experienced, and serious woman to explore a sexual relationship with.

April 

My English teacher informed me that another English teacher from our school had invited me to a spelling competition in Zagreb called “English in Action.” Other students were also going to compete in persuasive speech and acting. I accepted the invitation, and about two weeks later, I took a bus to Zagreb with the English teacher and several students from my school. The group consisted of several young men and women. We arrived in Zagreb and checked into our hostel. 

The spelling competition was scheduled for the afternoon and was held at a nearby hotel. We went to a seminar room that had seating for the competitors in one section and spectators in another. Near the competitors’ seats was a table for the judges. I sat down in one of the competitor chairs, and the first few seats remained empty. The judges began the competition and asked us to move to the front seats. I volunteered to go first. There was a microphone nearby, and each competitor had to go up, spell the word correctly, and then return to their seat if they were right. The judges asked me to stand up and spell my first word. This wasn’t officially part of the competition, but a warm-up demonstration for me and the others. I went to the microphone and had to repeat the word I heard from the judges, spell it, and then repeat it again.

My first word was “population.” I visualized the word by “writing” it on my palm, which amused some of the audience. I correctly spelled it out loud: “population, P-O-P-U-L-A-T-I-O-N, population.” The judge confirmed I was right, and I was off to a good start. The competition narrowed down from about 20-30 people to just four of us. I was doing well until my turn came up again, and I had to spell “drudgery.” I hesitated for a moment and then attempted “D-R-U-G-G-G-E-R-Y.” The judge said “incorrect,” and my time in the competition was over. But I learned a new word that day! 

After the spelling bee finished, they held the persuasive speech contest. A guy from my school competed, but he didn’t do very well. After that competition, we all had dinner at the hotel. Afterwards, we went out to explore Zagreb, get a drink, and smoke. We returned to the hostel to get ready for bed, but no one was actually ready to sleep. One guy was trying to flirt with a girl, but she told him she had a boyfriend. 

The next morning, the acting competition was held, and several students from my school performed. They didn’t win, but it didn’t matter; we all had fun. In the afternoon, they held the awards ceremony, where the top three teams or individuals in each category received a prize. The judges also announced that special prizes would be given to those who finished fourth. That included me, and I was so proud to go on stage and receive my award. In the evening, we packed our bags and took the bus back to Split. We had a good time on the highway. We arrived at the Split bus station, got off, and said our goodbyes. I headed toward the local bus station, dragging my luggage behind me. The girl who had mentioned having a boyfriend earlier followed me. 

As we approached the bus station, she said, “I’d like to see you naked.” I immediately backed away and told her, “Don’t say that.” We then went our separate ways home.

May 

In May, we all took the state graduation exam, and my results were average. We applied to colleges online, where we could list multiple choices in case we didn’t get into our first choice. My top choice was geodesy, followed by civil engineering. I also included the Faculty of Teacher Education, and my last choice was the acting academy. While the acting academy was my last choice online, it was my true passion. I dreamed of becoming an actor and starring in films that would make the world a better place. This desire to change the world was also reflected in my interest in the Faculty of Teacher Education. 

My family and I regularly talked to my dad via Skype. 

I was finally old enough to enroll in driving school. After passing the required medical exam, I signed up at a local driving school and began taking classes. There was only one other student in the class, a very annoying girl. She was so irritating because whenever the instructor asked a question and I didn’t know the answer, she would immediately jump in with all her “knowledge,” making me feel put on the spot. I survived having that annoying girl in my class, though I suspected it wasn’t her first time at driving school. After I passed the written exam, it was time for the practical driving lessons. I was nervous at first, but I eventually got the hang of it. I drove instinctively, and the instructor usually just pointed out road signs and other details. Eventually, I overcame that hurdle too. 

I had one particularly bad experience while driving on the highway. There were two lanes leading to the exit, and I was in the right lane. When the instructor told me to change lanes to the left, I didn’t check my blind spot and almost caused a collision with a nearby truck. The instructor, though trying to remain calm, was clearly upset and disappointed. He exclaimed something like, “Oh my God, how could you even…?” in a somewhat hysterical tone. I just held back tears and tried to drive as normally as possible. Despite this incident, I managed to pass my driving test on the first try, though one of the examiners did remark that I spent too long checking my mirrors. 

I got my driver’s license in the summer and immediately went for my first drive with my mom and siblings. Mom was nervous and kept wanting me to pull over, but she eventually relaxed and let me drive. I also remember my first drive with Danny. It was at night, and Danny borrowed his parents’ car. We drove all over the city. I made an illegal U-turn and someone honked at me, but overall, it was a good experience. It was so good that at the end of the night, as we were walking back to Danny’s house, just minutes before we were about to park the car, I realized we had driven the entire time without the headlights on. 

