Deconstructing Ashley (Part 7 - 12)

By Superlush (with illustrations by Captain Dunsel)

Continued from Parts 1 - 6

Part 7

Rebecca led Ashley to a rack of pink suede dresses and appraised her with a trained eye, lingering briefly on a few spots.

Ashley giggled and found herself sucking on her index finger.  She pulled it out with a great deal of effort because she didn’t want to get in trouble, but it felt super good to suck right now. Could it have anything to do with how high she was? She doubted it. That would be silly. Her mouth wasn’t high, she was. Duh. Besides, she wasn’t doing it anymore now. So why bother worrying about it?

Rebecca smiled indulgently while her busty brunette customer, who couldn’t be much older than 21, stared into space, her eyes glazed over. With a shrug Rebecca busied herself with the dresses. She had seen much over the years: who was she to judge? Besides, this girl was in her own little world, and not just chemically, it was that age: college. What with the hormones and the limited life-experience, you just think you’re the center of the universe. Rebecca didn’t delude herself, she had been much the same. She just hadn’t gone the druggie route like this girl clearly had.

She held up a dress. “Here,” she said kindly, “let’s try this one on for size, shall we? I think it will suit your body type just perfectly!”

“My... body... type?” Ashley inquired, folding her arms under her bosom in the hope of simultaneously looking thoughtful and keeping her fingers away from her mouth. Simultaneously, she realized that Rebecca was pretty hot... Her boobs weren’t very big, but still... it was hard not to notice. She flashed Rebecca a smile. 

“Hm,” Rebecca tapped a reflective finger against the side of her nose for a moment, “how would I describe your type?” After a moment’s deliberation her eyes shone merrily. “Bombshell.” She laughed. “Yep, that would be it.”

Ashley’s brow furrowed for a moment. Bombshell? Oh... right, like... what’s her name... Marilyn Monroe... Her face brightened and she nodded emphatically. “Cool. Thanks.”

“Yes, well. You actually, sort of, remind me of myself. Just a little. When I was your age, of course. And, actually, my daughter who’s in college now too,” Rebecca smiled sweetly, “You’re a bit better endowed in the chest area, of course.”

Ashley giggled. This lady was great! She was so nice!

In a large, plush dressing room, Ashley stripped down, fully revealing her body-type.

“Well,” Rebecca said, eyes flashing her up and down. “You have exceptional carriage, young lady.”

“Comshell barriage?” Ashley suggested, and then blushed and giggled hard at how she had misspoke. “I meant bombshell carriage... ... bombshell... ...” 

“Yes dear, bombshell carriage.”

Even though Ashley didn’t know what ‘carriage’ meant in this context (or any context, really), it felt nice to be looked at and complimented with strange words that probably meant: really hot, or something nice like that.

After looking in the mirror and seeing her grinning, naked, sleepy-eyed self standing there, looking all... carriagey and stuff, and with Rebecca hovering right behind looking on with patient approval, Ashley decided that she looked much sexier than any of the models in Sunny’s magazine. This decision unleashed a surge of superiority. She held her arms out and wiggled: it was her stoned version of a little jigg of happiness.

Rebecca, sensing that her customer was a little too at ease being naked, clapped her hands to get her attention, then said: “Okay then. Shall we try on this dress?”

Ashley nodded and let the nice saleswoman slip the dress over her head, if indeed it could be called a dress. It was a single piece of pink suede, backless and strapless, that when correctly positioned shoved her tits up and out like a push-up bra. Rebecca got her into it and pulled the laces around the waist and under the bodice tight so that the curve of her ass was perfectly framed and her tits were shoved forcefully up. She then brought in a pair of sandals and big white plastic hoops for her ears.

“You’re boyfriend is just going to die!” Rebecca exclaimed.

“My... boy...friend?” Ashley asked, confused. Her reflection in the mirror was distractingly hot looking. Her sleepy eyes kept darting lazily from the saleswoman to the mirror and back. “Uh... my boyfriend’s not even here. Oh,” she gasped, turning sideways, “my gawd. Loogit how good my butt looks’n this!” It was true: it looked phenomenal. “I wan’ it,” she insisted.

“Well,” Rebecca hastened to clarify, “What I guess I meant was: the gentlemen outside whom I assume is paying...”

Ashley pealed with laughter, while Rebecca stood and waited. This nice saleswoman thought Andrew was her boyfriend! Hilarious. Not in this life.

After a few moments Ashley settled down. “You mean Andrew, huh? Andrew isn’t my boyfriend!” she explained. This saleswoman’s nice and everything, she thought, but she’s not very bright. “He’s just... he’s...” It occurred to her, through the fog, that what she was about to say was a little weird. “...uh... he’s jus’ buying me clothes ‘cuz... ‘cuz he’s got money right now, from this test, or something and... and he’s... uh...” She paused, confused. “...and, uh...” Oh! Right! Of course! It wasn’t weird at all, she realized. “...and he likes my boobs,” she finished, smiling smugly. It seemed perfectly logical and normal inside her fuzzy head: Andrew had explained it all.

“Oh?” Rebecca blushed.

Ashley shot Rebecca a ‘just-between-us-girls’ glance, “Yah, he just, like... wants to suck on ‘em, huh?”

“Oh, um…” This had taken Rebecca completely off-guard. “Yes. Yes, well, most girls aren’t so... open... about that. Refreshing, really.” She cleared her throat. It was time to move to the next phase of her routine sales pitch. This stoned coed was making her nervous, the sooner she could sell her a few dresses and send her on her way, the better.

“So,” Rebecca said, raising her voice to a commanding level, and a tone that was all business, “the first thing I tell all my customers, no matter who their boyfriends are, is that I’m a woman with a personal philosophy. Something which is very, very important, I feel, in life and,” she held up a finger. Ashley blinked and looked at it, then looked back to Rebecca’s face. “... and when it comes to style,” Rebecca finished. “I recommend that you think carefully about what your own personal philosophy might be. My personal philosophy is that style and fashion areeverything, and I mean that quite literally. Some people don’t believe me, but I’m entirely serious.” As she spoke Rebecca walked closer to Ashley, until she so close that she could smell the stink of marijuana on the girl and could see the redness in what little of the whites of her eyes she could make out. After a dramatic pause: “You believe me don’t you, dear?” Ashley nodded vigorously, her chin wagging like a marionette. “Good.” Rebecca breezed back over to the rack of dresses, turned and took a few steps backwards, running her hand along the fabrics. “The entire world is nothing but one big fashion show, wouldn’t you agree?” Ashley nodded again, just as vigorously: she was remembering the red carpet, the cameras, Kendra. “Which means you have to dress to impress: the wrong style in the wrong situation can be worse than not even showing up. Style is about dresses, but it’s also about poses: the way you wear the dress. Remember, in a fashion show, the pose…” Rebecca paused again here for added dramatic effect. “...the pose makes all the difference in the world.”

“Yah, the pose,” Ashley agreed wholeheartedly. She had seen America’s Next Top Model. She knew the deal. That was a really good show.

It was slowly dawning on Ashley that she had misjudged this saleswoman. She was actually hella smart.

Rebecca nodded. “Yes… the pose… Poses are everywhere, everything is poses… But… Shall we go deeper?”

“Wait... Deeper where?” Ashley asked, confused. Why had she gotten this stoned again? There had to have been a reason: but now it was gone and she was stoned as hell trying to deal with this smart clothes lady who seemed to be talking waaaaay more than a normal clothing salesperson.

“Deeper in meaning…” explained Rebecca.

Rebecca opened her mouth to continue with her routine, but Ashley blurted out: “Oh yah!”She understood now. This was like what Andrew had been talking about. The way things reallyare. “Yah, totally. Totally. You don’ need to e’splain. I, like, already know about how we’re monkeys.”

“What?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow, caught off-guard again. “Monkeys?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Ashley babbled brightly, trying to lift her eyelids. She couldn’t believe Rebecca hadn’t heard about the monkeys, she was so smart in other regards; she was glad to have a chance to contribute to the conversation finally. “We’re all monkeys, righ’? Cuz of Physical Science... an’ we exist… uh…” How had Andrew put it? “...uh... we exist in, like, time an’ stuff, righ’? Like, we, like, exist in time an’ suck on each other an’ we…”

“I get it, I get it.” Rebecca snapped, cutting Ashley off. She needed to segue-way back into her usual sales-talk; this was getting a little too weird for her taste. “Look, I don’t care about monkeys; what I’m trying to tell you is...” She decided to dumb it down a little for this girl. “... ismy personal philosophy. Which is that the style of the woman is the style that she wears. The style makes the woman.”

“Oh.” Ashley blinked. “So it didn’n have anything to do with… Oh!” Ashley covered her mouth with her hands. “Whoops! I guess... ... Uh, never mind I guess… … But… uh… yah. Style. Yah. Style’s cool.” She slid her hands to the curve of her waist, then to the hips and then back around along her ass, finally cupping herself back there. You want to talk aboutstyle?—she thought. “I like style.”

Bombshell style is my style...

“But… Of course, style costs money.”

“Yah. Totally.” Ashley nodded. “Doesn’t that suck?”

Rebecca threw up her hands, momentarily overcome with anger. “Again with the sucking monkeys?” she snapped.

“Huh?” Ashley blinked, confused.

Rebecca sighed. “Look, let’s just... go give your... friend what he’s paying for.”

