By Superlush (now with illustrations by Captain Dunsel)
It was waking up that was the worst.
Ashley Macpherson felt herself rise into wakefulness from deep, deep slumber almost as if it were a reverse plunge into a cold pool of water, then surfacing. She moaned and her eyelashes fluttered, as she wished the day could begin in some other fashion than waking up like this.
She had been dreaming, of course: her recurring dream where she was riding through night cloudscapes on a magic pony with a long flowing cellophane tail. The pony’s tail crackled and sparkled in equal measure and, the instant she awoke, always made her think of those cheap toy batons from her childhood. The pony was always perfectly calm even at such heights and Ashley would hold on tight to its strong neck and feel its calm become her own as the world flew by below them, all the people scuttling about like ants. She dearly loved this dream. And so, of course, she just had to wake up in the middle of it.
“Humph,” she groaned.
Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and as she slowly sat up it felt like the distribution of weight in her cranium was somehow sloshing slowly around, like a lava lamp. She furrowed her brow and put her head in her hands for a moment, cursing herself for letting Sunny talk her into that last bowl out of the gravity-bong.
Just one more hit, girl! Come on!
Sunny was the coolest roommate ever, but she was also wild as hell.
Ashley dragged herself out of bed and rearranged her rumpled cotton PJs. She peered sleepily at the clock. 8 am—it said.
“Ugh.”
She wanted with every fiber of her being to go back to sleep, to curl up into a ball and sleep until noon. But… She had studying to do today. More than studying, in fact.
She padded out of her bedroom, down the hall, into the bathroom, stripped off her PJs and turned on the shower. She stood for awhile, letting the water heat up, gripping the bathroom sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her large, vividly blue eyes were puffy and the lids hung down low and crept up from below at the same time, giving them a rectangular laziness that made her think of Marilyn Monroe pictures she had seen.
Happy Biiiiirthday… Mister President. She smiled. There were worse things to look like than Marilyn Monroe.
In the shower, she washed herself vigorously, happily noticing how dark her skin had become from all the time she and Sunny had been spending in her new tanning bed. Her mother had given her the tanning bed for Christmas, along with jewelry, a gigantic basket of lotions and bath salts, and a check for five hundred dollars. The tanning bed was the real prize though: it was a big, sleek machine that looked like something out of Star Trek and it now occupied a position of prominence in the unused bedroom next to Sunny’s. Spring break was only two weeks away and there would be no excuse in the imaginable universe for not being bikini-ready. Besides, this spring break was going to be the absolute peak: the best. She could still hardly believe that her Dad had bought her four first-class tickets to Cancun (one for her and her boyfriend Raymond, two for anyone else she wanted to invite: which, hello! would be Sunny and her boyfriend Todd).
The thought of the upcoming trip made Ashley squeal with uncontrollable joy, which echoed in the spacious shower. Her dad was hella cool. Of course, she had already been to Cancun for spring break once before, as a freshman, but that had been a less than awesome experience, for various reasons.
Humming and smiling and already feeling much better, Ashley stepped nimbly out of the shower, dripping torrents of hot water. She grabbed a towel and dried herself with short brushing, rubbing motions as she examined her reflection in the full-length mirror against the wall. Her friends told her that she could be on tv, she was so well-proportioned: her pretty face managing to look regal and pouty at the same time; her body was thick and thin in all the right places—large but buoyant breasts that surged aggressively out from her ribcage as if eager to be seized by eager hands, luxurious ass that rolled from a trim little waist to a mind-boggling curve without a trace of cellulite—and she was blessed with a dazzling smile that made people stop in their tracks. The smile of an angel—as her father always told her.
Tossing the towel into the laundry hamper, she wandered out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the living room, stark naked since she knew Sunny was gone: the large, expensive apartment that they shared was empty. Besides, she loved to walk around naked, sometimes even when Sunny was home, Sunny didn’t mind, Sunny was hella cool. Something about the breeze on her skin as she walked, the way she could feel her ass swing back in forth in an inevitable sashaying motion, just felt right, like she had been meant for a life in the tropics or something.
Located on the tenth floor of a complex called Applewood Park Apartments it was the kind of place that most college girls would only dream of occupying as they slogged through their undergrad years: spacious floor-plan, three bedrooms, magisterial bathroom, and huge bay windows that covered the living room wall looking out over the greenery of Applewood Park itself, which was technically the boundary of campus and was usually crawling with students reading, sunbathing, smoking, talking, socializing. Since it was early (8 am), the park was pretty much empty except for the odd figure rushing along trying to make it to the lecture halls in far less time than they had.
Ashley had no class today, it was Monday, and on Mondays she usually studied or hung out with Raymond who lived in the apartment complex directly alongside the Applewood Park Apartments. Her main task today was to get her economics paper started. It was due at the end of the week and, although she had had the last three months to write it, it needed to be started immediately. That and she had promised Raymond she would stay over at his place tonight, although that meant that she would be getting very little sleep, of course. She grinned. Before she could start the paper though, she needed to finish reading Chapter 32 of her Econ 101 textbook.
She sighed. Boring.
Well... no time for procrastination, she thought.
But first…
Smiling as if at a private joke, and feeling an odd tingle in her lower tummy that pulled her along, Ashley went over to the entertainment center, opened the tinted glass doors along the bottom revealing a large collection of pipes and bongs of different sizes. Most of them were Sunny’s, but the two girls had an understanding: Ashley could use any of Sunny’s paraphernalia as long as she kept the communal stores of pot full, and since Ashley’s parents kept her checking account full to the brim with funds, and now that she was dating Raymond, who dealt, it was not possible for the communal stores to become empty. It was what, in biology, Ashley knew, they called symbiosis.
She paused, momentarily considering her paper topic: maybe she should focus on economies of scale, those had seemed sort of interesting.
But first…
A little lubrication for the old noggin, as Sunny liked to put it.
Ashley knew just what she wanted: Sunny’s heavy double-perk, three-footer bong. It was made of red glass with milky looking darker red swirls in it. It’s name was Lucifer. She hefted it, smiling, and carried it to the big soft white couch, sat, and set the bong on the floor between her legs.
She smiled down at it.
This is the fucker you wanna hit on if you wanna get like… retarded stoned.