I turned 18, which meant I could legally buy cigarettes and alcohol, as well as gamble without any restrictions. 

Stacey and I were excited about my new driver’s license, as it meant we finally had a private place to have sex. I took her for a drive around town, we grabbed a drink, and then I drove to a secluded spot where people sometimes went to have sex in their cars. There were a few such places near Split, and we chose one on the peninsula. We climbed into the back seat, and after some foreplay, we started having sex. Sex in the car was surprisingly great because of the specific position and the design of the back seat; it was even better than a bed. Our sessions lasted between 45 minutes and an hour. We alternated between aggressive, almost porn-like sex and gentle, loving intimacy. At the end of each session, Stacey would ask me to keep going a little longer, so I always did. 

Stacey’s friend Melissa invited us to her seaside cottage, about an hour’s drive north along the coast. We were all excited to be alone and have some privacy. We made a meal, and after eating, we smoked some weed. We went swimming, and then evening came. We watched TV and went to bed. Stacey and I were in one room, and Melissa was in the other. As Stacey and I were having sex, I asked her why she hadn’t suggested a threesome with Melissa. Stacey had mentioned to me recently that Melissa was on birth control pills, and I was interested in sleeping with her and ejaculating inside her. 

The threesome, however, never happened. I spent the night with Stacey, and we slept naked. The next morning, I woke up, and she told me she hadn’t slept well because she enjoyed watching me sleep. I noticed a red rash on my penis and worried that it might be a sexually transmitted disease. The next day, we returned to Split, and I went to the doctor about the rash. He told me I needed a urethral swab to check for bacteria. The following day, I went to the clinic for the procedure, completely unaware of what I was about to experience. When I entered the room, the technician told me to take off my pants and lie down on the bed. I did, and then he told me to hold on tight. He took what looked like a cotton swab and inserted it into the opening of my penis. It was incredibly painful. He repeated the process, and it hurt again. When I got home and tried to urinate, it felt like I was peeing broken glass. I had to go, but I had to force myself to overcome the pain. The lab results came back negative for harmful bacteria, and I never went back to that doctor. I concluded that the rash was probably caused by sleeping naked and rubbing my penis against the sheets. 

My rash cleared up, and I continued to have sex with Stacey. Our sexual appetites grew with each encounter. We got bored with regular sex and wanted to try something different. One evening, we decided to role-play as business professionals meeting for a discreet encounter. I was supposed to pick her up, and we’d start a fictional conversation related to work. However, halfway to our usual secluded spot, I gave up, and she did too. It just wasn’t our thing. 

She confided in me that she had been raped at the age of 13, which was how she lost her virginity. One night, while discussing sex, we decided to experiment with some new things. I role-played raping her, including choking and slapping her, though not with full force, so as not to leave any visible marks. She enjoyed being slapped during sex and having her hair pulled. It wasn’t something I was personally into, but I did it for her. 

One summer day, we went swimming in Stobreč. We rented a kayak, and I paddled us around Stobreč and towards Split. On the way, I noticed some new beaches, and Stacey told me her dad had said they were known as “gay beaches” because they were popular spots for gay people to hang out. It was a secluded area with a narrow strip of coastline separated by slopes and the sea. The slopes were eroded, and there were no houses or buildings nearby. There were just a lot of pine trees and man-made paths leading from the top of the slopes down to the coast. I saw some nudists on those beaches. We almost reached the Split area by kayak, but we were still parallel to the “gay beaches.” I paddled to one of the beaches and we secured the kayak. Since we were alone, I suggested Stacey take off her bra, which she did, and I stripped naked as well. We probably would have had sex if a naked man hadn’t walked by. Then, a mosquito bit my testicle. We decided to head back to Stobreč to return the kayak. 

One day, my dad called us on Skype. We all talked to him in the living room, but I felt like the conversation was pointless and boring. Mom eventually sent us all to our rooms and closed the living room door. She also closed the hallway door, so my siblings and I were confined to our rooms. At some point, I tried to go back to the living room, but I realized the door was locked. Then, I heard my mom moaning. I realized she was having virtual sex with my dad. I thought how pathetic that was.

I would sometimes visit Stacey’s house and see her parents, who were no longer upset with us about smoking weed. Neither our parents knew we smoked cigarettes, though I suspected Stacey’s parents at least suspected. They would let us go to her room to watch a movie. Sometimes I would give Stacey a back massage. Then her mom would come in to “check” on us and would always jokingly ask, “When’s my turn?” It made me wonder what it would be like to sleep with Stacey’s mom. I occasionally masturbated while thinking about her. 

