Spring Break in Amsterdam

By IcemasterTurok2

DAY ONE - EVENING 

        Paula and Susan stepped out of the train station and took their first breath of fresh Amsterdam air. 

        “I can't believe we're finally here!” said Paula. 

        Paula looked around, taking in the ornate turn of the century architecture, the street signs in Dutch, the canals and bridges.  She smiled - this was the life.  She was 24, attractive, carefree, and had a week of break from all the tests and papers of grad school.  1 week of fun.  She turned and looked back at Susan, who was busy cross-referencing her map with her guide book.  Now if only I could teach Susan to have fun as well, she thought. 

        Nobody believed that Paula and Susan were friends.  Paula the hippie child, the party animal, with her dirty blonde hair and flowery outfits.  Susan the bookworm, the worrywart, with her neat red hair in a bun and future-executive style of dress.  The only thing they had in common was their graduate program and their bit tits.  But somehow they had become fast friends over the last few months, and when Paula found out that Susan had no plans for Spring Break she convinced her to come along on a trip to Amsterdam. 

        “The hotel should be about a quarter mile southeast.  I've diagrammed the route – ready to go?” asked Susan. 

        “The hotel's not going anywhere,” said Paula, “lets go have some fun.  We're in Amsterdam!” 

        “You promised me you were going to be totally irresponsible,” said Susan sternly. 

        “Yeah yeah,” said Paula, “don't forget what you promised me too.” 

        Susan blushed.  Back at grad school Paula was always smoking pot and getting wasted – probably one of the main reasons she wanted to go to Amsterdam.  Susan didn't particularly like to party and had never smoked pot; she had agreed to come along on the trip because she wanted to experience a new culture.  But, in a moment of weakness, she had promised Paula that if Paula didn't go wild Susan would try getting high.  Oh well, thought Susan, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. 

        The two girls grabbed their backpacks and headed to the hotel.  With Susan's map it was easy to find, and after practicing Dutch the whole plane ride over Susan was able to successfully check in.  Paula had to admit, traveling with a nerd had its perks.  Their room was simple but neat; they unloaded their stuff and settled in. 

        “So,” said Paula, “it's 10pm on your first night in Amsterdam – what do you want to do?” 

        “I'm pretty beat from the trip,” said Susan, “can we just crash and have kick off our Spring Break adventure tomorrow?” 

        “Awwwww,” whined Paula, “it's my first night in Amsterdam.  Amsterdam!  I want to get baked!” 

        “Jeeze, Paula, do you ever think of anything else?” 

        “Think of it this way,” replied Paula, “I smoke you up tonight, you get it out of the way, and then you've got a whole week without me pressuring you.” 

        Susan thought for a moment – that actually didn't sound so bad. 

        “Unless,” added Paula, “you end up liking it.” 

        “I don't think you have to worry about that,” said Susan. 

DAY ONE - NIGHT 

        Susan looked around the coffeeshop with distaste.  It looked remarkably like the locally-owned coffee places she knew back in the US – local art on the walls, hip young people in different booths, comfy chairs and big windows, and even a cute guy behind the counter.  Only instead of coffee, the counter was lined with glass jars of marijuana,  the items on the menu had names like AK-47, White Widow, and OG Kush, and the patrons were all puffing on joints and bongs.  Time to get this over with, she thought.  She had heard most people didn't feel anything the first time they got high, and others just got sleepy.  With any luck that would be her – either totally fine or a quick trip to bed.  Then a story to tell and seven days of museums, parks, and shopping. 

        Paula, on the other hand, looked positively giddy.  She tried to pick something off the menu, but it all sounded so good.  She decided to ask the budtender.  Susan watched from the booth as Paula chatted with the guy.  She giggled, he laughed.  Susan frowned – she wished she could talk to boys as comfortably as Paula could.  Susan saw Paula finally make up her mind and hand over some money.  Then Paula turned and practically skipped back to the table.  She put down on it a pack of rolling papers, a lighter, and a small plastic bottle of pot nuggets. 

        Paula sat and, without a word, opened the bottle and pinched off a small piece of marijuana.  She took a rolling paper, laid it flat, and began to crumble pot onto it.  Susan idly took the bottle and looked inside.  She didn't know anything about weed, but this weed did look rather pretty.  It was purple and green, with tiny crystals and hairs all over it.  She tentatively sniffed the bottle and was surprised that it was earthy and sweet, like a garden herb. 

        “Ready to do this?” asked Paula. 