“Yah! What he’s pay’n for an’ I gedda wear!” Ashley crowed, raising her arms as if a touchdown had been scored. She spun to face the mirror again, taking herself in. “I seriously think this is, like, the sexiest dress ever. Like, seriously.”

“Right.” Rebecca rubbed her temples.

Caught by a consideration, Ashley dropped her arms, paused, then beamed over her shoulder at Rebecca: “It’s totally my style, huh?”

Rebecca laughed. “That’s right honey. Style.”

.......

Part 8

Ashley strutted out from the back room in her pink suede body-glove dress and Andrew’s jaw dropped.

She giggled and again found herself sucking her finger. This time it seemed more appropriate to the situation. She was just playing around... posing, for Andrew, right? She spun about and wiggled her ass. She knew she looked amazing and that Andrew was going wild for her. How funny life could be. This wasn’t at all what she had expected to be doing when she dragged herself out of bed this morning. And got high as a kite right away. Drank two beers. Got caught playing with yourself. Funny, huh?

“How do I look, Andrew?” Ashley asked from around her finger, teasing. “I kinna look like a Playboy Bunny, huh?” She meant it as a joke; but then again... Kendra.

“Sweet Mother of God!” Andrew exclaimed. “Yes! You look fantastic!”

Ashley kept giggling and gave a little bow, showing off her cleavage, just as she imaged Kendra would do it.

“So, you gonna buy it for me?” she asked. “How much is it?” she asked Rebecca.

“Oh, it’s very, very affordable,” Rebecca assured her.

Ashley wiggled a happy jig and then did a cheerleader hop. “Buy it for me?” she asked Andrew again.

Andrew nodded enthusiastically.

“The shoes too? Earrings?”

“Sure. Anything you want!”

Ashley jiggled and hopped and clapped her hands. It was such an amazing feeling to have someone buying her something. She felt the same euphoric rush when she had got her tanning bed, and when her Dad bought her the spring break tickets, and every other time she got expensive presents.

“Perhaps you’d like to see your... friend... in another outfit?” Rebecca suggested.

“God... ...,” Ashley murmured to herself, too low for Rebecca or Andrew to hear. Her eyes glazing over. “... this’s... this’s so tight.”

“Yeah,” said Andrew, mesmerized by his friend’s still jiggling mammaries. When they came to a rest, he tore his eyes away. “Definitely,” he said. Raymond gets to fuck her every single fucking night, he was thinking, what a goddamn lucky goddamn bastard!

Rebecca, sensing easy sales, then proceeded to dress Ashley in all manner of sexy outfits from different lines, including a red lace top with tight red hot-pants, a tiny pink bikini, and a black evening gown with a plunging neckline. Each outfit thrilled Ashley more than the last and she was even more thrilled by parading around in front of Andrew, who simply took a seat and gawked. After all, thought Ashley, they all knew that boobies were for looking as well as sucking.

What a lucky girl-monkey I am! she kept thinking. Lucky, lucky, lucky!

“Anything you want!”

After an hour, Andrew pulled the plug, realizing that he was on the hook for a hell of a lot of money, far more than he had.

By that time, Ashley was dressed in a shiny green designer halter top, which Rebecca assured her didn’t need a bra (‘See,’ she had said, gliding a hand along Ashley’s ribs, just below her bosom, ‘see how much support it gives on its own? That’s something you’ll only find in a designer top.’ Ashley had nodded: impressed by Rebecca’s knowledge). She was also wearing a matching skirt that was so short it barely covered the curve of her ass and (following a spontaneous choice of Ashley’s) was one that had a slit completely up the left side; held together with a single big green button. (‘Perfect for dancing,’ Ashley had joked, though no one got it.)

Just as they were leaving, a sudden flash of modesty struck Ashley and she decided against Andrew’s suggestion to not wear any panties under the little skirt—her pussy was feeling so warm and in need of ventilation, just like Andrew said, but still… it was the principal of the thing… Right? Principles were important. She held on tight to the principle, while at the same time, as if to show herself that she could, she scoffed inwardly at the very idea of monkey-principles. Who ever heard of that? She giggled. What a hilarious idea. If she knew anything about monkeys (and she didn’t get the Nature channel anymore so... she didn’t know that much, really, but...) it was that monkey’s just sort of... did what they wanted. Right? But then... Ashley pondered... what didshe, a stylish monkey-girl, want to do? “Anything you want!” She smiled. Honestly, she just wanted to smoke anther bowl. She didn’t even care what time it was, either. No paranoia. How was that for style?

Andrew gave Rebecca his credit card and signed the bill without taking his eyes from Ashley’s body. It was easier that way, he told himself. Try not to think about how much you’re spending.

Ashley giggled, admiring herself in a bank of mirrors near the door, wiggling and jiggling and thinking how utterly amazing she looked and how she wished she could stay here and try on clothes all friggin’ day and how awesome Andrew was for smoking her out and buying her clothes! Who said tests were lame? Maybe she could get her parents to pay her for passing tests. That would be so great. Maybe... she could get even work it so that both Mom and Dad paid her. Double the money! She’d be rich in no time. Think of the extra pot she could buy! Assuming she could actually buckle down and study, of course. But that wouldn’t be hard: she had passed tons of tests. It was a good idea. A really good idea, for sure. Andrew’s idea, though. But... he wouldn’t mind, she thought. He was too smart for that. He’d understand completely. 

It occurred to her that she had never really paid much attention to Andrew before. Not really. He had always just seemed, like, sort of, Raymond’s dweeby friend, kind of cool, but… not. Usuallyall he did around her was stare at her tits and ass, even when she tried to talk to him. Now, though, she saw him now in a new light, and, to her stoned surprise, he actually looked pretty good in it. Cute. Really cute, actually. She bit her lower lip, looking at him in the reflection. He was looking at her. She giggled. Typical. Except... there was this, like, weird look in his eyes, a helpless lustful intensity that made her a little nervous, but also kind of turned her on. It was sort of like being a celebrity on the red carpet, right? Everyone wanted them so obviously in this... vaguely analogous situation, with Andrew as her paparazzi audience-of-one, it stood to reason that—

“Hey, Ash, you look so fucking hot in that outfit,” said Andrew suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.

Ashley giggled. “Thanks.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Remember what we talked about, Miss,” she said firmly. “A woman of style.”

Ashley tried to remember, her eyes glazing over slightly while she did. She managed to recall something about poses being important, and style being connected somehow to monkeys sucking on each other. Nice. 

She nodded vehemently in Rebecca’s direction. “Oh! Oh yah, thanks! Style’s cool. I know.”

Rebecca frowned.

“I mean, God damn!” Andrew continued, his eyes raking her up and down. She was trotting over toward him smiling. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. He would usually never have dreamed of being this forward with a girl (with Ashley MacPherson of all people!), but he couldn’t control himself. She looked so amazing. She was now very close, grinning at him all slow-eyed and stoned and... “I mean, I knew you had a great body, but... your ass looks so good in that skirt it makes me want to just... Mmm!”

Andrew put out his hand and gently caressed her butt.

“Hey!” Ashley stiffened, her grin wilting. “What’re you doing?“

“Huh?” Andrew was even more surprised by his action than she was. Fuck!—he thought. What the hell was I thinking?

“Ray wouldn’t like that!” Ashley stated forcefully and pushed his hand away, stoned eyes flashing angrily. “You can look but you can’t touch, okay? Jeez, Andrew! Gawd!”

She threw a stupid-anxious look over at Rebecca and quickly added: “Just cuz I’m, like... so hot means… uh… I mean… doesn’t means... um... doesn’t mean I can just… uh…” Ashley stopped talking, unable to complete her thought, her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She couldn’t make sense of the parade of foggy thoughts that were tumbling through her mind. “Uh… Miss... Miss Ashley has spoken,” she declared finally, with a giggle, hoping that she could turn it into a joke to defuse the tension.

Rebecca was averting her eyes: as long as this guy’s card went through she had no opinion on any behavior short of a felony: she wasn’t a chaperone for stoner coeds with more boobs than brains, even if she was merely a victim of her own surging hormones and youthful stupidity. Nobody forced her to get that stoned.

Andrew was cursing himself inwardly for slipping up like that. He would blow any chance he had if he moved so fast. Now he had to smooth things over somehow. His mind raced.

“I... I… I just th-thought... uh…” He stammered. “Look... uh... let me make it up to you,” he said gingerly, having settled on a plan. “Let me take you to lunch! Okay?”

“Well, I dunno...” Ashley said. A few warning lights were still going off in her fuzzy brain. That was super not-cool for Andrew to just touch her ass. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it like... a principle of the... .thing, type thing? “Um,” she bit her lower lip again, “do you promise to be good?”

“Yes, Ashley, I promise,” Andrew swore. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll take you some place nice, okay? Just don’t be mad.”

“Uh… well…”

“…And... and we still have that pot in the car, right? We can smoke a few bowls on our way to the restaurant, right? Come on, don’t be mad.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this—thought Rebecca, folding her arms.

Ashley giggled. “Oh yah! You know how to get a girl’s attention, don’t you?” She bit her lip again, teetering on the edge of indecision. “Okay, cool. I forgive you. But!” she chided, “only if we get to smoke a few bowls, okay?” She released her lip so she could pout both her lips slightly, “Promise?”

Andrew laughed. “I promise.” This was too easy.

“But I don’ think I should smoke... like... any more than that,” Ashley said with a decisive nod, “just enough to… uh… just enough to give the ole noggin some lubrication.”