Ashley giggled at the memory of the first time she had meet Lucifer. An image of Sunny, smoky-eyed and slack-jawed waving Lucifer back and forth and shaking her head at the same time, popped into her mind.
The idea of the “wake’n’bake” was still pretty new to Ashley, but over the last months she was starting to get used to it and starting to like it. Still… she felt a little weird as she thought about what she was about to do, before a study-day no less!
Her marijuana habit had been steadily worsening since she had moved in with Sunny a year ago and then it had been kicked into a higher gear when she started dating Raymond, who had hook-ups with all the best distributors on campus and moved a lot of product, especially to freshman, and these days she was lucky if she managed to go 24 hours without toking her brains out at least once. Increasingly there was no middle-of-the-road for her, she either smoked nothing or else she smoked to get blazed off her ass. She kept telling herself that it was just because school was so easy right now, that as soon as things got tougher next quarter, she would totally buckle down and cut back on the smoking. But she had told herself the same thing last quarter, and this quarter actually was not so easy: she was struggling in all four of her classes, her grades hovering around the 2.0 range for the first time in her college career. The scary part, but since she made sure never to think about it she wasn’t scared by it, was that she usually never meant to get so baked (like everyone always thought she did); usually she honestly thought that she was going to take just a couple of hits.
Today would be a case in point.
----
Part 2
On the glass coffee-table in front of the couch was an array of lighters and plastic baggies marked in black Sharpie with the names of different strains of weed: one of the perks of dating a pot-dealer who had his shit together.
It was funny how no one ever talked about it, but you had to have pretty good organizational and managerial skills to be a good dealer. Raymond was actually a pretty good catch; he was probably going to go on to big things, she thought as she surveyed the neat Sharpie lettering on each baggie containing carefully weighed amounts of the herb.
Usually she and Sunny kept the baggies in a large wooden box under the coffee table, but last night Sunny had spread them out on the table for some reason and Ashley didn’t feel like putting them away...
She felt like getting high.
Opting for a baggie marked “Trainwreck,” she unrolled it and, reaching in, broke off a sticky lump the size of her pinkie nail from the largest of the dozen or so pungent buds, then crammed it into Lucifer’s deep bowl.
“Here we go,” Ashley said to the empty room, a little nervously.
She selected a lighter.
The high came on fast.
“Oh, yeaaaah,” she said, grinning wide, feeling the weight of the high coming down on her.
She turned the channel to E! and was instantly informed of the latest celebrity gossip. Apparently, Kendra Willkinson, the former Playboy bunny and new mother, had been caught on film exiting a club in LA, totally wrecked out of her mind. Ashley giggled at Kendra’s staggering attempt to attack the paparazzi. So lucky! she thought. Celebrities had it all, didn’t they? They could do whatever they wanted and get away with it and if they got caught nothing bad happened. They were just even more famous because of it.
This insight drifted through Ashley’s stoned mind slowly, easily, a thoughtful look on her face.
Although Ashley had been in the room when Raymond’s Connect had explained the history of the marijuana strain “Trainwreck,” which was named for the way the high it induces smashes you to the ground and pines you there, and was developed in the late 1980s by a young pothead chemist, she had been too stoned to pay attention. It had been one of the first strains to be developed for use by cancer patients, especially in cases of highly painful bone cancer. It was that strong.
So it should have come as no surprise that Ashley felt like she was being held by a big, warm hand. Her pulse throbbed. She smiled and smiled and kept on smiling bigger and bigger. Lucifer sat quietly off to one side, completely forgotten, while more celebrity news flashed across the screen and Ashley lay, naked and mesmerized, watching.
Twenty minutes went by without a single thought entering her mind. Finally, a commercial in which a hot guy sprayed Axe on himself and got attacked by hot girls made her think of Raymond. Raymond. His name hung there in her mind. He was so awesome and hot; the kind of guy she had fantasized about with her vibrator until all hours of the morning in Junior High: a studly, buff skateboarder type with dark, mysterious eyes and a deep, strong embrace. Like an X-Games romance protagonist. With a really big dick. She giggled.
Now she was watching a Pepsi commercial or something. It didn’t really make sense. She struggled to realize that this was really freaking good pot, but then began thinking about Raymond again. Not only was he awesome and hot but... also... was, like, cute and cuddly. She loved to get super-stoned and just hold his shoulders as he fucked her to high heaven. She giggled again, wondering if “fucked to high heaven” even worked, like, grammatically. It sounded cool: but she was sure it wasn’t the right way to say it. After a moment she forgot all about it and was imagining Raymond’s face, imagining Raymond and her walking down the red carpet to a club (that would be so cool!); in her mind’s eye they were both baked out of their minds and waving to the flashbulbs and everyone was laughing and pointing and smiling and thinking that they were so hot and great.
Ashley suddenly realized that she was rubbing her clit gently, her mouth opening and closing in helpless ecstasy; every caress of her fingers felt like a deliciously pleasant electric tickle and every slow twirl made her engorged clit sing and sing and sing.
“Oh my god!” she breathed as she sank deeper and deeper into the white couch cushions. This was so awesome. This was so heavenly. Fuck getting fucked to high heaven, this is already there! She gasped and kicked a leg out. So totally already there.
She thought of her own appearance. Her bare arms, legs, and boobs glowing dark coppery tan. Against the white of the couch she looked almost like some kind of native, or something. She knew she looked very soft and yummy to everyone. In her fantasy she was now lying spread eagle on the red carpet (which didn’t set off her tan skin as well as the white couch but still…), masturbating lewdly in front of the flashbulbs while Raymond looked on with stoned interest, his cock in his hand. In her fantasy she happily screamed: “I’ll be even fucking famouser cuz of this!”
“Uuuuuh, fuck!” she whined in real life.
She was rubbing herself really hard now, using her free hand to tweak her left nipple. Her eyes rolled back. She was a complete, infinitely delicate, quite perfect thing of pleasure, flowing along the curved line of her spine from her head, empty but for her own fantasy, to her singing, glowing, happy clitoris that she now was kneading with both hands in long, deep, rolling motions.
She was imagining the headlines: “Beautiful Starlet Masturbator Smokes An Ounce of Fine-Ass Pot with Snoop Dog Then Makes Drunken Fool Of Herself Outside of Club!” “Red Carpet Princess Is Even More Famous!”