        Susan looked up to see that Paula was putting the finishing touches on the joint.  She licked the side, rolled it tighter, and pinched the tip.  She then raised it to her lips, lit it, and triumphantly took a puff.  Paula held the smoke in her lungs – it was so smooth!  So much smoother than the townie pot she bought back at school.  Susan stared at the smoke trickling off the tip of the joint, then at Paula.  Paula gave her a wink and exhaled.  The smoke drifted out of her mouth and Susan was hit with the sickly sweet smell of burning weed. 

        “Ahhhhh,” said Paula, “my first toke in the land where it's legal.  The first of many!” 

        She extended the joint toward Susan and Susan eyed it suspiciously.  She couldn't believe it had come to this.  When she had said yes she never imagined actually having to do it. 

        “I dunno,” said Susan, “do I really have to?” 

        “You promised!” 

        “Yeah, but it's just that, I've never done anything like this.  I don't want to get addicted or get in trouble.” 

        “Come on,” said Paula, rolling her eyes, “stop being so dramatic.  Just keep an open mind and give it a try.  I mean, you're in another culture; shouldn't you experience what that culture has to offer?” 

        Susan sighed and with slightly trembling fingers took the joint.   

        “What do I do?” she asked. 

        “It's easy – inhale gently and hold it in your lungs as long as you can.  And don't forget to put the end that isn't on fire in your mouth.” 

        Susan gave Paula the finger and lifted the joint to her lips.  Well, now or never, she thought.  She put it between her lips and inhaled.  She felt something warm draw into her mouth, down her throat, and into her lungs.  She held it in for a moment and then broke into a fit of coughs, letting out a large plume of smoke.  A few patrons glanced over. 

        “Ugh,” she said and went to hand the joint back to Paula. 

        “No way!” exclaimed Paula, “you said you'd get high with me.  Not that you'd take a single puff off a joint and cough most of it out.” 

        “It burned my throat!” exclaimed Susan. 

        “I know, it's ok, you just need practice.  Take a smaller puff this time.” 

        “Do I have to?” 

        “Come onnnnnn,” whined Paula. 

        Susan sighed and brought the joint to her lips again.  This time she drew with slightly less force.  She watched the ember at the tip of the joint flare up, and again felt that warmth trickle down her throat into her lungs.  There was the urge to cough, but it was lessened and she was able to suppress it.  She looked over at Paula who gave her a big thumbs up.  She felt like an idiot – sitting here unable to speak because she was holding smoke in her lungs. 

        “You can exhale now,” said Paula. 

        Paula exhaled and watched the thick cloud drift across the table.  Was all that in my lungs, she wondered. 

        “One more,” said Paula. 

        Without really thinking about it Susan took another puff off the joint.  This hit burned even less.  She couldn't believe how much easier it was already.  As she held in the hit she looked at the joint between her fingers, rolling it slightly.  It looked like an uneven, tapered cigarette.  Weird to think there was so much controversy, so much trouble, surrounding something so harmless looking.  Her brain told her it was time to exhale.  This time she tried to exhale more gently, and she was rewarded with a thick, impressive cloud that trickled past her lips. 

        “Nice!” said Paula. 

        Susan looked down and noticed that Paula was rolling another joint.  Susan went to hand her the lit joint but Paula waved it away. 

        “Nah,” she said, “I'll make my own.  That one's all yours.” 

        “You want me to smoke this whole joint?” asked Susan. 

        “Poor you,” joked Susan, “smoke a whole joint?  Shakespeare should write a tragedy about your life.  Look, you're already almost halfway through it.” 

        Susan saw that Paula was right.  Alright, she thought, I'll finish this joint and that will be that.  It's not so hard anyway.  She took another puff.  It was dark outside, and glancing left out the window all Susan could see was her reflection.  She thought she looked surprisingly sexy with the joint held loosely between her fingers.  Like a starlet from the 50s.  She exhaled and watched her reflection – that was sexy too.  Well at least I can see why smokers take it up, she thought.   

        Paula sparked her own personal joint across from Susan and began merrily puffing away.  Susan glanced over at Paula and again felt envious, but now for a different reason.  A small part of her had been hoping she'd feel something, that she'd finally get to see what all the fuss was about.  But no, Paula was going to get stoned and all Susan was going to get was bad breath and probably a sore throat in the morning.  Oh well, she thought, probably for the best. 