“Oh, I’m not even going to touch that one,” Andrew said with a sly smile, “Too much class. Lubrication is where I draw the line.”

Ashley blinked at him. “What’re you talking about?”

Andrew turned back to Rebecca, who was regarding them both coolly.

“Oh, um, you didn’t hear all that,” he said.

She chuckled. “Sure, sure. What a gentleman does with his friend’s girlfriend is his own business.” There was an edge in her voice, like a tonal frown, but her expression was calm and pleasant.

Andrew shrugged. “Quite right.”

He took his receipt and then put his arm around Ashley and guided her toward the door.

“Sorry,” Ashley giggled over her shoulder to Rebecca. “Andrew’s a nice guy but he’s just so friggin’ rude sometimes. He’s cool, though. For real. Don’t worry ‘bout me! Thanks for the clothes!” She waved. “You seem really nice!”

“My, my...” Rebecca said.

“Isn’t she all, like, super hella nice?” Ashley asked Andrew innocently, as they stepped through the doors and into the sun.

Andrew flung a mock-helpless look over his shoulder at Rebecca, who was shaking her head. “Yeah, she seems really cool, Ash. Totally.” Then the doors snapped shut behind them.

“Yah! Cool. She’s totally cool.”

Ashley skipped ahead of Andrew, swinging her butt and dancing to unheard music.

“Hey,” she cried when she reached the car, “how’re we gonna smoke that bowl? Do you, like, have a pipe or something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got us covered,” said Andrew. “And keep your voice down, will ya?”

“Whoop.” Ashley put a hand over her mouth, then let it drop to reveal a big grin. “Sorry.”

.......

Part 9

They put the bags containing Ashley’s new outfits in the trunk and then got in the car.

Andrew was trying to plan his next move. Although he had day-dreamed and fantasized countless times about something like this happening, now that it was actually occurring he had no idea what he was going to do. Not really. What? Was he going to load bowl after bowl of weed for his best friend’s delectable walking wet-dream of a girlfriend and then paw her cleavage like a pervert? Hope she was too out of it to remember? Get charged with molestation, or worse? Destroy his friendship with Raymond? He was fast realizing that his plan of getting Ashley really stoned and hoping she would let her guard down and let him… do something… anything, was weak. Besides, he thought, she’s already so high that she paraded around in front of me in skimpy clothes without a second thought, but was still on-guard enough to rebuff me when I touched her ass (he could not curse himself enough for that slip-up!). Didn’t that indicate the likelihood that one more, even a few more, bowls would hardly make any difference?

“Are we gonna go... or, like... what?” asked Ashley. She had sunk comfortably into the passenger seat and was now looking around, blinking; feeling very amused and very perplexed at the same time (which, she knew, wasn’t an uncommon combination for her, at least these days).

No, Andrew was deciding, he was going to have to rethink his plan. She might rebuff him, even if he let her smoke a dozen bowls. Still… there was no harm in letting her keep getting high, until he could figure something out.

“Yeah, we’re just about to,” he said finally, “Hold on though.” He leaned over and opened the glove compartment. His hand accidentally brushed against her bare left knee as he did so. “Whoops, sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Careful there, buddy,” she said, but smiled.

That proves it, Andrew thought desperately as he felt around in the glove compartment. Smile or no. The risk was too great. But, on the other hand, this was his one chance. When would he ever get this kind of a set-up again? Sometimes the potential reward outweighed the risk. And sweet Jesus that body was reward enough for a hell of a lot of risk. Everything hinged on getting her totally fucked up, though. That was the key. And that meant moving beyond pot. He remembered the two moist-topped empty beer bottles on her coffee table, and smiled back at her. This shouldn’t be too hard. Plus, he had a few other tricks up his sleeve to help things along.

“Ah, here we go!” He withdrew his hand from the glove compartment, holding a glass Sherlock Holmes style pipe: four inches long, with a deep bowl. “Just what Dr. Andrew ordered.”

“Doctor Andrew?” Ashley scoffed, but took the pipe from him eagerly. “Nice pipe, dude,” she mumbled, her mind instantly gripped by the desire to smoke. Just a few hits to lubricate the noggin. 

It occurred to her, vaguely, that she had already smoked quite a bit and that she should probably let herself come down some before smoking more. “Where’s that Kush?” she asked, forcing the thought away and aiming a slightly bashful smile Andrew’s way: “I wanna smoke.”

“Oh, I know you do. Here ya go.” Andrew pulled the baggie from his pocket and handed it to her(realizing as he did that with that in his pocket the whole time, he must have reeked of pot back in the store; no wonder the saleslady had looked at him strangely) and then tossed a lighter onto her lap. “Load’r up.”

Giving a cursory glance over her shoulder at the few random people who were passing by on the sidewalk—not that she cared too much if there were people around, really; since her paranoia was long gone—Ashley unrolled the baggie, pulled it open, and started tearing up a heap of the weed and was soon stuffing it into the pipe’s bowl. “Here ya go.” She liked the sound of that.

The pungent sweet stink of the weed filled the car.

“Oooo yah, nice,” Ashley purred, “Ya smell that?” She sniffed deeply at the air like an animal. “Don’t you just fucking love that smell? I would, like, seriously wear that smell as, like, a perfume, like... all the time. Chanel Kush no. 420...” She giggled. “Ya know wha’ I mean?”

“Hell yeah,” Andrew began, “I think that would be aw—” 

“Oooh Purple Koooosh,” Ashley cooed to the weed, ignoring him.

He fell silent and watched her as she shimmied her shoulders and grinned down intently at her task, fingers working with great care. “Fucking love Kush, dude,” she was enthusing.

“Oh Kush, le-e-e-e-et me smoke you an’ get me soooo hiiiigh,” she sang, giggling, then looked over at Andrew to see if he thought it was funny too. He seemed to be having some kind of problem with his seat beat: he was all fumbling hands—but oddly his gaze was pointed steadily at her. At her chest, she noticed with a tingle. “You okay over there?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah I’m fine, just fine,” said Andrew hastily, yanking the belt across himself and snapping it, “Everything’s fine. Was just admiring the view and got distracted.”

“Admiring my tits is more like it!” She giggled. “Monkey boy.”

“Oh Jeez,” he said, mockingly, as he started up the car, “I guess you got me there. Caught me doing what’s only natural.”

She missed his intended mockery. “Yah,” she stated seriously, “Caught you.”

He pulled away from the curb and headed south, deeper downtown.

As they drove, Ashley struggled to lift her eyelids enough to get a good, clear, look at Andrew. He kept glancing at her, that same lustful fire in his eyes that she had noticed before, right before he’d grabbed her ass. She giggled, finding it funny. After all it wasn’t like he was touching her butt again or anything. Not by a long shot: he was smoking her out, even though he didn’t have to. Wait. Why was he smoking her out again? She gazed at him for a moment, suspicious. But then: Oh right. Because they were celebrating and because she had hella style. Yeah.

“Hey Andrew,” she purred, “…you wanna green this?” She gestured with the pipe. Through the fog, she knew that as a girl-monkey of style, or whatever, she had to be gracious to boy-monkeys whose mouths yearned for her nipples. It wasn’t their fault, they were just... attracted to her style. After all, she was the one with the big stylish tits, right? Just like that nice, smart saleslady had said. Or... something similar to what she had said, anyway, since Ashley couldn’t quite remember exactly what the lady had actually said.

Something about big style and excellent, bombshell, boob carriage... Something like that. Yeah. Nice. 

She gave Andrew the sort of smile a benevolent philanthropist would give a destitute orphan boy. Poor Andrew, she thought. Here he had just come over to her place to buy some weed and celebrate his good fortune and then... there... like... she was.... all stylish and hot and stuff.Playing with your tits, lost in your own little world. Yeah. That too. The least she could do was let him take the first hit. Right?

“Oh... uh... green it? Sure. I’ll green it if you want me to,” said Andrew. He glanced at her face, looking for signs that she was on to him in some way, but there weren’t any. She looked completely sincere.

Feeling tremendously proud of herself, Ashley beamed and nodded—her eyes glazing over. I’m so good with people—she was thinking. No, no… so good with monkeys—she corrected herself.

There was a brief silence as they drove along, during which Ashley made no move to hand over the pipe.

Andrew glanced at her again. “So, I get to hit that first, is that right?” he asked.

Ashley blinked and looked away from the hypnotic jumble of cars around them: she had been lost in thought about monkeys. “Huh? What’d you say?”  Andrew was... waiting for the pipe. Right? “Oh...”  That’s right, she had asked him... Good with monkeys. She looked down at the pipe in her hands, then back up at Andrew again.

“Can I have it?” Andrew removed held out a hand.

“Uh... nah, I wanna hit it first, actually,” Ashley confessed with a sheepish grin. “You have to wait.” Having offered him the green-hit as a gesture of kindness, to smooth things out, she now had her own appetite to smooth out. He’ll understand—she thought—he’s a sweetheart. Andsmart too. Besides, she had big tits. What was he going to do? Stop her?

“Fine by me,” Andrew said with a shrug. He was waiting for the perfect time to implement the next step of his plan.

Ashley returned her attention to the baggie of weed in her lap. She blinked down at it. “Oh...” she giggled, “Oh right. I’m supposed to be tearin’ up this weed, huh?”

Andrew stayed focused on the road.

She threw herself eagerly back into the task of intently tearing at the weed for a few moments, but when she went to put a few the freshly torn hunks into the pipe bowl...  She squinted. It was already full. “Oh.” She blinked. “I... I already loaded this.” She glanced at Andrew.