She came all at once, in an uncontrollable wave. There was a moment of unbearably wonderful tension in her loins and then she was squirting shiny juice in a slippery fountain of pleasure.
“Aaaaaagggggggg!” Her cry reverberated through the room.
Usually when she squirted masturbating she jerked her hands away from the juices, letting the stream come and then go. This time she just kept rolling both hands over her clit and vaginal opening faster than ever… and in the process discovered that what she had always thought was an orgasm was only the beginning. She kept on cumming: crazier and crazier.
“Aaaaaaaaaa! Aaaaa my fuckin’—Aaaaaaaaa!” she screamed. Unable to even think of stopping or slowing she started slapping her clit with rapid, alternating motions of her hands, as if she were waving goodbye to someone, two-handedly. Another level of intensity washed over her and her eyes rolled back into her head hard.
She didn’t know it then, but if she were waving goodbye to anything it would have been any last vestige of sexual inhibition she had retained from her childhood. Her mother’s stern admonishments to ‘not get to carried away’ and other euphemistic seriousness, that had already been slowly eroding for years, was carried away on the rising flood of bliss. She sank into it: a bottomless pit of pleasure, it felt like the world, like reality itself, was caving in around her. She stretched herself out, flailing her feet and knocking over a foot tall statue of the Buddha that Sunny had on the coffee-table, rubbing her clit with hard sweeps with her left hand and gentle slaps from her right.
She was whimpering, mouth opening closing; little jolts going down her spine.
She blew out a breath, thinking she was done but then found to her amazement that she was still cumming. “Uuuuuh Gaaaa! Uh my Gaaaa!” she shrieked, shivering her way to another climax.
When she was finally able to think again she found herself lying flat on her face on the couch where she must have rolled following her orgasm; panting hard.
Her heart fluttering. She sat up and looked around, licking her dry lips and feeling embarrassed.
What if someone had come in and seen her? Sunny could have come home from Todd’s earlier than normal. Or what if someone could see her through the open window? Paranoia exploded in her and her heart went from fluttering to racing.
She got up and pulled the blinds and quickly considered putting on some clothes. But then, in the dimmed light with the television chattering away, she felt more calm. No need to go nuts, she thought, I’m just freaked out from the pot, that’s all. She decided in a split second that the thing to do when you’re paranoid was to have a beer.
Wasn’t that was Sunny always did? Yes. Yes it was.
Level it out. Put the brakes on that racy part of the high.
She walked slowly toward the kitchen. Sunny was a veritable professor when it came to getting high, she thought, any question you had about getting high as a kite, Sunny had an answer.
----
Part 3
As she walked toward the kitchen, Ashley felt her bare feet drag on the carpet; she felt her breasts waving gently from their own weight as walked; she felt the muscles of her hips and legs working as she moved them; felt her eyes drooping heavily. By the time she got the fridge she was smiling wide. She loved feeling these things.
After a moment’s consideration she decided that she would indeed have a beer. Why the hell not? She thought to herself, reaching out her hand for the fridge door. She didn’t have class until tomorrow, her homework for BioChem was basically done (she had done it yesterday morning), her economics paper was probably going to practically write itself. How hard could economics be? Like, seriously?
Clearly, there was no reason not to have a beer.
Nodding decisively she opened the fridge, ready for a beer.
Her low-lidded eyes scanned. There was no beer in the fridge. Her heart sank and her mouth hung open.
She could have sworn that they had had beer…
Making frantic sweeps her eyes found only Taco Bell bags, condiments, Slimfast, Red Bull, Vitamin Water, Sunny’s tub of hummus (gross!).
Standing in the cold from the open door, she tried to think out exactly why she thought there was beer. She remembered buying beer: that was why. She looked in the fridge again. Still no beer.Rolling Rock. She distinctly remembered buying Rolling Rock at the little gas station over on Market St (sort of distinctly). Yet, there was no Rolling Rock in the fridge.
She closed her mouth and then, realizing she was freezing cold, shut the door.
As she turned away she noticed that beside the fridge on the counter sat a twelve-pack of Rolling Rock.
“Oh my,” she giggled, covering her mouth. “I don’t… …” I don’t believe it.
That had been pretty silly of her. She must have forgotten to put the beer away when she got home last night: granted, she had been pretty stoned at the time.
One more hit, girl, come on!
She tore open the top and took a bottle out, opened it and returned to the couch, hoping the beer hadn’t gotten warm.
It was warm.
Ashley licked her lips. Still… a beer was what she wanted right now. Not breakfast. She was too paranoid, right? Crippling paranoia had to be dealt with first and foremost with a medicinal beer to calm the nerves. Right? Also, her mouth was dry as a bone.
She was pretty sure that Sunny had never said: don’t eat breakfast, just wake’n’bake, drink beer, and then smoke more pot. But shouldn’t she have said it? It would be so like Sunny.
Can’t argue with that logic, girl; Ashley told herself with a stoned grin. She coughed. Thinking about the dryness of her mouth made it worse! She tried to swallow and whimpered slightly at the difficulty. Damn cottonmouth. She looked at the bottle of beer, smiled at it, took a sip and licked her lips. It was the best beer she had ever tasted. She took in a mouthful and swished it around in her mouth before swallowing.
It went down easy.
“Mmmmmm!” she exclaimed, licking droplets from the corners of her mouth, then she tipped the bottle again and drank deeply, savoring the sensation as it slid down her throat.
She lowered the bottle a few moments later and gave a sigh of contentment. Then looked again at the bottle, smiling. The bottle was now empty, which surprised her. She had not meant to drink it all that fast. She saw a few remaining drops so she sucked vigorously at the bottle to get them. Without thinking she put her whole finger in her mouth and drew it slowly out and in, unsure of why. It was so good to mix beer and pot! What a good idea!
“Pretty smart,” she whispered to herself, with dumbfounded pride. She felt great. Utterly great. This is how a fucking girl should fucking live, she thought.
She lay back and returned her attention to the television. She watched E! for a few minutes, still sucking on her finger, then realized sheepishly in the middle of a commercial for beer that she wanted another beer.