I’d been researching ways to increase my penis size. I came across countless techniques and promises from scam artists, but I realized they weren’t worth my time. I was looking for a natural way to enlarge my penis, and one day I found a website called pegym.com. It claimed to offer methods for penis enlargement using specific tools and exercises. Since I was 18, I created an account and logged into the forums. I explored the forums and saw many subforums, including ones dedicated to premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, and even foreskin restoration. I was a novice on the subject, so I started researching penis enlargement techniques and everything related to it. The first step was to warm up my penis, either with warm running water or by wrapping it in a warm, damp cloth. I chose the warm water method. 

Next, the instructions said to get my penis to about 60-70% erection and then perform an exercise called “jelqing.” This involved a “milking” motion, similar to how you’d milk a cow. The goal was to increase blood flow to the penis, which was believed to increase both its length and girth. When I compared my own penis size to the average, I realized I was already above average in both length and especially girth.

However, I didn’t consider my penis to be exceptionally large. I tried my first penis enlargement exercise, which involved warming up and then jelqing, and it felt good. I was simply trying to enhance my size to please Stacey even more. After the session, I noticed a few red dots on my penis. I researched what they were and found out they were neither a good nor a bad sign. I chose to interpret them as a good sign, since I hadn’t been forcing the exercises. I told Stacey about the penis enlargement techniques I was trying, and she was happy to hear it. A few weeks later, after we had sex, she said she felt a difference in the size of my penis, even though I hadn’t actually measured it. I concluded that either the quality of my erections had improved, or she was just being nice to me. 

I often went out in the evenings to smoke weed by myself. I would go to a secluded part of the forest on the peninsula, away from the coast, to avoid getting caught by the police. 

Other times, I would drive my car to the beach, get high, and then listen to a radio station where people were praying the rosary. I would laugh and say out loud, “You’re all crazy, that is completely unnecessary!” Then I would switch the radio from FM to AM. I discovered some music with an Eastern European sound, probably picking up a signal from somewhere else in the Balkans. It was a regular song, and I just babbled along to it while I was high. 

I watched a lot of porn at home; I couldn’t seem to get enough. Even Stacey watched porn. I remember one night at her place when we watched it together. I continued to go out and enjoy smoking weed. Stacey and I also started going to casinos. We played roulette, but only placed small bets for fun. It felt great to be in that adult environment, smoking while sitting next to the roulette table. 

One evening, me, Stacey, Jim and Danny went to a concert by Dragana Mirković at the “Hemingway” club. Stacey just had to be there with me, God forbid I only went with Jim and Danny. I got used to her presence with me and my friends. The concert was great, and I even took a picture with Dragana Mirković herself while I was on stage. 

Over the summer, auditions for the acting academy were held. I spoke with some of the actors to get a better understanding of what the judges were looking for in prospective students. I had to memorize three monologues and perform them in front of the judges. I chose two existing monologues and wrote my own poem, hoping to catch the judges’ attention. About 30 people were auditioning for the acting academy, some of whom were auditioning for the 4th or 5th time. When it was my turn, I went inside. The judges were seated at a table, and I began my first monologue. My first monologue went pretty well, but during the second one, I forgot my lines and got flustered. I stood there in silence, feeling ashamed, but eventually, I remembered them. I finished by reciting my poem, and the judges seemed genuinely impressed. I left the academy and went for a drink with some of the other auditionees.

Later, we returned to the academy to see the results. 

One of the other auditionees passed, but I was among those who didn’t. I went home disappointed, but I got over it, comforted by the fact that I had at least tried my best. 

Stacey and I started getting high more frequently. One night, I was riding my bike home after getting high, and I was alone on the road. I was staring down at my feet pedaling when I hit the curb and fell off my bike. Luckily, no one was around, especially the police. I got up, continued cycling home, but ended up with a large scratch on my leg. 

In September, the college acceptance results came in, and I was accepted into the Faculty of Civil Engineering. I had been 33rd on the list for Geodesy, which only had a capacity of 30 students. At the Faculty of Civil Engineering, I met some new people who also liked to smoke weed, so we mostly focused on how and when to get high, and studying took a backseat. 

The day after class, I had plans to go out with Stacey, but my classmates invited me to smoke weed with them after class. I told Stacey I was going with them and then turned off my phone. We went to smoke, and I was in charge of rolling the joint since no one else knew how. I felt a sense of pride, even though my rolling skills were still just okay. We smoked and then went to a café, hung out for a while, and then went home. When I checked my phone, I had missed calls and texts from Stacey. She was angry that I hadn’t gone out with her and seemed to want to control who I spent my time with.