“What’s that?” Andrew asked, his attention held by the road. He was signaling and glancing over his shoulder to merge left, heading for Market St. and then the freeway.

“Um...” She smirked. “Nothing. I... I was just... uh... I’m just gonna try and load some more, is all. Just a little more.”

She tried to cram the extra weed she had torn up on top of the weed she had already loaded, but the bowl was too full and pieces of weed fell out and onto the floor of the car, bouncing off her bare legs. “Oh shit,” she mumbled. Then, louder, to distract Andrew: “This’s a cool pipe... uh... Does it have a name?”

“What?” He laughed. “A name?”

“Yeah. What? Is that weird? Pipe’s have names. That, uh... bong we smoked out of… uh… earlier… That was Sunny’s bong,” she explained, parenthetically… “You know Sunny. She’s hella cool. But... uh... So... that bong’s name is Lucifer.” She snickered. “Don’t ask me why.” 

The weed that hadn’t fallen or staid put in the bowl was stuck to her fingers. She tried to flick itoff but it stuck like glue. “Jesus, dude. This pot’s so fucking good. Where’d you get it?”

Andrew furrowed his brow. “Um, you sold it to me?”

“Oh yah... ... That’s right. Duh. ... I have good-ass weed, dude. Seriously.So fucking good. Look. See?” She held up a nug. “Look’t those crystals, dude.” But Andrew was driving and didn’t look over. “Oh,” she giggled. “Sorry. But yah, seriously. This’s gonna… this’s gonna, like… get us… uh…” She struggled to remember the word... that perfect wordthat perfectly captured that perfect state of... “…retarded stoned, dude. Yah. We’re gonna be all, like... retarded and... and... uh...”

Andrew waited for her to finish the sentence, but she didn’t. He risked a glance over at her and found her just grinning out the window. At that precise moment, they drove over a small bump in the road, and Ashley’s tightly held bosom dipped and then sprang back, trembling inside her top.

Andrew gulped. Sweet Jesus... “You ever see that movie Half Baked?” he asked quickly, returning his eyes to the road and vowing to keep them there for the safety of all concerned. “’You have smoked yo’self retarded.’” he quoted, raising his voice to imitate Dave Chapelle.

Ashley laughed. That was so funny. “Yah,” she said, then fell silent for a thoughtful moment. She had definitely seen the movie—back in high school, with her old boyfriend Seth, baked out of her gourd some night in his parent’s basement tv-room—but she didn’t remember it all that well. It was kind of a blur of kissing mouths and groping hands and occasional puffs on a blunt, then more kissing mouths, then, sort of as a break from the kissing, there were bursts of sidesplitting hilarity. “I was so high when I watched tha’ movie,” she finally mumbled.

Andrew kept his eyes straight, “Go figure, right?”

“Yah... ... I just figured… it was... like... a movie about getting’ stoned right? So... I thought... why not? Right? Like, you gotta do it the... uh... the justice that it, you know... the movie, like... deserves and just... um...” Her mind had gone blank.

“...And get really high when you watch it?” Andrew finished her sentence for her. “You don’t need to tell me. I was so high when I watched that movie the first time that I thought my body was going to melt into the sofa cushions.”

They laughed at this. 

“Yah,” said Ashley stupidly, not sure what to say, “that’s... um... that’s cool that... uh... that you were so high.” To avoid talking, she pushed her hair back behind her ears and then pressedon the bowl hard with her thumb, trying to pack it in a bit more. You know, useful work. After a moment of pressing at the sticky weed it became crystal clear that she had packed it as tight as space would allow, so she smiled down at it. Anticipation of getting more stoned was gripping her, making her tingle. She pushed at the overfilled bowl with her finger once more, relishing how densely packed it was.  

Perfect—she thought—Retarded stoned: here we come.

Andrew tapped the brakes lightly to avoid rear-ending a truck that had veered into his lane.

Something about the shift of the car’s speed made Ashley stomach growl. Or maybe it had been growling all along, but she hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t had breakfast, had she? “Oh hey,” she said, reminded of what they were doing. Lunch! Good call. “We should, like, go somewhere... uh... for lunch where we can get greasy bar food... fer lunch. ‘Kay? I love that stuff when I’m baked off my ass.” She held up the pipe. “An’ after this… … I’m definitely gonna be baked off my ass.”

“Oh yeah? Bar food, huh?”

“Yah… Burgers, fries… that kinda of stuff… I really, really like that stuff…gle>… You know what I mean? I mean, it’s so bad for you, but it’s so good... like, at the same time.”

“Yeah, I like it too.” This will be perfect, Andrew was thinking. A bar would be the best possible place to take his plan to the next level. In fact he already knew where they should go. “I actually know this perfect spot. It has the best burgers. Have you ever been to—?”

“Oooohh,” Ashley cut him off. She had placed the bowl under her nose and was drawing in deep, lusty breaths; wiggling with happiness, “Holy fuck this weed smells fucking good!”

“Yep, top of the line, shit. No doubt. Best weed that... uh...” Andrew paused, the memory of finding Ashley fondling her own breasts, naked and baked out of her mind in her apartment with the door unlocked, had appeared unbidden in his mind. He couldn’t help himself: he flicked another glance over at his passenger. She looked as good as ever. “Best weed Ra-…Best weed out there.” He had had to catch himself; he had almost said that it was the best weed Raymond had, but had remembered at the last second not to mention that name around Ashley right now. Best to keep her mind on other things; away from her boyfriend. “Hey,” he said, “Hey Ash. You going to spark that or what? We don’t have all day, you know.”

Ashley lowered the pipe from her nose and turned to Andrew with a sly look on her face. Something had occurred to her. Something important.  “Hey. Do monkeys like to get high?” sheasked him point-blank, her face dead serious.

“Funny you should mention that,” Andrew chuckled, “They love to get high.”

“They do!?” Ashley exclaimed, giving an excited bounce that jostled her breasts. “I knew it! It makes so much sense!”

“Does it?”

“Yah it does!” Ashley was beaming. “Because I like to get high… an’ you like to get high… and... and if we’re monkeys then… then…”

“Then it makes sense…” Andrew finished for her. “Exactly.” He chuckled. “Nice deduction,” he added.

“Exactly.” Ashley beamed down at the pipe in her hands, a tangle of thoughts spinning in her head, running around like monkeys in a cage. Nice deduction. “Whoa,” she breathed, shaking her head slowly as the implications of it all drifted by, just out of reach. But, even out of reach, they were very... very good deductions. This monkey stuff made way more sense than the stuff in her classes. Like... economics for instance.

The thought of economics made her jerk her head up at the same time her world came crashing down. “Oh shit!”

Andrew had turned from Market onto a side-street, hoping to avoid the more cop-infested area around the McDonalds that he knew was coming up. There were apartment buildings all around, people walking. A homeless guy shouted something at them from the sidewalk. Andrew waved. “What’s up?” he asked, distractedly. In his rear-view mirror the homeless guy was flipping him off.

“My fucking economics paper!” Ashley wailed.

All her vacuous peace of mind, all of her happy new-outfit happiness, all of which had been built entirely on stoned misdirection and the heady feeling brought on by being ogled and waited on hand and foot by Andrew, was deflating, leaving her with only a dull premonition of impending doom. Certain doom. 

Andrew turned right onto another side-street, angling back toward Market. “What are you talking about, Ash?”

“I have this huge paper for economics that I haven’t even started yet,” she said in a dejected little voice: the same voice that she always used to make her parents feel sorry for her, “and... and... and I was supposed to be working on it right now. Today. Like... Fuck!”

“Oh yeah?” This could be trouble, Andrew thought. “When’s it due?”

“Friday,” she pouted.

“And you haven’t—”

“No! I haven’t even started it.” The premonition of doom intensified into a panic. “What’m I gonna do?”

“Well,” Andrew glanced at his watch, thinking fast. “I can tell you one thing. You’ll never be able to write a good paper if you’re this stressed out about it. Look at you.”

“I know, huh?” Ashley slapped her thigh. “Fuck! I’m so fucking dead.” How was she going to get her parents to pay her for passing tests if she didn’t even... do the tests? Papers. Whatever! She wanted to cry. She wanted to... She didn’t even know what she wanted to do. “Like, seriously my whole fucking grade is riding on this paper.”

“Easy. Easy,” soothed Andrew. “Just calm down. Maybe… um… Hey, well, let’s put it this way:I’ll tell you one of my preferred techniques for writing a paper, if you’re interested. Especially for writing a paper that needs to get done fast and is really important.”

Ashley nodded. “Okay.” This sounded great. Andrew’s preferred technique. “Whad is it?” she asked in her pouty voice.

“Well, one of the points from Literary Theory—“

“Hey. No fair using, like, weird stuff I’ve never heard of before,” Ashley whined.

Andrew glanced at her, seeking her eyes this time, looking for a sign that she was joking. None. “Uh, Ash, we were talking about it for like two hours this morning.”

“Oh,” she giggled reluctantly, not wanting to giggle at a time like this but finding it funny. She had been so faded. “Oh right. Literal... Theory... or whatever. I remember. Kind’f. Derry... somebody?”

“Derrida.”

“Right. Okay... So what? Literal theory... and?” 

“So, some theorists from Lit-er-ary Theory, maybe even Derrida in his earlier work, talk about how when people write they don’t really actually write so much as language itself speaks.” This was a long shot, Andrew knew. But maybe... just maybe.