Can’t keep this girl away from the beer, she thought. No wait, someone had actually said that to her. Or… no, no, to Sunny. Maybe?
“Whoa-ho, can’t keep this girl away from the beer!”
Sunny: “Come oooon! Less getta na’der… na’der pi’cher!”
Still sucking on her finger, Ashley got up and headed for the kitchen again.
She felt a little dizzy, but very, very good. It was, after all, a beautiful day and all the colors in the world seemed brighter and happier. On an impulse, and since she was defiantly no longer paranoid, she opened the blinds on her way, smiling out the windows at the vivid world, then heading for the kitchen.
This time she really felt her feet dragging, tits swaying, eyes heavy. She glowed with happiness. Mixing pot and beer was the best.
Back in the kitchen Ashley stared at the twelve-pack of Rolling Rock. The green of the package were so vibrant. So completely… cool. She grinned at it. Then giggled at herself for grinning at a twelver of Rolling Rock. “Man,” she muttered, nodding and smiling, “Stoned much?”
Remembering that her last beer had been very warm, Ashley decided to get the beer into the fridge. As soon as it was in and she pulled out a second one, she opened it, tossed the cap onto the counter and took a swallow.
“Ah!” she sighed.
But something was wrong, something was different. This beer tasted gross. The warmth was really noticeable this time.
“Blah!”
She pouted and sniffed the beer. It didn’t even smell as good as the last one. She tried tasting it again.
“Ewww!”
This beer was mean! Not at all like her nice beer before. It occurred to her that she had drank that first beer right after taking two big hits from the bong. Maybe that had been why it had tasted so good. She needed to take another hit to make this second warm beer taste good. She blinked her heavy eyelids. Really? Did that make any sense? She wondered with a frown. After a moment she decided that it was a reasonable hypothesis. She went back to the couch, lighting swinging her beer by its neck, set it on the coffee table, and gingerly loaded more Trainwreck into the bowl of Lucifer. She positioned her mouth, flicked the lighter and sucked, listened to the bubbling of the two chambers of water, then pulled the bowl and sucked as hard as she could, filling her lungs to the brim with thick, sweet-smelling smoke.
As she held in the hit, it occurred to her that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. It was pretty early in the morning, wasn’t it? And the last two hits had made her so high that she had masturbated like a monkey in a cage at the zoo. Unable to hold in the smoke anymore she blew it out in a long thick burst toward the ceiling. Almost instantly she felt herself sinking back into the couch, clutching the bong with one hand and the lighter with the other, her eyes drooping even lower and her brain swirling with delightful confusion. She slowly raised her eyes and found herself staring, open-mouthed at the television again, watching that same footage of Kendra staggering out of the club. This time Ashley found her gaze focusing on Kendra’s slitted eyes and big tits: she looks like she feeling no pain, Ashley thought, at the same time as she thought how great it must be to have all these guys ogling your chest all the time. Hot! Then she wondered how she looked right now: probably pretty similar. She glowed with pride at the correspondence: she was not so different from a famous person.
Happy Biiiiiirthday, Mister President!
It occurred to her that she was holding a bong and a lighter. Without thinking, she checked the bowl with her index finger. Its contents were still hard, not yet reduced to ash. Might as well finish off this bowl, right? The only problem was that she was lying on her back, slouched down on the couch, and sitting up was the last thing she felt like doing. Fortunately, the solution was easy. Grinning eagerly, she positioned the bong between her legs so the bottom chamber pressed against her public mound, the shaft lay between her tits, and the bowl was within easy reach. She giggled for moment at herself (slouched naked with a bong between her legs), then flicked the lighter and filled herself up with as much smoke as she could.
Fifteen minutes later Ashley had forgotten all about her hypothesis, her beer, her paranoia, everything; the bong was on the table and the television dominated her completely. She could not take her eyes off of the High Definition screen. Yet another show was replaying the footage of drunk Kendra. Ashley was beginning to like this footage: she could now predict each of the Kendra’s belligerently yelled harangues aimed at the leering paparazzi, eagerly awaited each stumbling misstep.
Finally, bored with E!, Ashley hit mute on the remote control and looked around in a daze.
What time was it?
She noticed her Econ textbook sitting on the other side of the couch. She decided to try and study a little. After all, she thought with great seriousness, it can’t all be waking and baking around here: there’s work to do! But as she flipped through its pages, unable to remember which chapter she was on, nothing caught her interest for more than a couple words. She turned to the index. It was even more boring than the rest of it. She slammed the book shut in disgust. “Fuck this!”
She spotted a newspaper on the floor under the coffee table, picked it up and flipped to the horoscopes: Ashley was an Ares and Ares read: An unlooked for benefactor may lead to an exciting new life path.
That sounded exciting! Ashley grinned and her rectangular expanses of eyelid that covered most of her eyes creased around the bottom edges. Then she realized that the beer on the table in front of her was hers and drank it down as fast as the first (not caring that it was warm and gross, thus confirming, somewhat, her earlier hypothesis).
“Oh yeah, that’s good.” She breathed as she lowered the bottle.
Seeing drops of delicious Rolling Rock in the bottom of the bottle she turned it upside down over her hand and dribbled out the last of the foamy beer onto her fingers, unsure of exactly why. The next thing she knew she was sucking the beer off her fingers and then simply sucking on her index finger with fiendish abandon. It felt really good to suck. A memory jostled in on her at that moment:
“I reeeeee’lly lig sucking. Id feel’s hella good to suck on stuff!”
Boys: Laughing
Raymond: “Jesus babe, shut up, will you? You sound like…”
“ I’m to’lly serious. Id feels so good! ”
When had she said that!? Ashley bit her lip. Must have been sometime. She remembered it like it was yesterday. She frowned. Had it been yesterday? It had! No, no… Friday. Friday at the pool, she and Raymond and Raymond’s friends Andrew, Todd and Ashton had been lounging around. The boys had been sober, since they had just come right from class. Ashley had also come right from class, but had smoked a blunt with Sunny before meeting them and was so stoned she could barely open her eyes. Ashley realized in a flash of insight that she was probably about that stoned right now too. She giggled.