I met a cute girl at college, and I got bored with Stacey and wanted to cheat on her. I messaged the new girl, and we met at a café. She told me she liked to read erotic novels. We chatted for a bit, and then I went to meet Stacey. She told me her period was late, so we went to buy a pregnancy test. She asked me where I had been, and I couldn’t come up with a good answer. I confessed that I’d been with another girl, and she was furious. We went to another café, where she took the test, which came back negative. 

October 

In October, my college friends and I decided to go to Omiš to stay at one of our friend’s houses. One Friday evening after classes, we took the bus to Omiš. We arrived at a house that was typically rented to tourists during the summer; it was located near the sea. We rolled joints, got some drinks, and I enjoyed their company. I got so drunk and high that I eventually fell asleep on the bed. I woke up the next morning feeling great and saw that one of my friends was still awake. I suspected he had taken some speed to stay up all night. We left the house, and it felt wonderful to take the bus back home. 

December 

Stacey and I went out to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2013. I rolled four joints to prepare for the night. We went to a club, but the music was boring, so we went outside by the sea with a lot of other young people. We smoked three joints and had a good time. Then Stacey’s father came to pick us up. He didn’t realize we were high and drove me home to my neighborhood. I had one joint left, so I decided to smoke it in the stairwell of my building. I went up to the top floor where there was no elevator shaft and lit it up. The automatic lights went out, and it was just me smoking in the darkness and silence. 

Every so often, the elevator would beep as people presumably returned from their New Year’s Eve celebrations.

I was dissatisfied with how I’d spent New Year’s Eve 2013. That old feeling from growing up in the suburbs, that there must be a better way to celebrate, resurfaced. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and threw up on the staircase. It took me a while to compose myself, and then I went down to my apartment, grabbed a cloth, and went back up to clean up the vomit. I returned home, and even though it was 5 in the morning, the night still felt young to me. I turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels. I stopped at CNN, which was broadcasting New Year’s Eve celebrations in New York. It was interesting to watch other people who seemed genuinely happy, or at least good at pretending to be.

At the beginning of 2013, I was 18 years old. Stacey had another miscarriage and was deeply depressed. It was likely caused by the abortion pill she had taken previously. The gynecologist told her she would probably never be able to have children. I didn’t know how to help her. 

She told me she’d been contacted by a woman from Serbia who claimed to be her biological mother. Apparently, Stacey had been adopted. She told me that she eventually met her biological family, who came to Split to see her. When she met her parents and siblings, one of her siblings spat in her face. She ran home after that. Stacey has remained in contact with her biological father.

He informed her that her biological mother had been killed in a car accident. This news deeply affected Stacey, and she struggled to function at school. She began experiencing insomnia, sometimes going 2-3 days without sleep. As a result of the trauma and lack of sleep, she eventually started having hallucinations. 

One spring evening, we went on a date. After I sent her home, I went for a walk towards my own house. A minute or two later, she was suddenly there, running towards me and crying hysterically. She told me she had seen the dead body of her biological mother on the floor of her apartment building. I comforted her until she stopped crying, calmed down, and then went home. 

A few days later, we were at Stacey’s house, in her room. She told me she saw a man dressed in black standing by the window. I looked, but there was no one there. She started crying and said the man was insulting her and laughing at her. I didn’t know what to do. Then, while still crying, she pulled a doll out of the closet and told me she wanted to have a baby. 

She managed to live a relatively normal life, and I wanted to support her as much as I could. Somehow, our relationship continued, but it wasn’t the same as before. 

One evening, Stacey and I went for a run. We went to Bačvice to run along the sea. It was windy, and the sea was wavy. On the way, we ran into her cousin, who was a police officer. She introduced us, and then we continued on to Bačvice. We ran to try and counteract our lifestyle, which was filled with cigarettes and marijuana.

We ran east from Bačvice, towards Stobreč, and she was running on her tiptoes. I told her that my rowing coach had taught us that short sprints are done on your toes, while longer distances are run on your heels. This led to an argument between us in a public place, while people walked by. We stopped running and started walking. Stacey would stop every now and then to emphasize her point. As we approached the “gay beaches” that separated Split and Stobreč, our argument escalated to the point where I felt like I wanted to die just to make her stop bothering me. I started running towards the Stobreč, intending to drown myself. I could hear Stacey running and screaming after me, but I eventually lost her and continued running alone. 

I reached the “gay beaches,” and my phone started ringing. It was Stacey. I answered, and she cried and told me to come back. I didn’t say anything, hung up, and kept running until I reached the middle of the beaches. The phone rang again, and this time it was her cousin, the policeman. I put the phone down and started wading into the choppy sea. I walked until the water reached my hips. Suddenly, a large wave crashed into me, pushing me back and almost knocking me over. I stopped trying to drown myself and returned to the shore, mostly soaked. The phone rang again, and I answered. It was her cousin. I told him I’d be back. I returned to where I had started running, and Stacey and her cousin were there. He gave me his hoodie so I wouldn’t get sick, and we got into his car. I don’t remember anyone saying anything; they just drove me home.