Ashley sat for a moment, blinking at him. “Weird,” she said finally. “They... they say that? Is that... true?”

“Basically.” Andrew chuckled. “My professor didn’t really agree with my interpretation in the paper I wrote about this… but I got an A on it. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Ashley nodded. It did mean something. She wanted an A on her paper too. It was so hard to think. “I wanna A,” she said simply, stating the obvious.

“Right. Exactly. So the basic idea to this technique is that you need to get yourself into a… a state of mind where, you know, language itself can just... write your paper for you. Not literally, mind you.”

“Symbolically?” suggested Ashley. Symbolism was important, she was sure of that much.

“Sure. Symbolically.”

“Uh… okay. So... how do I do that?” This was making no sense at all to Ashley, not even if it was symbolic: this wasn’t anything like prom, not even close. 

She eyed the pipe in her lap, wishing she could just forget the paper and all this Literal stuff and just smoke a bunch of pot with Andrew.

“Here’s the thing,” Andrew was saying, “You need to relax. Just relax, and let your mind sort of… you know, stop letting your mind and your stress mess things up with… uh… with all that stress.” Andrew was making this up as he went along, he was sure it sounded about as convincing as a sales pitch on buying real estate on the ocean floor. “It’s the stress that’s the problem, right? Stress kills good papers, that’s what I always say.”

Ashley nodded again. This, she understood. “Stress kills good papers,” she repeated. “Yah, I to’lly know what you mean. I hate stress.”

“And, man, here’s the other thing: you already know the best way to reduce stress.” Andrew had his fingers crossed. Would she make the leap of logic?

“I… I do?”

“Yeah. Are you kidding me? Smoking pot. It’s the perfect stress killer.”

“So…” She closed her eyes, trying to think, “…what you’re saying is… Smoke pot and then write my paper… and I’ll get an A?”

“Yes! Exactly. Because you’ll be able to just let your ideas flow out onto the page without any blockage from the stress. Language itself will speak, you know, through you. But only if there’s no stress. The stress is what kills a good paper. The stress blocks language.”

“Stress blocks... language?”

“Yes, and see, this is the interesting part: monkeys hate stress.”

Ashley blinked. “Oh wow. So…. Wow. Everything’s, like, so… so… fit together… I mean, like… everything all fits together.”

Everything was becoming so clear. She found herself staring at her hands. They were so totally monkey-like that she could hardly believe it. She rubbed her half-closed eyes with the hand not holding the pipe and was struck by how monkey-like the action was. She giggled reluctantly again. And both she and monkeys hated stress. She furrowed her brow. Monkeys didn’t write papers, but maybe that was why they liked to get high, right? To reduce the stress of being a monkey so they could write a paper! If only they had a language, of course. But being a monkey was stressful and stress killed good papers and pot… pot helped reduce the stress so you could have language. No wonder monkeys got high! She nodded shrewdly. How could she have been so blind? So stupid?

Andrew kept glancing over at her. The seed was planted. Now he just had to wait.

“Gawd,” she said finally, “I’m so... so stupid.” Giggling, she leaned forward and put her monkey-hand to her forehead.

Andrew looked over. “What? Why?”

She smirked. “Cuz I like to get high, that’s why.” Then she laughed at herself. “I guess not really. I’m jus’ kidding.”

But it was so true. Not that she was stupid necessarily. Just that people thought she was… because she was so high all the time. Stupid monkey-people. They didn’t realize how they themselves liked to get high. Nor did they realize how getting high was going to work to her advantage. There were probably thousands of monkeys who wrote terrible papers because they weren’t high.

“But, speakin’ of getting’ high…” she mumbled, “…it’s time to get an A on this paper.”

...and get retarded stoned in the bargain. Yeah. Being a monkey was awesome. 

She bent down, flicked the lighter and pulled a deep draught of rich smoke into her lungs.

“Nice,” said Andrew. She had fallen for it.

.......

Part 10

“Hey…”  Andrew dug in his pocket for a moment as he drove. Now, he realized, was the perfect time for the next phase of his plan. He drew out a little black bottle, the kind herbal tinctures came in, only this one was unlabeled. It was over half full of a dark liquid.

Carefully, trying to keep his eyes on the road, he unscrewed the top and filled the dropper.

“…put a drop of this on the bowl,” he said, holding it out to her.

Ashley blew out her hit. “Um.” She gingerly took the dropper. “What is it?” she asked incredulously, holding back a cough.

“Synthetic opium,” Andrew replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Basically. With some… uh… other things added. To… uh… you know… round it out.”

“Oh.” Ashley tried to think. She really shouldn’t be adding drops of synthetic opium to her weed should she? Not on a Monday when she had homework to do. Right? 

The strong Purple Kush was already working its delightful magic on her though, and it was finding it harder than ever to think. “Does it… um... reduce stress?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ll say.”

“Hmm.” Why fight it?—she thought, dimly. Why not just do it? Try it. Live a little, as the saying went. Sunny would have done it. Hell, Sunny did everything. Besides, she was with Andrew, he would look after her. And if it would help her feel less stressed: her A paper would come even easier. Right? Right.

She smiled over at Andrew and said: “Um, okay. Cool,” then squeezed a drop onto the bowl.

The dark liquid that came out was instantly absorbed into the bud without a trace.

Better be safe and just do the one drop—she thought with a conservative nod. But then, overpowered by an urge that came from the depths of her brain, fortified by a nudge from her groin, she added two more drops quickly. They were absorbed as quickly as the first. She gave the dropper back to Andrew.

Andrew had reevaluated where he wanted to take her for lunch and had come up with a great spot: great for several reasons, not the least of which was that it was a hell of a lot farther away so they would have plenty of time to smoke.

As they merged onto the freeway Ashley bent down, flicked the lighter and took another big hit.

“Uh, pass that when you’re done,” Andrew said. Though he didn’t really intend to actually smoke any he did want to maintain the appearance that he was just as into it as her.

“Hol’ on,” Ashley grunted, her lungs full of smoke.

But when she blew the smoke out she didn’t pass it. She took another hit instead, without really giving it a second thought. It just seemed like the thing to do. This time she didn’t even bother to bend down. The weed tasted a bit like burning plastic, which she didn’t like, but there was something about the taste that she did like, and it was to explore and find out what exactly it was that she liked about it that she took that second hit. Or at least part of the reason. Besides—she thought as she filled her lungs yet again—monkey’s like to get high, right? Why fight it?

Nice deduction.

A girl in a sports car cruising along in the right lane beside them looked over at that precise moment. Her blond hair was in pigtails and she looked like a cheerleader type, she didn’t look old enough to be enrolled at the college. She saw what Ashley was doing and smiled.

“Oh shit,” Ashley grunted from around her hit when she saw that she was being watched. She turned her back on the window and gave Andrew a helpless look.

Andrew laughed and waved to the blond girl. She wiggled her fingers back, then rolled her eyes and took an off-ramp.

“How many drops did you use, by the way?” Andrew asked, trying to sound casual.

Ashley was still holding in her hit. “Three,” she managed to say.

Andrew was a little surprised. “Oh-ho, shit. You’re… Well, I mean we... we’re going toget way fucked up then,” he said. “Goodbye stress,” he added. Note to self—he thought—don’t inhale or you won’t be able to drive for shit.

Ashley handed him the pipe. He took it from her and pretended to take a hit from the still cherried bowl, but really just filled his mouth and then blew the little bit of smoke quickly out the window. He turned on the radio and the thumping strains of the Black Eyed Peas filled the car.

‘I’m gonna get-get-get’choo drunk/get’choo love-drunk off my hump!’

“Oh fuck yah, I love this song,” Ashley said as she finally blew out her hit. The smoke had a slightly bluish tinge to it, in addition to the plasticy taste. That was weird, wasn’t it?

She wanted to get excited about the song; wanted to bounce and dance and shake her ass to the beat, but she couldn’t. It felt like her ass was nailed to the seat. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was too stoned.

I don’t think that’s possible actually.

She nodded. Wise words.

Andrew passed the pipe back and she took it, and then just sat, hands holding the pipe demurely in her lap, ruminating on that odd flavor and immobilized by a strange weight in her arms and legs. The high that was creeping on strong was new to her: powerful, heavy.

“You going to hit that?”

Her brain was turning slowly around and around, analyzing the taste very carefully. The passing world outside was starting to blend together as they zoomed through it; her economics paper receding like a ship’s sail drifting off over the horizon.

 “Um, somethin’... in this bowl... tay’ss’s really good,” she stated, noticing that her words were slurring. She grinned.

“What?” Andrew turned down the volume on the radio. “What was that, Ash?”

She spoke with care: “Tastes... good. The weed. This... um... this bowl. This.” She held up the pipe.

“What? Oh, the bowl,” he grinned, “yeah, I hear ya.”

“Yeah,” she said, “Hol’ on, le’ me…” She lifted the pipe and took another big hit.

Just one more hit, girl! Come on!

Exactly—she thought.

When she had filled her lungs to capacity again she handed the pipe to Andrew. He took it, hit the cherry and then set it between the seats.

They drove past a few exits, the song on the radio changing to “Bed Rock” by Young Money, while Andrew planned his route to the restaurant. When he had decided on it he realized that Ashley was still holding in that last hit. He was surprised: it had to have been almost a minute since she took it. She was sitting up straight, her chest thrust out, her tits straining against the green fabric of her halter top, the nipples erect and pointing out and up. Her back was arched, her cheeks puffed out, and she was holding her nose hard with one hand while the other gripped the edge of the seat. She looked like she had cannonballed to the bottom of a pool and was midway through floating back to the surface.