        She took another puff, hardly noticing the sensation in her lungs, and looked around.  This place wasn't so bad.  The low lighting had a nice vibe too it.  And the murals on the wall were lovely, such rich colors.  The seats were nice too.   Warm, soft.  Maybe it'd be nice to hang out here for a while?  Where it was warm and soft and tingly.  Tingly?  Why did she think tingly? How were the seats tingly?  Ha, she thought, tingly is a funny word.  She let out a low giggle and immediately stifled it with a hand to her lips.  Whoa.  Her fingers felt so nice against her lips.  She parted them slightly and ran her tongue along her index finger.  Wait, she thought, what am I doing?  What the hell... 

        Then she glanced down at the smoldering joint in her other hand.  Oh my god, she thought, I'm feeling it.  I'm, I'm, I'm getting high.  She thought about how naughty she was being, how her mom would react, and a smile broke out across her lips.   

        “Look at you!” exclaimed Paula, staring across the table at Susan, “you're totally feeling it!” 

        “Maybe I am,” giggled Susan, taking another puff.

DAY ONE - MIDNIGHT 

        Susan was not used to feeling this way, to put it mildly.  Confused, she thought, that was the best word to describe the sensation.  Confusion. But she had always thought of confusion as an inherently negative word: confused about a study topic, confused about directions.  And somehow this was the opposite.  It was a blissful confusion.  She could feel the thoughts unravel in her head; she'd begin a sentence in her mind and by the end of it forget where it had started.  She tested out her memory, trying to remember what she had eaten for breakfast, her parents' phone number.  And the information came, but slowly, swimming up to the surface only after several seconds of drawing a complete blank. 

        Yet it was alright.  It was all alright.  Because she was having trouble holding onto all the bad stuff too.  She had been worried about their budget, about papers she had to write when she got home, about lots of stuff.  Heck, she had been worried about smoking pot for the first time. But not now.  It just felt like letting go of all that, all her worries and cares and responsibilities.  To live in the moment, experience how she felt right here and now.  And how did she feel? Good.  Very good. 

        “It feels good to be confused,” Susan said aloud to no one in particular. 

        “What?” giggled Paula, still sitting across from her. 

        “What?” responded Susan. 

        “You didn't say anything for like forever, and then you just said something about being confused.  God, you are so baked.” 

        “I am?” asked Susan. 

        “You've just been staring into space for like five minutes!  Or, hehe, I think it's been five minutes.  Five seconds? I dunno.  I'm pretty baked too.” 

        Susan looked Paula over.  Her eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot.  She was slouched down in her seat with a goofy grin on her face. 

        “God,” said Susan, “do I...look like that too?” 

        “Hey!” said Paula. 

        Paula dug through her purse and pulled out a pocket mirror.  She handed it over to Susan. 

        “Oh my....look at me!” exclaimed Susan, “look at my eyes!  I look so high!” 

        “You could look higher,” said Paula. 

        Susan looked up from the mirror and saw that Paula was crumbling more pot onto two rolling papers. 

        “What....what are you doing?” asked Susan. 

        “Rolling us two more joints,” said Paula, “what does it look like I'm doing?” 

        For a moment Susan was hypnotized by Paula's hands.  She watched as she tamped the pot down, brought up the edges of the paper, rolled it gently until the pot held the cylindrical shape, tucked the paper under itself, licked the edge, rolled one end tight, then the other.  Paula's words didn't even really register until Paula lifted one of the finished joints toward Susan. 

        “I....no, I don't think I should have any more,” she stammered. 

        “Why not?” asked Paula. 

        “I just shouldn't take, you know, I mean too much can....I already had one and I don't want to, like.....Jesus, I'm sorry, I can't talk.” 

        “It's ok,” said Paula with a smile, “you're stoned.” 

        “Yeah, I'm stoned, and I, like, I don't know if I need to be.....more stoned?” 

        “Well, ok, but do you like how it feels?” asked Paula. 

        Susan thought about that.  She did like how she felt.  She wasn't even sure why she was telling Paula she didn't want more.  Some reflex or something.  She knew she was supposed to say no, to be worried, but try as she might she couldn't summon up that sensation.  She just felt too relaxed.  As Susan thought Paula lit the end of the joint, taking a single puff before extending it again toward Susan.  The trail of smoke hit Susan's nose.  She had to admit, it smelled pretty nice. 

        “I mean you're here already and you're already stoned,” said Paula, “might as well.” 

        “Might as well,” repeated Susan, her eyes locked on the lit joint. 