A few weeks later, it was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was wearing sunglasses. I drove to Stacey’s apartment, and we went to a coffee shop. Afterwards, we were in the parking lot smoking cigarettes when we somehow got into another argument. I told her I wanted to break up, and she replied that I had “impregnated her with two children who were aborted, so I have to repay her somehow.” Then she started crying, saying she wanted her mom and her babies back. I broke down and started crying. I hugged her, but it felt meaningless. I drove her home and then went for a drive myself. I headed toward the suburbs, crying as I drove. I hoped no other drivers would notice, hiding my tears behind sunglasses. Halfway to the suburbs, I decided to drive there and kill myself by crashing into a wall near an industrial zone. I stopped crying and wondered if this was the end. But it wasn’t. I slowly drove past the wall. I parked the car nearby and stayed there to calm down. Suddenly, I saw another car approaching, and I recognized my aunt from the suburbs inside. She looked confused to see me there, and we barely waved at each other. 

The next day, I went to the hardware store to buy a hose that I planned to connect to my car’s exhaust pipe to kill myself with carbon monoxide. I didn’t find the right hose and went home. On the walk back, I inhaled exhaust fumes from passing cars, hoping they would somehow be enough to kill me. 

The suicidal thoughts subsided, and I went to get high. One sunny afternoon, I went to the “gay beaches.” I considered it an ideal place to do drugs because it was secluded, and I assumed no police officer would ever go there. As I walked, I noticed a few people around, all of them alone. I climbed one of the trails to explore, reaching the top of the slope. From there, I had a great view of the sea and the islands. I went back down and ran into a guy with bad breath. We talked about the beaches, and I mentioned I wanted to go back down. I offered to let him go first, but he insisted I go ahead. We went back down together and then parted ways. I found a nice rock, sat down, rolled a joint, and started smoking. 

As I was thinking about how to solve my problems with Stacey, it started to get dark. A guy was walking home, and when he saw me, he slowed down. I lit a cigarette and watched him approach. When he was a few yards away, he said “hello,” and I returned the greeting. Before I knew it, he tried to grab my testicles. I pulled away, and we both laughed awkwardly. I told him to leave, and he did. 

The next day, I was in the car with Stacey in a parking lot, and I told her about my encounter with the man on the beach. I jokingly suggested that we should break up because I was obviously gay. She got angry, saying it was all lies. We had another fight, and she started blackmailing me to stay in the relationship. She threatened to tell my parents about her miscarriages, and I was terrified of their reaction. I felt hopeless and started crying. I cried and sobbed for so long that I felt like I would never stop. Stacey’s phone rang; it was Melissa. I stopped crying and just sobbed quietly instead. An angry Stacey spoke to Melissa on the phone and then said, “He’s here crying.”

A few weeks later, things seemed to return to “normal,” and Stacey went out with Melissa. They went to a nightclub to drink, smoke, and sing along to Serbian pop-folk music. The next day, she told me how great it was and how she and Melissa “closed the club,” meaning they were the last ones to leave. 

At one point, we had an argument, and she accused me of giving her genital herpes. She even pulled down her panties and showed me her vulva, which was covered in red, swollen blisters. She claimed it was probably because I was prone to oral herpes, and I had been performing oral sex on her while I had a cold sore. I didn’t have oral herpes at the time, and I even googled to see if oral herpes could be transmitted to the genitals; the answer was no. I told her she was wrong, but she persisted with her blackmail. 

She told me she’d heard rumors that we were only in a relationship because I had a car.She even told me that Melissa got hooked up with her cousin, a police officer. 

I bought a brand new mountain bike. It had 29-inch wheels, and I paid $300 for it.

August 

In August, my Roman soldier and gladiator reenactment group had a performance in the town of Igrane, about 20 km south of Makarska. We drove there in four cars, bringing all our equipment. We arrived and settled into our apartments. The performance began late in the afternoon, and we all dressed in our Roman soldier and gladiator costumes. We joined the other performers and paraded through the town. 

