Thanks, straight people, but I don't need your concern about my chemsex and chillout lifestyle

I have a pretty average job, but some of my newfound friends have important work lives; they’re charity workers, doctors, lawyers, and more. Does that shock you?

A new documentary says chemsex 'has led to young men being trapped in a vicious circle of sex, addiction and dependence' (Vice UK)

Last year I became single for the first time in my adult life. While all my gay friends were spending their early twenties going out and having fun, I was cozying up to my boyfriend and opting for nights in by the fire. The wildest thing we ever did was puff on a joint at a friend’s BBQ one summer – crazy, I know.

But once singlehood beckoned again, I looked at that group of gay friends I’d neglected for seven or eight years and found that they’d all gone. They weren’t heading into town anymore on a Friday; they’d settled down themselves. So I called in a few dinner dates, and decided to get back out on the scene.

At one such dinner my friend asked if I wanted to join him to a party and I said, ‘Sure’ - it was Friday, after all. I had no idea that would mark the beginning of a habit.

That was March; I’ve not spent a single weekend drug-free since. I’ve never been addicted to anything, but ‘chillouts’ - and the two signature drugs of choice on said scene - have gotten me good.

The scariest element as I write this, sober on a Friday afternoon, is that I know I’m not ready to give it up; I like it. Does this make me a bad person?

This all started off as what I would term ‘classy’ chillouts, wherein nothing sexual was going on. It was just a group of guys getting together after spending some hours in a club and unwinding via mephedrone and G for hours. Some weekends these parties have easily gone on for two straight days.

I found another genre to chillouts a month or so into my new weekend life; the not-so-classy end of the spectrum, more commonly known as ‘chemsex’ parties.

I went to my first chemsex party by accident with a friend I’d made a couple of weeks before. I knew it would involve drugs, but what I didn’t expect to find upon arriving was 10 or so guys walking around in boxer shorts or nothing at all.

We didn’t join in with the sex end of business initially. I scored some supplies from the resident drug dealer and made conversation with the new faces that were relaxing on the sofa. I measured myself a shot of G, and became high over the course of 30 or so minutes; a bit of mephedrone up my nose and soon enough I was in my desired state. Am I bad person yet?

The alarm on my iPhone sounded an hour later: it was time to take another shot. This I did, but instead of re-taking my seat on the sofa, I wandered into a bedroom and found a couple of guys getting it on. I stopped, a little startled, but was invited to join – so I did. As the chemicals kicked in, it felt amazing. I felt amazing.

I stayed in that apartment for about a day, and had sex on and off throughout with innumerable guys. Then I returned the following Friday, and did it all again.

I’ve not become addicted to chemsex. In fact, I haven’t been to a sex-themed party during the weekend for some time now. But it’s true that I haven’t had sex without being under the influence since I was introduced to this new lifestyle.

But back to being a bad person: am I? Because I really don’t feel like I am. All of my friends do it, after all, and we can’t all be bad – can we?

I have a pretty average job, but some of my newfound friends have important work lives; they’re charity workers, doctors, lawyers, and more. That might shock you, but I don’t find it shocking or wrong. The only reason moral outrage about chillouts and chemsex has suddenly been ignited is because this hidden world has hit the mainstream media – and, let’s face it, the straight community. It’s not because we haven’t been doing it all along.

I know I’m sensible enough to access support when I feel I have a problem. At the moment, I don’t think I have that problem – I think it’s society’s perception of me that I struggle with, rather than the lifestyle itself. I’m enjoying the stuff I get up to at the weekend. For now, I’m content.

What isn’t going to help is a cohort of uniformed journalists and academics jumping on a bandwagon of manufactured outrage. I am yet to read an article on this that hasn’t left me feeling miserable about myself. Mephedrone doesn’t leave me feeling this way, nor does G – and chemsex and chillouts definitely don’t - but those articles do.

This is all my choice; I won’t blame anybody if it comes crashing down but myself. So why the false concern?

Hamish Parsons is a pseudonym