“Ash?”

The sound of his voice seemed to jolt her out of the trance of intent concentration she had been in and she promptly blew out a long, thick, creamy gusher of smoke, eyes tight closed as she did so.

When the last of it was out, she grinned for a moment, turning her head slightly toward Andrew, as if listening to a distant sound. She opened her eyes. Slightly. Then: “Oooooh my fuggin’ <cough, cough, cough!> Gawd, dude!” she cried. “Oh <cough cough>, Oh shid! <cough>!”

“Well? Did you find out what tasted good this time?”

Ashley wasn’t looking over at him anymore. Her lap held her attention completely now: “Huh? What’d you…” she trailed off. The heavy-heavy weight was taking over, pushing her brain down into her toes. “Wha’... does tha’ Derry... Derry-din guy... say bow’... geddin’ stoned, again?” she asked her lap, thinking that she should restart the conversation but not sure what else to talk about. Andrew likes Derry-din—she thought—ask about Derry-din.

Andrew just laughed, turned up the radio, then retrieved the pipe and held it out. “Your hit, girl.”

Just one more hit, girl. Come on.

Ashley accepted the pipe cordially. Her limbs were weighty, so she took a moment to hold the pipe in her lap and giggle. This was better. This was way better than... whatever; anything; ever. Well, maybe not ever. She was suddenly reminded of all those times, not all that long ago really, when going for a ride in a car was an easy way to get out and away from parents: circle the block, cruise the country-roads, blaze up... Then go home and stumble in, grinning ear to ear, with plans to duck into a private bedroom or something inevitably diverted in favor of giggly, go-for-broke missions into the lion’s den, the kitchen, to scavenge for snacks. All that sneaking around. It was crazy. Now she just... blazed.

“What’s so funny?” Andrew asked, turning down the radio again.

“Oh... um... bagk in, like, high school,” Ashley mused wistfully, “me’n my girlfrien’s would, like, do this... all the fuckin’ time.” She smiled hard against the weight.

“Drive around and smoke pot?”

“Yah,” she nodded. “Hella pot.” Smoke-tinged memories of the laughter, the music, the talking for hours about cute boys and wild keggers washed into her mind and washed out again. “We’d, like, get off of… you know… school an’ stuff an’ jus’ drive... ... an’ drive an’ drive,” she lifted her hand a few inches off her lap and moved it slightly to indicate how much driving they did, “an’ we’d load bowl after bowl after bowl, ya know? Get high as fuck and, like… like... you know… uh... like...”

“Drive some more? Yeah, sounds alright to me.”

“Yeah. I know, huh? I’d get home an’ my Mom’d be all, like…” To imitate her Mom Ashley lowered her voice a few notches: “‘yer eyes’re sooooo red’…”

Mom: “Are you going to clean up that sty of a bedroom like I asked?”

Ashley: “I’ll do it... um... later?”

Mom: “Is that a question? I want an answer, not a question, young lady!”

Ashley: “Fine. God.”

“Where did you go to school?” Andrew realized that he knew very little about her. To him she was just the gorgeous girl who he drooled over as she swung her hips and gave him teasing, stoned eyed glances over her shoulder as she walked by on campus; and then his best friend’s girlfriend, always lazing around Ray’s apartment and watching E! on the flat-screen.

The first time he had really noticed her had been sophomore year: English 220 had been a bitch of a class; Mr. Mindleton had been a grade-A asshole, though ultimately a sharp guy, and fair. Ashley, who had seemed so aloof and occasionally stoned all quarter, had done her final presentation on Henry David Thoreau. It hadn’t been a brilliant paper or anything, but she had been so confident, so dazzlingly beautiful, and smart in a budding pothead kind of way. He had raised his hand and asked a question about the role of civil disobedience in relation to the more radical politics of John Brown and she had improvised a pretty impressive answer where she compared the politics of Thoreau and Brown to the philosophy of mind in the religious sense to the science of mind. Her answer, more or less, had been what piqued his interest in a class called “Science as Social Experience” the next quarter, which had rocked.  

“Um... I’m from Ora’gen,” Ashley was saying, with obvious difficulty getting her mouth to work. A little smile played at her lips. “This, like, lil’ town in Ora’gen…”

“Oh, I see, say no more: state of legalized medical pot, right? Ton of good-ass, medical-grade weed available all the time: a goddamn paradise, right?”

She shrugged, still with that little smile, “Id... was.... pretty cool, I guess.” She was glad he wasn’t pressing her further on the details because she couldn’t actually, for the life of her, conjure up the name of her hometown... Her familiar amused and perplexed feeling washed through her. 

Looking down at the pipe in her hands, she realized that she was supposed to be hitting it and giggled, “Oh shid, I’m so sorry,” she tried to lift her hand to her mouth to indicate herembarrassment but it didn’t make it (too heavy) and she let it fall back down into her lap instead, “I’m holdin’ up the... the,” What was the word? Oh, yeah, “the rotation, huh? Sorry. Here...” She flicked the lighter and dipped the flame into the pipe, taking a quick mid-sized hit.

It didn’t taste like anything this time except pure delicious Kush.

“I think that saleswoman back there liked us,” said Andrew with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, deciding to change the subject artificially. “You see the way she looked at me? What was her name? Rebecca?”

Ashley nodded slowly. He was right. Rebecca had been cool as hell. “Yah,” she let smoke waft slowly from her mouth for a moment before blowing it at the windshield, “she had... like... hellastyle, huh?”

Andrew furrowed his brow. “Uh… sure. I guess she did. I mean, she works at a clothing shop. She’d kind of have to, wouldn’t she?”

“Yah... hella...” Ashley was smiling at her lap, enjoying the weight of her head. “Ya’know wha’ she tol’ me? She tol’ me… She tol’ me tha’ she was... like... really impr’ssed cuz we… cuz we knew ‘bowd… cuz we knew ‘bo’ how we’re, like monkeys an’ stuff.”

“Again with the sucking monkeys?” Ashley snickered a little.

“Wait. You told her about the monkey thing we talked about?” Andrew asked incredulously. “For real?”

Ashley nodded and giggled. “She liked tits too… I’m sure… … She was to’lly... like... checkin’ me out an’ stuff an’ she was all..” Her imitation of Rebecca sounded rather like her imitation of her mother, ‘you...’ like... ‘you’ve got jus’ like... crazy hot tits.’ She said tha’.” Ashley giggled. Rebecca hadn’t really said that, but... she should have.

“Monkey-girl’s do like tits,” Andrew said briskly, as if it were nothing special. “But, Ash… Hey, Ash, listen to me…”

“Wha’?” She didn’t look up from her lap. Couldn’t look up from her lap. The weight wouldn’t let her.

“I think it’d be a better idea not to mention that to other people.”

“Men’shin... it? Why not?”

“Well... because... A lot of people are pretty insecure about being monkeys. They can get downright pissed about it. You’d be surprised.”

Ashley giggled. “Weird, huh?”

“Very weird.” Andrew allowed himself a longing glance at her tits. “Hey, Ash… you... um... you going to hit that?”

“Bu’...” She frowned. “I thought it was…”

“My hit? No, no… it’s yours.”

“Oh… Okay... ... Can’t be’lif I fergod... ...” She lifted the pipe and flicked the lighter.

“I can’t believe it either,” said Andrew with a sly smile.

.......

Part 11

By the time they reached their destination (Andrew having taken the longest route possible) Ashley had smoked the rest of the bowl, with Andrew taking small puffs when it was passed to him, which wasn’t all that often. With a little prompting from Andrew she had told him about her family: in halting, giggly sentences, some of which weren’t complete thoughts, she explained that her father was a business lawyer who had divorced her mother pretty early on and moved to California—he existed for her mostly through lots gifts and the occasional visit, but he lived a lavish lifestyle and it had been with him and some of his friends that she had gotten high for the first time, in his hot tub in the back yard of his San Francisco house. She had been fourteen. As she got toward the end of the bowl the details of this first time smoke-out became more and more minutely described at the same time as they got more and more monosyllabic and slurred, until the last thing she told Andrew, as she gestured vaguely with hands that didn’t move much, was that her Dad’s hot tub had been made from cedar and the moist surface of the edges had looked like skin to her, like wooden skin and she had rubbed it for almost an hour that night.

Once the bowl was cashed, Ashley began to prepare to load a second bowl in silence, clearly forgetting all about her earlier stipulation to smoke only one bowl. As they drove slowly through lunch-hour traffic, nearly to the restaurant, Andrew watched out for a good spot to park, while her fingers moved slowly inside the plastic baggie, looking like tan spider legs carefully pulling and tearing at the buds.

She giggled a slow, chugging giggle at her lap, at the baggie, at her spider-fingers. She was hunched over, as if wearing a very heavy crown that weighed on her head, and with each giggle her vision swam and sort of folded over on itself. “Whoaaaa,” she whispered, aware that she was very high and that she was probably a whole hell of a lot higher than one bowl should have made her. But she was unable to arrange her thoughts in such a way as to make sense of any new effects from the synthetic opium. She was sure that the high felt different, but she couldn’t figure out exactly how. One thing was certain however: she was not stressed. Not at all.

Goodbye stress...