Then she noticed a fashion magazine of Sunny’s sitting on the table, half covered with weed. That seemed much more interesting. Stuff she could look at and not have to read. She retrieved it and started flipping through it. She didn’t bother with the articles, but the pictures were pretty. The models had such pretty clothes. They were all trying to show off their boobs, Ashley noticed.
“Boobs,” she said with a sage nod. It was cool to say it. “Boobs,” she said again. Then giggled. “My... boobs’re... lots bigger than these boobs,” Ashley observed slyly, as if she were uncovering a plot. She stuck her chest out and looked down at herself, comparing the prominence of her two fleshy jewels to the models. She was happy with the comparison. It was funny how she never noticed how pretty her boobs were, she thought even though it was not true. All the models wanted their boobs to be big like hers. Although, to be fair, their boobs were okay.
The models’ nipples were not all pointy, though.
Ashley traced a finger around her left nipple, then her right. They sang quivering warmth that made her wiggle. She giggled and bit her lower lip. Her nipples always got super sensitive when she was stoned.
“Oh, boy… That feels good,” she cooed and traced them again. And again. And again. “Oh-ho-ho fuck yah.”
She didn’t know how long she kept it up, but soon it was no longer just her nipples she was enjoying but the whole voluminous flesh of her breasts: squeezing, caressing, pulling, tickling, and massaging, each following logically one from the other, each accompanied by moans and squeaks of pleasure.
Meanwhile, Raymond’s best friend Andrew Olmsted had entered Ashley’s apartment about two minutes earlier, having knocked on the door and received no answer, then having called Ashley’s cell and got no answer, he had then tried the door and found it unlocked. He had come by to buy a ten-sack off of Ashley since he didn’t have class, wanted to get high, but was out of weed and knew that Raymond would not be awake until noon. He had never bought weed from Ashley before but he knew that she always had quite a bit. When he had found himself confronted with the fantasy-comes-alive sight of Ashley fondling herself in blissed-out obliviousness the first thing he thought was: Oh shit, Raymond has given this stony fox some MDMA; it was only a matter of time, now he’s done it, he won’t be able to keep her head clear for two seconds now. But then he noticed the bong, the thick, pleasant scent of pot in the air, the two empty beer bottles. No, probably not MDMA. Just good old fashioned THC.
Pretending to having just walked in he said brightly: “Hi, Ashley! You feeling all right?”
Ashley’s eyes popped open. They stayed slung very low, but they were now open. She dropped her hands from her breasts and turned toward the voice, not slowly but not very quickly either.
It took her a confused, panic-stricken moment to recognize Andrew. “Holy shit, Andrew! God! Oh... oh my gawd!”
“Uh, it was open,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder at the door.
----
Part 4
She sat there and stared at him through slitted eyes for moment. When she finally spoke, it came out in a lazy slur: “Wha’s open?”
“The door.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You okay?”
Oh... She thought. The door. Her whole body began to gyrate uncontrollably as she giggled and giggled at having been caught playing with her titties. By Andrew Olmsted no less!
While she giggled Andrew just smiled and stared at her chest, unable to believe his luck.
“Ooooh, yah…” she managed to say finally, “Yah, I’m fine… uh… uuuh… I’m jus’… I’m jus’ all… like… hella stoned cuz… um... you know...” She shrugged. “Hooray wake’n’bake! Right? Gotta love it… Oh man. I’m, like, the fucking… uh….” She covered her mouth (but not her breasts). “Gawd,” she giggled, “I cannot even fucking talk, I swear ta Gawd!” She gave him a helpless look and continued to giggle.
“Yeah, I can tell,” Andrew said, laughing, walking into the room. He was now trying not to look at the luscious flesh openly displayed before him, suddenly terrified that Raymond must be about to emerge from the bathroom or something. There’s no way in hell Ashley is this blazed by herself, he thought: Ray’s probably been here all night fucking her brains out and he just stepped into the can for a second.
Nervously he said: “I, uh, came to buy a ten-sack. You know why?” His eyes darted to the hall leading to the bathroom; from this angle he could not see the door. He sidled closer.
Ashley shook her head.
His mind was racing. “I just found out I passed my Literary Theory test.” he lied, that test was yet to come, but it sounded good. “I’m pretty much guaranteed an A now. My parents sent me some celebration money, so I’m gonna get toked out and hit the town.”
“That’s so cool!” Ashley exclaimed, giving an excited bounce. Her heart went out to him. He was so nice! He had money. He passed a test. Who was he again? Andrew! That’s Andrew. She giggled hard, eyes tight closed. She was so stoned every inch of her skin tingled.
“Yeah,” he continued, he was far enough into the living room now and he could make out the bathroom door at the end of the hall. It was open. “So…” He knew that if Raymond had heard him he would have come out to say hello by now. This meant that Raymond wasn’t there. “So… I figured who better…” Raymond wasn’t there and Ashley, fucking gorgeous pothead Ashley, whose tits he had drooled over for months even before his best friend started dating her and feeding her pot brownies while she sat around in her bikini with her hippie roommate and her body from heaven. “… to hook me up with a sack…” He had watched her increasing appetite for weed with a mixture of sadness and gladness; sadness because when he had first noticed her in English 220 she had been talking about poetry and math like she knew something about them, which was so rare in a girl of her physicality and that was gone now; gladness because with her increase in getting high came a declining interest in class and an increasing interest in hanging out at Raymond’s place where getting high was easy, and where Andrew was always hanging out also. “… than you? I mean…” He had been plotting to ask her out, or beg to fuck her or something for months, best friend or no, but had always missed his opportunities. And now here she was baked out of her gourd at 10 in the morning, naked. Naked! “… you’ve always got a bunch of extra stuff…” Opportunities now abound, he thought. “And… I have this money burning a hole in my pocket, basically, and so… now that I’m here I figure… Fuck it, I should just buy an eighth right?”
“Oh. Oh fuckin’ yah definitely,” Ashley said, nodding sagely, as if this were the best of all possible options and only a fool would have thought otherwise. “An’ yah, I can totally hook you up. I just…” There was a pause. Andrew raised his eyebrows. Against his well his eyes dropped to her tits. She saw his eyes drop. Her eyes dropped to see what he was looking at. He watched her face fall and her droopy eyes widen as she realized that she was naked.
“Oh,” her hands flew to cover herself. “Oh shit, dude.” She ran from the room.