        The first puff felt smooth and warm sliding down her throat.  The second even more so.  And the third didn't feel like anything at all.  Susan quickly feel into a pattern – puff, forget the puff, exhale when her lungs started burning, stare in surprise at the cloud of smoke rising in front of her face, zone out, look down and notice the still lit joint, take another puff. 

        The next hour just drifted by.  Paula tried to chat with Susan, but without any semblance of a tolerance Susan was already way too stoned to carry on a conversation.  After several attempts like - “How are you doing?” “What?” “How are you doing?” “I'm.....good...I feel.....yeah.....good....wait, what?” - Paula gave up.  Well, she thought, if you can't beat them, you might as well join them.  So she rolled herself one more large, thick joint and in a few minutes she was just as baked as Susan. 

        “Excuse me, we're closing,” said the budtender. 

        Paula shook her head and looked up.  He was standing beside their table. 

        “What?” she asked. 

        “We're closing,” he said kindly, “you and your friend need to go home.” 

        Paula looked around.  What time was it?  The coffeeshop was empty.  The only people in it were Paula, the budtender, and Susan.  Jesus, Susan.  Paula looked over at Susan who was still staring into space, a dopey grin hanging off her face.  Paula glanced down at the ashtray between them.  There were more roaches than she remembered – how much had they smoked? 

        “Susan,” said Paula, “Susan, we gotta go.” 

        “Whaaa,” said Susan, slowly focusing on Paula. 

        “Come on,” said Paula, taking Susan's hand. 

        Paula rose on shaky feet.  The room was pulsing slightly, but she could handle it.  Paula pulled Susan's hand and Susan groggily stumbled to her feet.   

        “Where we....hehe.....we going?” 

        “The hotel,” said Paula, “we're going back to the hotel.” 

        Susan tottered after Paula as she led her out of the coffeeshop.  It was a cold night and the air hit Paula like a wall, clearing some of her head.  She was still pretty high, but she felt like she could handle guiding them back to the hotel.  One hand still leading Susan, Paula struck off down the road.  The cobblestone streets twisted and turned, and the Dutch street signs seemed impenetrable.  Twice Paula made a wrong turn and had to backtrack.  It had taken them just ten minutes to walk from the hotel to the coffeeshop, but it took them almost forty to get back.  Still, when Paula found herself standing under the hotel's neon sign, looking into the brightly lit lobby, she was relieved. 

        “Took you long enough!” exclaimed Susan. 

        “She speaks,” smiled Paula. 

        “Whew, I was....I am.....hehe....is this what if, it, it feels like to be high?” 

        Paula looked Susan up and down – swaying in place, bloodshot eyes – and said, “most definitely.” 

        Susan shook her head.  The cold was slowly sobering her up. 

        “You know...you know what you could've used?” 

        “What?” asked Paula. 

        “One of my maps!” shouted Susan and burst into a fit of giggles like it was the punchline to a joke. 

        Paula couldn't help it – she started laughing too.  What a ridiculous night.  And her laughter just made Susan laugh harder.  The girls laughed all the way into the lobby, up the stairs, down the hall, and to their room, where they collapsed giggling on the bed. 

        “So,” asked Paula, “have a fun night trying out pot?” 

        Susan giggled.  She put her hands to her face and then peeked through her fingers. 

        “Maybe...” 

        “I knew you'd like it!” exclaimed Paula, “and there are so many things you didn't get to try yet!  Eating while high, fucking while high, watching tv while high.” 

        “Well,” said Susan, spreading out on the bed, her eyes suddenly heavy, “I dunno if I'll try those out....hehe....you got your chance.” 

        “Dancing while high, sleeping while high,” Paula continued. 

        “Mmmmm, sleeping while high....” 

        Susan liked the sound of that one.  The bed was so soft.  Were all Dutch beds this soft?  Her brain still felt like it was full of cotton balls.  Maybe that's what the bed was stuffed with.  Cotton balls. 

        “Cotton......” murmured Susan as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

DAY TWO - MORNING 

        “Wake up, sleepyhead,” said Paula. 

        Susan groaned and rubbed her eyes.  It was so bright.  And Paula was so loud.  Paula poked Susan in the ribs. 

        “I'm up, I'm up,” said Susan, hoisting herself up to a sitting position. 

        “I got us breakfast from downstairs,” said Paula, putting a plate of eggs and toast beside Susan. 

        Susan looked down and noticed she was still wearing what she had been in last night. 

        “Did I fall asleep in my clothes?” 

        “Out like a light,” said Paula, “I got up at 9 and you were still snoring.” 