After the parade, we performed a choreographed routine of Roman army drills and gladiator fights. After the performance, we had dinner. We changed out of our costumes and into regular clothes. In the evening, there was a party on the edge of town. We drank and smoked. I got somewhat drunk and noticed a girl dancing who also seemed drunk. I went up to her, danced with her, and then kissed her passionately. It felt good to cheat on Stacey. After a while, the girl wandered off, and my group and I returned to the town. Danny and I were in an alley, rolling a joint. The others from our group were on the beach, swimming and hanging out. I had a brilliant idea. I walked into the sea, holding the joint and lighter above the water so they wouldn’t get wet. Then, Danny and I swam a little way offshore to join the rest of our group.

We lit the joint while we were in the water, being careful not to drop it or get it wet. We all got high and enjoyed swimming in the incredibly warm water.

January 

I started smoking weed every day, usually in the evenings to help me fall asleep. My college classes were from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. After lunch, I’d go to the “gay beaches” to get high. I enjoyed the sun, the sea, and a few hours of freedom before my 4 p.m. classes. I’d drive to college half-stoned, my eyes still red and heavy. I’d walk into the lecture hall, and the professor would look at me strangely, as if he knew I was high. I’d stare down at my notebook, hoping he wouldn’t report me to the dean or someone else. After class, I’d have dinner and then go to the men’s restroom. I’d lock myself in a stall, lower the toilet seat and lid, and sit down. Then, I’d take out my rolling papers, filters, a cigarette, and my weed. I’d calmly roll a joint, preparing myself to meet up with Stacey. I finished rolling, put the joint and my rolling supplies in my bag, “flushed” the toilet, and went outside.

I met Stacey, and she asked me how often I smoked. I told her I did it every day, more than once if possible, or at least once before bed. I needed my daily dose of weed; I had to “just smell it and taste it a little.” She told me that’s how addicts think, and she was right. This sparked a fight, and she then ordered me to stick to a strict daily routine: home-college-home, with no deviations. I got angry and went home.

Stacey was about to enroll in college and chose a maritime program. I became her math tutor, and thanks to my help, she passed the state graduation exam and got into the university. Once she started college, she struggled with math again, so I helped her out once more. Her math courses were easier than mine, since I was studying to become an engineer, so it was easy for me to help her, and I felt good about it. She passed her math tests and advanced to her second year of college, while I had to repeat my first year because I had failed some subjects, ironically, including mathematics. 

March 

I was still wearing the underwear my dad had bought me in Pakistan. However, it was getting old and had a small hole under my testicles. One day, the hole ripped bigger, and my testicles were hanging out, getting pinched as I walked. When I got home and changed, I noticed that my left testicle was a little bigger than usual and had dilated blood vessels. It felt like I was touching a bag of worms. I went to the doctor, and he told me I had a varicocele (varicose veins in the scrotum). He ordered X-rays and a semen analysis. 

April 

I went to get an X-ray of my testicles and found myself sexually attracted to the female doctor who was about to perform the procedure. I walked into her office, and she told me to lie down on the bed and lower my pants. I was hoping my penis would become erect, but it remained flaccid. 

I went to the semen analysis room, and the nurse gave me a small container for the sample. I went to another room equipped with comfortable chairs, pornographic magazines, and a toilet. I looked at some of the magazines, but after watching so much video pornography, it was like looking at a blank wall. I ejaculated into the container and took the sample to the nurse. The next day, I picked up my results. 

They showed a lower-than-normal count of live sperm. 

During a follow-up appointment, the doctor told me that the varicocele wasn’t dangerous, but it could affect my fertility. He recommended surgery to improve my chances of having children, but I declined. 

July 

Over the summer, I had to study to retake the math courses I’d failed both this year and the previous year. The subject was divided into two parts – Mathematics 1 and Mathematics 2 – covering infinitesimal calculus (derivatives and integrals). Each exam was in three parts. First, we had a problem-solving test, followed by a separate theory test. Finally, we each had an individual oral exam with the professor. She was a bit eccentric, and I thought her requirements were excessive, but it made sense that she demanded so much, as future civil engineers needed all that knowledge. 

I passed Math 1 relatively easily and then had to study for Math 2. I passed both the problem-solving and theory tests. One day, I had my individual oral exam scheduled for 1 p.m. at the college. The exam began, and some parts went well, while others didn’t.

The professor complimented my handwriting, saying it looked like it was written by a woman. We talked as she questioned me. Then came the integral problem that I hadn’t solved correctly on the written test. She told me I had to solve it again or I would fail the exam. Somehow, I managed to solve it, and even she was impressed with how I arrived at the correct answer.

The exam continued, and we took a break later. It was already 3 p.m., and she was known for conducting lengthy exams. The test resumed, and she continued to chat a bit. At one point, she asked me where I was from. This wasn’t the usual question about my birthplace, but rather about my grandfather’s birthplace—my ancestral origin. I told her I was from a village west of Drniš. Since people with my last name were mostly from villages south of Drniš, she jokingly suggested that my family was probably “degenerate” because of this discrepancy.