“I’m going to get a drink of water, K?” Andrew couldn’t bare the sight of her juicy ass bouncing as she ran down the hall. But he still watched it until she disappeared around the corner. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself as he filled a glass in the kitchen. He took a deep breath, held it, released it, and then ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. Get a hold of yourself man, he thought: what you need is a plan. This was his opportunity, his golden opportunity to get with Ashley. He weighed his options. He could keep her here, keeping smoking weed and hope that Ray did not call. Or he could get her out of here, he had a pipe and other supplies in the car, take her downtown maybe. He knew that Raymond would call, almost undoubtedly: staying here was definitely out. He sipped the water. He had already laid a pretty good cover story: he should get her downtown and…
“Andrew?”
“In here!”
He returned to the living room. She was now wearing a tight yellow blouse and white shorts. It was amazing, seeing that rack of hers contained and supported into buoyant orbs was almost better than them being naked… almost.
“Ohmygod!” She said with hands clasped under her chin. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
They looked at each other for a moment in awkward silence.
Then Andrew said, “Well, never mind, how about that weed?” He pulled out his wallet and removed two twenty dollar bills.
“Oh right! Yah! The weed!” Ashley went to the table and started picking through the baggies. Many of them were moist. She wrinkled her nose. “Weird. These baggies’re all, like, wet with… um… … Oh ! Oh, never mind.” They were wet with her squirt juices.
“They’re wet?” Andrew furrowed his brow.
“Uh… Oh, dank. I mean they’re like, hella dank.”
He raised an eyebrow. She was a terrible liar. But what was she lying about?
Ashley found a baggie that was dry. It was marked: Purple Kush. “Here!” she said brightly. “How ‘bout this one?”
Andrew took it, smelled it and nodded. “Nice. I haven’t smoked Kush since freshman year.”
“Really?” Ashley asked, “Not even friends of… I mean… ” Talking was hard when you were this stoned, she realized. “Not even being friends with Ray? He always has the best pot.” She made a guttural, animal-like sound and made a vague gesture with both hands, trying to indicate the gap between how good the pot was and what words could describe. Then she reiterated: “The best.”
“Well, he hasn’t always had the best,” Andrew said. He glanced at the discarded Economics textbook and the open magazine. Oh Ashley, he thought, what have you done to yourself? He sat on the couch and made himself comfortable. “I mean, he’s got the good shit now, sure. But when we first started hanging out he didn’t have shit.”
Ashley giggled. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, it’s only been since he met that dude. What’s his name? Pedro.”
“Oh yah! The ‘Connect’.”
“Yeah. Oh, here’s your money. Thank you for the weed.”
"You're welcome," Ashley chirped. She took the bills from him and set them on the coffee table without a second glance.
After suggesting they smoke a bowl together to “seal the deal,” which made Ashley giggle and nod vehemently, Andrew asked if she knew much about Literary Theory, knowing that she didn’t. He proceeded to explain in flamboyant verbiage the ins and outs of Derrida, Deleuze, Barthes, and so on, as she prepared the bong. He did this so that she would not notice the boner that was sticking up vigorously from his lap, as plain as day. His subterfuge seemed to work: she nodded and tried to follow the terms, but was unable to so and so just nodded and giggled and said, “Yah, totally, I can totally see that,” to everything he said and focused entirely on tearing up weed.
She figured that since there were two of them it stood to reason that she should load twice as much weed as she usually did, but since she usually packed the bowl pretty full she quickly discovered that twice as much meant that it had to be piled up and out of the bowl.
“There,” she said triumphantly, “its ready. Where’s the lighter?”
The weed stood out about two inches from the rim of the bowl.
Andrew laughed, “Wow, you sure you want to smoke that much?” His boner throbbed almost painfully. “It’s pretty early isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
Looking into her rectangular eyes he realized that the concern had not even been conceivable until he voiced it.
Now that it had been voiced, however, Ashley became embarrassed. “Oh no. Shit, shit, shit! It’s too much, huh?” She stared down at the bulging bowl. “I dunno. I… I... already smoked a lot already so…” She giggled helplessly, giving Andrew an I-can’t-believe-what’s-
He looked her right in her slitted, bloodshot eyes: “Too much?” He said coolly. “I don’t think that’s even possible.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t saying that you loaded too much just then. Not really.”
“Oh! Okay!” Ashley giggled, her mind put at ease despite the obviousness of his lie. Not wasting another moment she flicked the lighter and filled the bong’s big chamber with smoke, pulled the carb, and filled her lungs, then passed the bong to Andrew.
“Okay.” Andrew repeated, nodding. He took the bong and took a hit, trying not to take nearly as big of a hit as she had. He was trying to think of his next move.
----
Part 5
“So…” Ashley had blown out her hit and was staring stupidly at her feet, unsure of what to say. She was in that awkwardly emptyheaded stage of being high where nothing stays clear in your mind for very long: things just sort of... drifted away right when you needed them. “So… who was that like, guy you… that you were… talkin’... um... Darrian? Somethin’?”
“Derrida.” Andrew corrected her. “Yeah, so… he’s all about this idea of deconstruction and also this thing called logocentrism, which basically means that… okay so you know how when you read a book you, like—“
The next half an hour was spent exchanging the bong, Andrew taking little hits, Ashley taking big ones, and Andrew talking about random bits of Literary Theory to fill the space.
“—so basically when Julia Kristeva talks about the ‘sign’ she’s talking about what Derrida was talking about with the ‘text’ and… Uh… Ashley?”
Ashley had sagged back into the couch and she was staring down through thin slits at her boobs, which dominated her vision. Her mouth hung open a little and her breath whistled a little in her teeth. She turned her head slowly toward him but continued to look down, so when she said, “Huh?” it was to the couch cushion between them.
“Um … It’s your hit.” He held out the bong.
“Oh… Is it?”
Ashley remained how she was, but groped a hand out toward Andrew’s voice. He put the bong into her hand then held out the lighter. Pulling the bong toward her with the motion of bringing a cup to her mouth, Ashley let the shaft of it slip in between her legs. She giggled. “Tha’ fits real good, huh?” She turned toward Andrew to include him in the joke, but her eyes remained downcast.
“The bong?”
“Yeah.” She giggled and giggled.