Matters were even more confused in the physical world: No matter how careful she was, she simply could not get a bowl’s worth of bud together in one spot: it always seemed to get jostled away into the corners of the bag, or pieces of it would get stuck to her fingers and had to be pulled off only to be lost. Her concentration was epic, her focus minute, but nothing was working. She was giggling and wondering how long it would take her to finally be able to smoke this next bowl and whether she should put two drops of that mysterious yummy stuff on it, or three, (the thought of four made her clit twinge) when she heard a voice from beside her. It was saying:

“Uh, we’re parked.”

“Mmm,” she replied, not caring that it was a non-reply.

“Ash?”

“Wa’?”

“We’re here.”

“Where?” Ashley was slumped forward, her head hanging toward her thighs. She looked over and up at Andrew with very heavy-lidded eyes that were dazed and dazzled. Her hands, both of them still deep in the baggie, sat uselessly in her lap like limp flippers, the fingers now too numb to really function. Her legs were throbbing. “Uuuhhh.” She blinked. Sort of. “Where’re we?” She swung her head the other direction and it thumped against the door. “Whoa.” Lifting up her upper body slightly to look out the window she was blinded by a strong shaft of afternoon sunlight. “Aaa! Ow,” she giggled, “Fuckin’… … fuckin’ light. Ligh’n mah eye......”

“Lunch, remember? We’re here.”

“Huh?” Ashley was unable to focus on the words. She let her head hang back down. It felt really good to give in to the weight. Her new green skirt filled her vision. Little swirls of gold were morphing in little sinking pits all over them; they were on her tan legs too. Everything was throbbing, everything was fuzzy and warm. She could see her legs, could see the gold swirls, but when she tried to move them—her legs not the swirls—they refused. And yet, she was filled with a strange energy that belied the heaviness of her limbs. She sure didn’t feel sleepy that was for sure; but she couldn’t hold her eyes open, couldn’t hold her head up. She grinned. “I... can… not... feel… my legs.” She managed to say quite clearly.

“Nice. But, hey, don’t worry, the high from this stuff comes on quick and you come down off it pretty quick too.”

Ashley didn’t understand the words. Not really. Realizing that she had a pipe in her hands, she brought it up to her mouth and flicked the lighter. She hadn’t been unable to get any weed into the bowl but the thick layers of sticky resin that coated the bottom of the pipe immediately crackled to life and a soggy, acidic smoke poured into her lungs. She felt her pussy moistening as she tasted that strange plastic taste again, stronger than before. She also felt her arms pulling downward, pulling the pipe away from her lips, but she knew she would not let them fall, not with the pipe at her lips. She laughed at them (stupid arms!) and sent smoke spurting from her mouth, from around the corners of the pipe. She was choking on the smoke. Coughs burst from her. Jagged breaths of smoke.

“Hey! What the fuck? Stop. We’re right downtown! There’s hella people around.”

Then the pipe was gone from her hands. She opened and closed both hands, unable to feel the tips of her fingers or the lengths of her fingers of her hand, period. Still—she thought stupidly—that was no reason for a pipe to just fucking... disappear!

“Whaa’s goin’…?” She turned indignantly, blowing out what remained of her resin hit. Andrew must have stolen it!—she realized, shocked. What a dick!

Andrew had the pipe and was looking at her. She was looking at Andrew. He was talking to her. She was moving in slow motion. So was he. She was not understanding him very well.

“I dunno,” she said, figuring it was as good a response as any to anything anybody said right now. She followed the statement up with a long fit of chugging giggles, then repeated it. It was  good thing to say.

The next thing she knew Andrew was helping her out of the car, supporting her with both hands. The sidewalk was teeming with people. Some of them glanced at the slack-jawed, obviously baked-off-her-ass girl with the curvaceous body and the tiny skirt who was fumbling for balance and failing, and the guy holding her straight, but most just ignored them and kept to their own respective lives.

“Hiiii!” Ashley called out at the bright, bright world. She was usually paranoid when she was super high in public, always afraid that everyone knew she was stoned and was judging her; but this time… this time was different. It was great. She didn’t give a shit about these people. She laughed at them. She almost fell on them, grinning and laughing and letting Andrew catch her and hold her. Andrew was so nice! Andrew who had such great drugs.

 

“Walk, dammit Ash, walk. Right, left, right, left,” Andrew’s voice was saying in her ear. “Fucking three drops,” he muttered. “Unbelievable.”

She nodded and struggled to move her feet like he said: right, left, right, left. It worked. And she smiled as the weight of a thousand little insecurities melted away, released by the weight thatdragged at her and had to be counteracted by nice Andrew. Closing her eyes she drew a deep breath of pleasure. She let her right arm (the one not slung over Andrew’s shoulder) swing free, it felt like pendulum of freedom, swinging, it sometimes brushed her hip and reminded her of her body, her great body. She wanted to touch herself, to rub and twiddle and attack her clit and vagina like a…

Suddenly there was a tinkle of bells and they were passing out of the bright sidewalk world and into a dimmer world. It smelled like fry-oil and was noisy.

“Here we are,” said Andrew. “Best greasy bar-food in town.”

“Oh shid,” Ashley mumbled. She blinked and found herself in a restroom, looking at the inside of a toilet-stall. She was slipping her little green skirt around her ankles and sitting on the toilet. But she didn’t have to pee. Weird. She remembered saying “Hol’ on, hol’ on, hol’ on, I godda… I godda go do somethin’ okay?” to Andrew after they had entered the dim noisy fry world that must have been a restaurant. What else could she have had in mind?

Oh... Right.

She stretched her hands up above her head, sighed and giggled. She kept on giggling, thinking about what she was about to do, thinking about what Raymond would do when he opened the door and found her there in her little green dress that wasn’t really a dress. He would kiss her and hold her. His hands would rove all over her body and she wouldn’t say no. She would say yes, yes yes! He would load her a bowl of his finest bud and then he would take her to his bedroom and she would smoke the bud and smoke more and more and then his hands would be all over her.

Ashley’s own hands were exploring her body as she thought this, rubbing her breasts, pulling up her halter top so she could squeeze her nipples and cup the erotic volume of her titflesh, then dropping down to stroke her inner thighs. Then her hands found her pussy, hot, wet and swollen. She shoved her panties aside. “Oh! Oh shid!” Touching it felt so good! She ran a finger up between her labia and it became slick and wet.

The stall was shimmering, visually echoing, if that was possible.

I’m so high, she thought.

So high!

Not too high though. That wasn't possible.

A strange burn on her breath made her remember the dropper of weird unknown drug that Andrew had supplied. What a nice guy he was! She instantly found herself wanting to smoke more of that plastic-tasting stuff. She licked her lips and realized with delight that she was salivating heavily. Usually pot gave her cottonmouth!

She moaned, sucking her lower lip into her mouth and biting down to avoid making too much noise. She was in a public restroom after all! She thought maybe… maybe she had heard something on the other side of the wall; but she wasn’t the least bit paranoid. She reveled in her imperious command over her anxiety. It was just a matter of mind over matter, she thought, mind over… monkey.

As she rubbed her clit, her eyes rolled back in her head and her mind raced into fantasy land. Raymond was standing over her, his big cock hanging out of his Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. Cameras were flashing: it was a photo shoot! The models from Sunny’s magazine were there, shaking their heads because Ashley was getting all the attention and they had inferior breasts compared to hers. They wanted Raymond’s cock but they couldn’t have it. Poor monkey-girls. In her fantasy she laughed and laughed and grabbed Raymond’s cock and jacked it off vigorously.

“Uh! Uh! Oh!” Her lip hurt.

Raymond had a bong that was like a vacuum cleaner hose and was holding the hose for her so she could take a big hit of sweet, dank weed! Oh! Oh! It felt so good!

Fantasy-Raymond: “Here ya go monkey.”

“Oo! Oo! Oo!” The hand that wasn’t on her clit slipped a finger into her wet hole, then two, then three, she squeezed her tits between her arms as she began to fingerfuck herself with unthinking determination. Her hips bucked, sliding her ass back and forth on the toilet seat as she arched her back.

“Oh!” she cried out: “Oh gawd!”

“You hear that?”

Whoever said that Ashley didn’t care, she was never going to be paranoid again.

In her mind’s eye she was smoking pot from the hose and smiling and waving for the cameras as Raymond fucked her hard from behind, somehow she was still jacking off a cock. Raymond had a cellophane tail like her favorite dream-pony! It crackled and crackled as he thrust into her. She felt even more calm and happy than she did riding her dream-pony, if that was possible. Calm, happy, stoned: all the same thing, right? The models were weeping because they were so jealous. The crowd around them was roaring their approval. Andrew was bringing out a dropper of yummy drugs to drip onto the bowl at the other end of the hose. It was his cock she was jacking off! Oh, it was all so perfect, so hot, so fucking hot!

For a full 30 seconds Ashley rode on the pulsing rainbow of the orgasm she had built to before she even realized she was orgasming: then with a delighted squeal she redoubled her fingerfucking efforts while rubbing her free hand back and forth across her groin with the sloppy force she had discovered that morning. “Aaaaaa! Ah’Gaaaaad!” Public restroom be damned!

Very soon she was squirting, gasping for breath and slipping and falling sideways off the seat and onto the floor by the toliet. Oh no! She pulled herself back up onto the toilet and then sat there limply for a moment, panting, letting herself settle down. Her hair was tousled; her slitted eyes gleaming fiercely but seeing nothing.

That felt so nice, she thought, pouting slightly because her orgasm had been cut short by her fall.

Lame.