I was shocked that someone in academia would make such a statement. I just smiled, and the exam continued. She talked a bit more, and then I realized I could report her to the dean if I didn’t pass. I even considered some kind of blackmail. 

However, it wasn’t necessary. Around 7 p.m., the exam finally ended, and I passed Mathematics 2, which meant I also passed my first year of college. I went home and shared the news with everyone, and they were all happy. 

In the spring, I had the idea to grow marijuana and make some money. I told Stacey, and she didn’t object, but she did tell me to be careful. I envisioned making about $20,000 in the first year, and then reinvesting some of that to make $500,000 the following year. I wanted to settle down with Stacey, have a normal life, and forget about the past. I researched growing weed online and discovered that location and discretion were key. 

I found a website called icmag.com, and in the forum section, I found a thread called “MASSIVE OUTDOOR GROW.” 

It was created by a user who called himself “Julian.” It was a long thread, but it contained a lot of useful information about growing weed. I couldn’t grow weed indoors, so I wanted to do it outdoors, under the sun, as nature intended. I spoke to the drug dealer who supplied Stacey and me with weed, and he told me it would be hard work, not only because it was illegal, but also because someone else could find my plants. 

I started scouting locations to grow my weed, visiting several places I had in mind. First, I went to a hill in the suburbs where there was a quarry. I explored the south side, but nothing seemed suitable. Then I headed east towards the mountains above Omiš. The location seemed promising, but it was right next to a state road, and I’d be risking too much being seen there with bags of soil and other supplies. I returned home and started searching online for maps showing the cadastral situation around the Split area. 

I used arkod.hr to check land ownership, looking for areas that were either privately owned or state-owned. I headed towards the mountains north of Split, exiting the highway onto narrower roads leading to a village. I drove up the mountain, enjoying the beautiful views. The road went past the village and eventually transitioned from asphalt to gravel. The gravel road then continued all the way to the mountain’s summit, which is about 2,000 feet high. I parked next to the small church of St. George and took in the scenery. 

The view was incredible. You could see all of Split, the suburbs, the sea, the islands, and the surrounding areas. I explored the south side of the mountain but realized I’d be too exposed; anyone could see me. I got back in my car and drove to the north side. It was typical Mediterranean forest, with some trees and mostly shrubs. The ground was shallow, with rocks and boulders everywhere. I found a spot near a dirt road that seemed like everything would be hidden in plain sight, but I ultimately decided against it. I drove down the mountain on a dirt road and found a small path leading back up to the summit. Near this path was a grassy area with several medium-sized rocks scattered around. I walked on the rocks, careful not to step on the grass, so as not to create a visible trail that someone else could follow. I had to navigate through some prickly bushes as well. 

After a while, I ventured further down the mountain, walking on the grass because the terrain required it. I reached an area with more trees and shrubs and decided this was the right spot. It was relatively close to a dirt road, so transporting soil and containers wouldn’t be too difficult, but at the same time, it wasn’t so deep in the wilderness that hunters would stumble upon it easily. I went home and checked arkod.hr again. I located my chosen spot on the map, and it was state-owned land, not currently being used by anyone. The only remaining obstacle was the hunters who roamed the area, but I accepted that as a risk of the endeavor. 

In June, I ordered 10 marijuana seeds online and received them a few weeks later. I believe I read somewhere that possessing marijuana seeds wasn’t illegal in Croatia at the time, but growing marijuana without a permit was. This meant growing for scientific purposes would be legal, but what I was planning was completely illegal. I ordered autoflowering seeds. These produce smaller plants with a shorter growth cycle than traditional plants. Summer was passing, and I still hadn’t begun my growing operation. I also ordered water retention gel online so I wouldn’t be as reliant on rain. I had the seeds and the gel, but I still needed soil.

July 

My family and I moved out of our neighborhood so we could rent our apartment to tourists. We moved to another neighborhood in Split. 

August 

I started growing weed at the end of August. 

One afternoon, I went to a large store that sold everything for home improvement, including tools, paints, carpentry supplies, and garden soil. I needed an alibi in case someone saw me there, so I decided I would say I was looking for soil for some plants at the Roman museum that Harry and my association had started in Split. I also needed to figure out a system for germinating the seeds because I couldn’t just do it on my balcony or somewhere similar. 

I had an idea to use two plastic lids from ice cream containers, placing them one on top of the other. Inside, I put damp paper towels, and I poked several holes in the lids for airflow. I made three of these double-lid containers and placed the seeds inside. Then, I taped each pair of lids together, attached a string, and opened the vents in the storage room next to the apartment to hang them inside. The lids and seeds hung in the ventilation shaft, and I hoped the tape would hold. After putting everything inside, I closed the vent cover. I came back 24 hours later, and most of the seeds had germinated. It was amazing to witness the “birth” of something like that.