        “What time is it?” asked Susan. 

        “About 10:30, not too late, don't worry.” 

        Susan took a bite of the eggs and realized she was ravenous.  She wolfed down the rest of the plate. 

        “So...how you feeling?” asked Paula. 

        “I'm....” 

        Susan thought about it for a moment.  She was a little groggy, but other than that her head felt clear.  Her body didn't ache.  If anything she felt refreshed, like she had gotten a long night's sleep. 

        “....fine.  I'm totally fine.” 

        “See, good as new – not a single battle wound from your epic night of debauchery,” said Paula with a smile, sitting beside Susan, “that is, if you consider sitting in a booth for several hours epic.” 

        “Is there....really no hangover?” asked Susan. 

        “None at all.  So, what do you want to do today?” 

        “Today?....Today!  Yes, I do know what I want to do today.” 

        Susan dug through her backpack and pulled out a notebook.  She flipped to a certain page and showed it to Paula. 

        “Is this an hour-by-hour itinerary?” asked Paula, “Jesus, you are so OCD.” 

        “Well we'll have to push everything back, and I'd like to shower and change first, but I vote we do the Anne Frank house at 11, then this Indian place I read was tasty at 1, then the Van Gogh Museum at 2.  After that we'll check out the historic district until early evening, maybe find a docent for a tour, and then it's dinner.  I've got it narrowed down to two restaurants in the guidebook.  How about you choose which?” 

        “Oh, so generous.  You know what, I've got my own itinerary.” 

        Paula snatched the notebook from Susan and tore out a blank page.  She took a pen from the table and scribbled furiously for a moment.  Then she turned it around and showed it to Susan - “11 AM – GET BLAZED.” 

        “And then after that I figured we'd play it by ear.” 

        “Whoa whoa whoa,” said Susan, “I agreed to getting high with you and I did that.  Now you have to fulfill your side of the bargain.” 

        “I know, I know, but didn't you have fun last night?” 

        For the first time since waking Susan let her thoughts stray back to the night before.  She remembered the gist of it – smoking, sitting, staring, stumbling home.  The details were all fuzzy, but a general haze of pleasure hung over the entire evening.  She recalled the phrase “blissful confusion” and smiled slightly.  She tried to remember the feeling, the feeling itself of being stoned, and couldn't put a finger on it.  But she remembered that she had liked it. 

        “I, yes, I did have fun.  It was fun.  Are you happy?” 

        “Exceptionally!” said Paula, “Now look me in the eye and say you don't want to do it again.” 

        “I don't want to do it again,” said Susan. 

        “Awww, come on.  You're so full of it.  You know you want to do it again.  You had fun, you feel fine, no harm no foul.” 

        “I came on this trip to see the city, not to get stoned out of my mind.” 

        “Why can't you do both?  Look, we get stoned in the morning.  Not too stoned, not like last night.  I'll watch you, make sure you don't smoke too much.  Then we'll go to that Indian place and it'll taste ten times better than normal, and we'll go to the Van Gogh Museum and it'll be twice as beautiful, and then it'll wear off in time to still do all that historic stuff.  Win win!” 

        “You are so unbelievable,” said Susan. 

        “That's not a no!” 

        “I just, I dunno, Paula, I had a great time last night.  I really did.  But I feel like if I do it again I'll risk, I dunno, having a bad time.  Why shouldn't I end it on a high note?” 

        “Bullshit!” exclaimed Paula, “you might only be in Amsterdam once.  When you're home you can be your straight-edge boring self, but why not enjoy yourself while you're here?” 

        “I'm not boring!” said Susan; Paula could tell she was winning. 

        “It's like Vegas! You can be someone else here, do things you'd never do again.  And as soon as you go home you can flip the switch and go back to normal and no one is the wiser.” 

        “I don't know.” 

        “Come on, be a bad girl.” 

        “......it was fun,” said Susan. 

        “Yay!” shouted Paula, jumping up on the bed.  She began to jump up and down shouting, “We're gonna smoke, we're gonna smoke!” 

        “Jesus, keep it down,” said Susan, “I'll smoke a little.  A little!  But then if I'm done I'm done.  You promise?” 

        “Cross my heart,” said Paula, “now hurry up and shower – we've got a schedule to keep!”

DAY TWO - AFTERNOON 

        Susan felt uncomfortable when on the way to the coffeeshop Paula made a quick pit stop at a store and came out with a filled black plastic bag, and more uncomfortable when Paula refused to tell her what was inside until they got there. 