“Yep. Sure does.” Holy Mother of God, he was thinking. “Okay so… actually let’s just…” He took the bong away from her and stood up. It seemed crazy to let her keep smoking. She was already... Well... look at her.
“Heeeey,” she whined, her eyes still downcast, “I’s gonna hit tha’... Wha’re you...? I’s... gonna...”
“I know, I know, it’s just…” Andrew was stoned too, so it took him a moment to remember his plan. Then he remembered. Damn. “Alright fine. Here…” He handed the bong back. “It’s just that it’s such a beautiful day outside. I passed that test and I’m all… you know, I’m all pumped. I want to celebrate.”
“Oh yah... Shit. You got tha’ money too, huh?” Ashley found the lighter lying on the couch beside her. She picked it up and flicked it over the bowl.
“Yeah, exactly! Actually, you know what? When I found out about the money, you know what I thought?”
Ashley was filling her lungs with pot smoke. She shook her head without looking up or stopping her bubbling inhalation.
“I thought to myself: I should take Ashley shopping to thank her for lending me that, uh… that pen I borrowed last month.”
“Really?” Ashley exclaimed tightly, from around her hit. She sat up straighter and pushed her chest out to hold the smoke in easier.
“Yep.”
A contained cough shook her, then she let smoke waft slowly out of her mouth. “Oh my Gawd!” She cried in that same tight voice, still holding in the smoke, “I fuckin’ love shoppin’.”
“I know you do,” Andrew’s reply was directed, against all his efforts, at her chest; he noted that she had not put on a bra under her blouse and her nipples had become very hard, the bong nestled between them like the shaft of some monstrous cock. “Holy shit,” he muttered, averting his eyes. “So!” He slapped his thighs. “So, you wanna go get a new outfit or somethin’! I’ll buy.”
Ashley frowned suddenly. She blew out her hit, coughed twice, and then looked confusedly at Andrew. “Wait, wha’? Wha’s...? Wha’ pen? Di’ I borrow a...? Pen?”
Ashley was sinking even lower as her last hit took effect.
“Uh… It was when I needed a pen for… for…” Andrew groped for a story. Fuck! He almost had this! “... for Organic Chem that one time… Uh… For that test! Remember? I forgot my pen and you… let me have one of yours. Totally saved the day.”
“I don’ ‘memmer tha’ at all!” Ashley giggled. “Gawd!” she exclaimed, “I have been smokin' way too much pot, huh?”
“Actually… I don’t think that’s possible to do.”
“Really?”
----
----
Part 6
By eleven o’clock the two of them were on their way downtown in Andrew’s Ford Focus. As he drove, he kept up the trend of glancing over at the chest of his passenger, unable to help himself. “Yeah, so… Yeah… uh…” He had no idea what to say. He was stoned, his heart was pounding; he could not believe this was even happening and he was becoming increasingly convinced that he was about to blow it somehow. Either that or Raymond would find out and the shit would hit the fan.
Through the dense fog gripping her skull Ashley noticed her driver’s constant and quite blatant glances. In a blooming, happy moment of insight, she realized that her big boobs were making Andrew horny. She giggled at this and sat up straighter; pushing them out, thinking it was funny. She watched coyly, waiting for his next glance. When it came Andrew’s eyes got big.
Horns erupted as they nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. Andrew swore and corrected his steering. Ashley and her boobs shook with laughter, nearly causing another accident when the next inevitable glance came.
“Holy shit!” Andrew shrieked as he jerked the wheel yet again, saving their lives at the last instant. An SUV had been bearing down on them, a frantic woman in oversized sunglasses yelling excitedly and soundlessly behind her windshield.
“You … you okay there An’rew?” Ashley, calm as a cucumber (and about as engaged with what was happening as one too), asked.
“Yeah, I’m… Jesus… Yeah, I’m fine. That… that fucker in the Honda wasn’t looking where she was going. Did you see that?”
“Mmm, I don’ think you saw it either,” Ashley purred, grinning wide. Boobs. She giggled. Andrew likes my boobs.
“Um,” Andrew found himself adjusting his rearview mirror unnecessarily, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ashley was glowing. What a great day she was having! She was giggling and giggling, completely in love with this moment: all thoughts of economies of scale, papers, grades, even Cancun, had been pushed down by the haze and locked away somewhere deep in the vault of her brain. “ Yer a silly boy, aren’choo? Aren’choo?” Any attempt to summon up any thought not having to do with her immediate surroundings took supreme effort and that effort was entirely taken up by the excitement over the prospect of being taken shopping.
Andrew shrugged, snuck a peek at her tits, and then, attempting to cover it up, made a right turn… down a one-way street going the wrong direction. “Son of a bitch!” He shouted as Ashley laughed so hard that tears streamed from her heavy-lidded eyes.
As he turned around, amid an orchestra of car-horns, Ashley beamed; little titters and giggles bubbling out of her every few seconds. Boobs. It was so incredibly funny to her: men liked girls with big boobs and did nice things for them, like take them shopping and stare at them! Kendra Wilkinson had big boobs and look at what everyone did for her! And all the boobs had to do was… just be there! And smoke hella pot. She grinned ear to ear. Raymond sure liked her boobs. When she thought of Raymond she felt herself become wet. Mine, she thought: mine all mine, that boy is mine.
“Hey,” she called out in a lazy drawl, “can I call Raymon’? You have yer cell righ’? I forgot mine.”An image of Raymond without a shirt on was drifting through her head. Back and forth.
“I do have my cell,” said Andrew, having gotten safely back on the right street going the right direction, he glanced at her tits, “but… uh… I don’t think you should call him. I was just over at his place this morning…”
“You were?”
“Yeah, I was,” he lied, “… and he… uh… he said he was going to be, like, super busy today. With business… You know how it is.”
“Oh, okay.” Ashley decided not to think about it. Even if it was about Raymond thinking was hard to do at this point. She giggled at herself: can barely think. Turning-on boys and barely able to think, that’s me in a nutshell right now!
She looked out the window of the car, giggling, smiling, feeling great. It was a mild day, with pleasant sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. People were going about their lives all around her. She struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the city’s bustling streets, but could not.
Turning to Andrew she got very serious and asked, “Hey, how come guys bite tits?”