I bought four 40-pound bags of high-quality soil and three 4-gallon water containers for initial watering. I loaded everything into my car, drove home, and while in the garage, it hit me: this was really happening, and there was no turning back. It was evening, and I planned to prepare the soil that night and head to the growing site at dawn. I had dinner and then began my first sleepless night, preparing everything for growing weed. 

In the middle of the night, I drove to a more secluded part of the garage. I unloaded the soil, laid everything out on the floor, and began mixing. I finished around 3 or 4 in the morning and then set off for the mountains. I took a shortcut on the interstate to avoid a potential police checkpoint about a mile and a half north. I stopped in a small town to fill my containers with water before continuing on to my growing location. 

I arrived around 5 a.m. and had to set up three different growing locations. I chose three spots because if I were caught or robbed, the loss would be minimized. First, I unloaded the bags of soil and carried them to the three separate locations. This took me about an hour and a half. I needed to relieve myself, but I didn’t have any toilet paper. I squatted in the bushes and used the smooth surface of a rock to wipe. I didn’t care; I was too focused on the money I was going to make. By 7 a.m., the sun was relatively high in the sky, and it was getting hot. I took off my shirt and continued working. After I had laid out all the soil, I had to transport the water containers to each location. This was easier said than done because each one weighed about 40 pounds. The weight wouldn’t have been a problem if the terrain hadn’t been so difficult. I had to walk on rocks, navigate between bushes, and go up and down the hill while carrying those tanks. Sometimes, while trying to walk on the rocks and avoid thorny bushes simultaneously, I’d lose my balance and almost fall, risking serious injury. 

The second time, I actually fell, but thankfully, it was a slow fall. The scorching sun made everything even more difficult. I carried the first two containers to two of the locations, but the last one had to go uphill. I felt like I was going to vomit from the effort. I questioned why I’d gotten into growing weed in the first place, but I kept going. I finished around 2 p.m., completely exhausted and sunburned. I was lucky no one had passed by. 

After I finished, I went to my old neighborhood to pick up the germinated seeds from the storage room. When I entered my apartment, my neighbor had just returned from work. She was married with two sons and lived with her husband. She invited me in for a drink, and I accepted.

We were alone in her apartment. I thought she was flirting with me, but I wasn’t interested in sleeping with her. I needed to go home to our other apartment in a different neighborhood because our old apartment was being rented to tourists. I got there around 4 p.m. and immediately fell asleep. I woke up around 6 p.m. to my phone ringing. It was Stacey. She told me her father had passed away. I went to her place, and everyone was crying. I stayed with her that night, and we slept in her room. Two days later, her father’s funeral was held. I was there with her, and I cried as we buried him. He was a war veteran, and some soldiers gave him a final salute by firing their rifles. 

September 

One day I was on a date with Stacey and she told me that she had tried speed (amphetamine). I was worried, but in the end I got the urge to try it myself. One day we went to a house party with her college classmates and they offered me speed. I accepted the offer and snorted my first line. The speed was indeed speedy. Time passed quickly and I was not tired. I had the ability to drink and smoke indefinitely. I was with Stacey and one of her male friends from college. In the middle of the night, another male friend came and sat next to Stacey. They were relatively close to each other, but I didn’t react. I wanted to break up with her anyway. The two of them went to the balcony to talk, and I stayed inside with her other friend. I told him about my weed growing and by that time about 10 people knew that I was growing weed. It was hard for me to keep my mouth shut because I was proud of what I was doing. 

October

College started, and we moved back to our old apartment in the old neighborhood. I attended classes and visited the plants whenever I had the chance. 

November 

My marijuana growing venture came to an end. I had to figure out how to dry the buds. I laid them out on sheets of paper to dry under some bushes. A few days later, I returned, and everything was wet. I decided to take the risk of transporting all the weed by car to Split and finding a drying location on the peninsula. I succeeded and found a good spot deeper in the woods near a small road. Just as I finished placing everything in the bushes, protected from the rain, I saw a woman walking with a dog about 50 feet behind me. She didn’t see me, but the dog did. Luckily, the dog just stood there and didn’t bark. After a few days, when everything was dry, I weighed it all. There was about 2 ounces in total. I had invested about $1,000 and made about $1,200. 

December 

I was getting tired of college. One day, during a break between lectures, I was dozing off at my desk. In that liminal space between reality and dreaming, with my eyes closed, I had the strange sensation of seeing my own pants and shoes as if through the table. 

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.