Blinking, trying to get her vision back to something less shimmery, she looked around. She didn’t know where she was. She looked around at green walls. The wall in front of her was dripping something onto the floor. She furrowed her brow. What the...?

She was on a toilet. Weird, she thought. She tried to reason it out, tried to connect the dots: something to do with Andrew, she thought, Andrew and smoking a whole lot of weed.

Three fucking drops. Unbelievable.

Weed and more.

She stumbled to her feet and out of the stall and found herself in an empty bathroom (though it was a very big bathroom). She stumbled to the sinks and washed her hands and paused for a moment to gaze blearily at her reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at her was red as a beet, eyelids drooped to epic depths, mouth open to allow for easy breath. Then her lazy-eyes found her body in the mirror. “Wow,” she said, of herself. She reached up and pulled on one of her nipples straight through her halter top. It sent a pleasurable shudder down her spine. Then she seized her tits with both hands and held them for a brief moment, enjoying their weight. She looked down at the mounds of flesh cradled in her hands. A frown. Her eyes refocused and suddenly realized that she was not wearing her little green skirt. She was wearing nothing but panties.

“Oh fuckin’ wow!”

Giggling at herself she found her way back to the stall, located the skirt on the floor, pulled it on sloppily and then staggered out of the bathroom without bothering to check to make sure she was covered up correctly.

Good thing I remembered the skirt, she thought, as she navigated the hall that she found on the other side of the door, otherwise I would have been in big trouble.

Now where was Andrew?

.......

Part 12

Andrew watched Ashley stumble off to the bathroom, then he smiled at the hostess who frowned back at him, and politely requested a booth.

The restaurant was a popular Revolutionary War themed brew-pub called Quincy’s that was known around campus for its excellent burgers and mircobrews on tap. It was also a college hangout that was notorious for overserving in the bar, which Andrew hoped would allow his plan the leeway it needed to come to fruition. If everything went well, Ashley would definitely be considered overserved before they were finished here. It was also notorious for laxness when it came to checking IDs. Another plus.

At the booth he waited for Ashley and glanced around at the other lunchers. The place was pretty packed. Mostly college kids, no one he recognized; cute girls in jeans and tight tee-shirts eating with backwards-cap-wearing guys who were probably in fraternities. A lot of douche-bags, he decided.

Then he noticed a girl he knew from his Literary Studies class sitting with a group of around six other girls directly across the room in a big circular booth. He waved. She waved back. Her name was Aubrey, he remembered.

A waiter with a blonde faux-hawk came by and Andrew ordered a pint of the Rebel IPA which arrived promptly, he sipped it, and nodded with approval. It was very good.

Aubrey came over to the booth, swinging her hips and smiling. She was very cute in Levis and an American Eagle baby-tee, but she had nothing on Ashley in the chest-department. She looked almost exactly like Natalie Portman.

“Hey,” she said, “how’s it going? Andrew, right?”

He nodded. “Can’t complain.” He did his best to sound casual. “You done with that take-home quiz?”

“God no! We have until next week, don’t we?”

“Yep,” he smiled winningly, “You haven’t even started it yet have you?”

She laughed, “Nope. Have you?”

“Nope.” He let his smile turn crooked and glanced sideways, as if slightly bashful (a move he’d learned from Raymond), then added: “I’m pretty sure if I didn’t give myself a few days without our good buddies Derrida and Deleuze I would flip my lid.”

They both laughed.

They flirted back and forth for a minute, and then Aubrey said she had to get back to her friends; their burgers had arrived. Andrew waved and found himself on the verge asking for her number, but held back. This whole Ashley thing had come out of left-field this morning, honestly he had been pining for Aubrey all quarter. Now here she was and he was in the middle of... well, whatever it was he was doing. Funny how things worked out.

He glanced at his watch. It was 1:30. At that exact moment, Ashley was nearing the middle of her drug-hazed masturbatory interlude, but Andrew knew nothing of this. He decided that if Ashley was taking this long, he had enough time to call Raymond quick.

He pulled out his cell, dialed, and let it ring for awhile.

After almost a dozen rings: “Yo.”

“Ray?”

“Sup dude?”

“Not much. I’m having lunch with Ash right now.”

“Oh yeah? Where at? The Pit?” Raymond sounded like he had just gotten up. Andrew smiled despite himself: that was so like Raymond: He had gotten in good with a business professor who let him do all independent study work, so he got to set his own schedule. Andrew’s smile faltered. Yet another reason Raymond was a lucky bastard.

“Nah,” he said, “Quincy’s.” He was internally debating how much information he should give Raymond at this point. Would it help him or hurt him? He wasn’t sure. He wished he hadn’t hit that pipe with Ashley at all; his head was foggier than he would have liked. Three fucking drops—he couldn’t help wondering briefly if Ashley would even be able to find her way back from the bathroom.

“Is she there?” asked Raymond. “Let me talk to her, dude. I just tried her cell.”

“She’s in the bathroom, dude.”

“Ah. Well, tell her that I found some killer internet porn for us to watch tonight when she comes over.” Laughter.

Andrew snorted, smiling a little though, “You serious? You're going to watch porn with her?”

“It’s a joke-thing, bro! Come on, it’s funny! Tell me it isn’t fuckin’ funny.”

“Okay, okay, it’s funny. She’ll get pissed, you know. Won’t she?”

“Oh, she will alright,” Raymond sounded exceedingly proud of himself, “I’m counting on it, dude. She always gives the best fuckin’ head after she gives me one of those pseudo-feminist lectures on objectifying women: I kid you not. Something about it just brings out the cocksucker in her.”

“She’s a feminist?” Andrew shook his head. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Ha! A feminist? Hardly. But she likes to pretend sometimes. Then I just apologize. We kiss, make up, and one thing leads to another…”

“Alright dude, whatever you say,” Andrew snapped. He didn’t want to hear this.

Aubrey was eying him from across the room, glancing over every chance she got, smiling. Andrew smiled back; not able to believe his luck today. Too bad it was contradictory luck.

“Look,” he said, “I was calling because I’m gonna need some weight from you tonight.”

“Sure, sure. How much you need?”

“A half-stack ought to do it.” By their long-time code this meant a quarter-ounce.

“You still owe me for the last two…” Raymond’s voice became slightly tense. “…no, three: am I going to be frontin’ you again?”

“Just once more, bro, I promise.”

“Aight man, I got you covered.” There was pause, then: “Is Ash still in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I don’t see her yet.”

There was another pause, then Raymond asked: “Is she baked?”

Andrew froze… “Uh…”

“Come on dude, you can tell me… She has this big Econ paper she’s been putting off all fucking quarter that she’s supposed to start today. I made her promise me that she’d at least start the fucking thing this morning. She got baked out of her gourd again, didn’t she?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Andrew said cautiously.

“I knew it. Man, that chick does not know when to hold back, does she?” Another pause, then the inevitable question: “Did you smoke with her?”

Andrew’s mind raced. He had no choice. If he lied, it could come out later and burn him, better to fess up now and hope his honesty would carry him through. “Yep,” he said breezily, “What? Should I have given her the cold shoulder, bro? Like the D.A.R.E. guy said?”

Raymond laughed. “Not at all. She’s a big girl; she can make her own decisions.”

“Right.” A big girl? Ashley’s mind-boggling boobage danced through Andrew’s mind. You’re goddamn right she’s a big girl—he thought; replaying again those pot-stimulated nipples jutting out from those lovely, lovely orbs as she molested herself on her couch like a…

“Anyway man,” Raymond was saying, “how about you two roll by here this evening around 8? I’ll try to have all my business out of the way and we can chill out.”

“Cool.” That would give him plenty of time.

“And… dude?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to keep her away from weed for the rest of the day. As a favor to me. Maybe I can give her a hand starting that paper tonight, at least. You know… after we watch that porn and I get that head.” Laughter.

“See you tonight,” Andrew snapped, unable to stop himself from betraying his anger at having his nose rubbed, once again, in Raymond’s sexual good fortune. Against his better judgement he ended the call without saying goodbye and seethed for a moment.

He tapped his phone against his beer glass, his mind turning to money. Not only did he owe Raymond $240 that he didn’t have, soon to be $320, but he had just charged over a thousand dollars worth of designer clothes for Ashley on his Visa, the one that his parents gave him to cover emergency spending only. And now here he was at Quincy’s, good beer and burgers cost a pretty penny: he’d have to put that on the card too. He would be getting a call from his Dad in the next few weeks for sure, an angry one. “Fuck,” he grumbled.

Just then he spotted Ashley, looking red-faced and befuddled, wandering into the room in a daze. Her skirt was askew, leaving very little to the imagination on her left side. Her forehead was beaded with perspiration. She looked like she had just run a marathon.

God damn, he thought, taking her in, what a fox!

“Yo! Ash!” He waved both arms over his head to get her attention.

She didn’t see him, but someone else did: Aubrey glanced from him to Ashley and back. A hurt look went across her face. Damn it, he thought. Oh well. At the end of the day—Ashley is hotter.

Ashley was staring around stupidly, half-mast eyes uncomprehending.

Man, she is smoked out, Andrew thought, but she must be pretty much down from the synth-op cocktail by now. Still high as a kite, of course, but the whole point of that stuff was to come on fast and then let you down quick and easy: a fifteen to twenty minute intense trip.

“Ash!” He tried again.

This time she saw him waving and her slack face lifted up into a big smile.

“There you are! Gawd!” She giggled and walked unsteadily toward him.


To be continued...