“Excuse me?” Andrew glanced at her tits.
She giggled, “No, no, sorry. I meant… … I meant: how come guys like tits? You know? Like, they totally… totally… totally like them. Is it just cuz they're so much fun to play with?”
Andrew laughed nervously and twisted in his seat to try and cover his raging hard-on.
“Uh, basically it’s…. I mean, do you really want to know the answer?”
She nodded emphatically, making her tits jiggle.
“Well…” He was watching out for a certain cross-street. “The fact of the matter is… (was that 42nd? No, no, 34th) okay, so the fact of the matter is that guys like … ‘tits’, as you so elegantly put it…”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah… so… guys… we like tits because basically we’re monkeys.”
“You are?”
“Well, yeah. So are you.”
“Me?”
“Come on, you know that. You’ve taken Physical Science. Human’s are basically primates.”
“Oh yeah,” she giggled. Monkeys? She had never thought about it like that before. “Hmmm. Oooookaaaay ….”
“But so, men are…” He glanced at her, trying to ascertain how much trouble he was landing himself in. Her blank expression told him that there was no trouble brewing, but that he would need to dumb down his explanation more. “Okay, think of it this way: Men are boy-monkeys and women are girl-monkeys and that means that-“
“The boy-monkeys wanna fuck the girl-monkeys, right?” Ashley exlaimed. She was immensely proud of herself for making such a smart connection, so she bounced in her seat.
“Yes, yes… exactly,” Andrew was having a hard time looking at the road again, Ashley giggled at him.
“See! You like my tits! You do! You do!”
“Yes, we’ve established that. And so…. not only (okay, okay, 42nd, so it’ll be two more blocks), not only do they want to fuck each other but… also: these boy and girl monkeys exist in time, right?”
She stared at him. “Uh… right. I guess.”
“They exist in time so the first things they know… like, after they’re born or whatever, are imprinted in their minds… uh… those first things are really important, because they’re first, you know?”
“Yeah… first. They’re first.”
“Right… so what do the boy-monkey’s know first?”
Ashley struggled to think. “Uh… they know… their Mommies?”
“Right. And… (okay, here we are, left turn)… and what about their Mommies do they know really, really well?”
Ashley shook her head. She didn’t know.
Andrew parallel parked the car in front of a store that Ashley had never seen before. She stared at it for a moment, and then turned back to Andrew, who was watching her. “So, what about the Mommies?” She asked with furrowed brow.
“Come on, think about it… What are breasts for?”
“For looking?”
“Yes…” He laughed, “but no… Think.”
“Oh!” She giggled stupidly, “Okay, duh! Right. For nursing babies. Everyone knows that!”
“Well, for a minute there you didn’t,” Andrew snapped. He regained his composure. “So, there you have it. Us boy-monkey’s have a very deep, very primal, relationship to ‘tits.’”
“Oh.” Ashley giggled, “Is that why you guys always wanna suck on ‘em?”
“You got it.”
She giggled and giggled. Then she stopped. Something had occurred to her. “But… Little girl-monkeys suck on their Mommy’s titties too.”
“Yep.” Andrew grinned, he liked where this was heading.
“But that means…”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” Ashley raised her eyebrows and blew a raspberry. This was blowing her mind! “Wow!” Then she nodded, smiling. “You know! That makes sense actually! Sunny is, like, always bookin’ at my lubes.” She gasped at her linguistic misstep and threw her head into her hands, giggling, “Oh my God! I mean… I-I mean…”
“I know what you mean. Although boobs do go well with lube.”
“Oh my Gawd! You are hilarious!” Ashley cried, laughing until her side hurt.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go in.”
In the window of the store there were mannequins dressed in leather, lace, and shiny synthetics. There wasn’t much fabric involved but what was there looked expensive. Ashley giggled and took Andrew’s arm when he offered it. She was dizzy and her feet were dragging but she was used to it, she could feel her ass twitching back and forth, held tight by the white fabric of her shorts. She liked it. All of it.
As they walked past the window with the mannequins, she could not help staring at their boobs. Monkey-boobs, she thought with a giggle. Could Andrew really be right about the monkey stuff, she wondered as they came to the entryway. She looked at him intently, a stoned scientist observing a specimen. He sure looked smart. And he knew all about Derry-ba and Julia Kristy and interesting people like that.
“Oooo! Pretty!” Ashley exclaimed when they entered and she saw the array of beautiful, sexy clothes, interrupting her thoughts. Images of those models with inferior boobs from the magazine earlier flashed into her smoky mind. Inferior girl-monkeys. She puffed up with pride.
“Yeah, those would be awesome for your trip to Cancun,” Andrew said, pointing at a swimsuit-sundress combo.
Not bothering to wonder how he knew about her trip, Ashley squealed with delight as the memory of her fabulous Spring Break plans came tumbling out of the vault and ran around in her head with the monkeys and the boobs and the clothes.
The sales woman came forward, snappily dressed in a tight pinstripe pantsuit. She was smiling (and wrinkling her nose at the unmistakable stench of pot that hung around these two new customers).
“Hello!” she gushed in that sunny, the-world-does-not-exist manner of well-trained salespeople. “I’m Rebecca. What can I help you find?”
“Pretty clothes!” Ashley exclaimed. “Pretty and sexy . I’m gonna go to Cancun fer spring break an’ I gotta have, like, the sexiest friggin’ clothes fer when I go to Cancun fer spring break so I can get really, really hot!” That had come out rather wrong-sounding, she thought helplessly, but whatever. She was stoned and happy and didn’t care if she sounded kind of stupid.
Rebecca would understand.
“Oh, I understand. I think we can help you out in that department, Miss,” Rebecca nodded with prim, professional decisiveness. “That we can do in spades. You know, I think I know of a dress that would be just perfect for you. Absolutely perfect for beach parties and rascally-“ she rolled her r’s with gusto, “-rollicking college antics.” Letting out a full-throated, good-natured laugh she gestured toward a waiting area to one side. “Why don’t we leave the gentleman here and we’ll dress you up and see if he agrees with me. If you two are willing to trust me, that is.”
“Oh certainly,” said Andrew.
Ashley giggled. She was feeling so good right now, she’d trust just about anybody.
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