        “It's a surprise!” she giggled. 

        They went to a new coffeeshop – Susan was amazed at how many dotted the city – and found a booth in the back.  This one was larger, with high ceilings and light jazz playing.  Again Paula went up to the counter and bought them a small container of weed.  Susan couldn't believe she was here again, doing this again.  What am I thinking, she wondered.  What is wrong with me?  But another part of her thought – what's the harm?  This was vacation, after all.  Live a little!  When Paula returned to the booth – carrying a glass of water and container of weed - she finally unwrapped the plastic bag, revealing a strange glass tube connected to a glass bulb.  Susan recognized it from movies, other people's dorm rooms, and the glass shops she'd seen as they were out walking. 

        “That's a bong!” she exclaimed. 

        “Haha, got it on the first guess,” said Paula, crumbling pot into the bowl and pouring water into the chamber. 

        “Wait, we're going to smoke out of a bong?” asked Susan, “I dunno, that seems a little...hardcore for me.  Can't we just stick to a joint?” 

        “No, it's the opposite,” said Paula, “bongs are better for your lungs.  The water cools and filters the smoke.  I figured you'd want a healthier smoke.” 

        “Oh....ok, I guess so,” said Susan, “but you can't make fun of me if I do it wrong.” 

        “Nothing to it,” said Paula, lifting the bong, “you put your lips here, you light here, you inhale for a moment, smoke fills the chamber, you pull out the carb and the smoke rushes up into your lungs.  Easy.  Wanna try?” 

        “Umm, you go first.” 

        Susan watched curiously as Paula took a hit.  Paula lit the bowl and for a moment Susan didn't think anything was happening, but then she saw the chamber cloud with white smoke.  Then Paula pulled out the carb and with a funny gurgling sound the smoke rushed out the top of the chamber into Paula's mouth. 

        “Smoooooth,” said Paula as she exhaled a thick plume, “now your turn.” 

        Paula handed the bong over and Susan took it hesitantly.  It felt cool to the touch, cool and heavy, and for a moment she 

looked at it.  Then she delicately placed her mouth over the chamber, sparked the lighter, and inhaled.  Looking down she saw smoke slowly drift up into the chamber.  Nervously she turned off the lighter, pulled out the carb, and sucked.  She felt the smoke rush up into her lungs.  Paula was right, she thought, it tasted much cooler and smoother than last night.  Susan exhaled a faint cloud and went to pass the bong back to Paula. 

        “Nope, take another,” said Paula, “that was a wimpy hit.” 

        “Ugh, fine,” said Susan, “but how much are we going to smoke?  We've got stuff to do!” 

        Susan took another hit.  She kept the lighter lit longer this time and inhaled more strongly.  The chamber grew considerably smokier and when she exhaled it was a much larger cloud.  As she handed the bong back to Paula she felt the same tingling sensation from last night creeping up her arms and legs.  Here it comes, thought Susan.  Paula took another hit, and when she looked up from the bong Susan was grinning back at her. 

        “What is it?” asked Paula. 

        “I remember why I had fun last night,” said Susan with a giggle. 

        A warm, relaxing feeling was washing over Susan.  No, more like settling over.  Wrapping around her.  It was hard to think, hard to concentrate.  But it felt nice.  Tingly, soft, silly.  Very silly.  Susan took another hit.  She liked the bong.  She was glad Paula had gotten her to try it.  She was glad they were here.  Susan sighed and sat back into her seat.   

        “Last night was an indica,” said Paula, “those make you feel all couch locked and super sedate.” 

        “Stoned?” 

        “Yeah, stoned.  This is a sativa.  It'll make you feel more high, you know, floaty and shit.  Do you feel floaty?” 

        Yeah, thought Susan, I do feel floaty.  I like floaty.  Light as air.  And, Susan noticed, a little horny.  She ground her legs together and shuddered from the sensation.  The bong was back in her hand again, but Susan couldn't really remember taking it. 

        “Brain fart,” she said aloud, sending Paula into a spasm of laughter. 

        “I'm really glad you tried this with me,” said Paula, watching Susan take another hit, “you're, like, I dunno, a really great friend. Does that sound stupid?” 

        Susan exhaled and smiled, “That's so sweet! You're a great friend too! No, it totally doesn't sound stupid.  Or maybe it does, I dunno.  I can't tell.  I'm high!” 

        The girls laughed and talked and smoked.  Paula talked about her boyfriend back home.  Susan talked about trying to meet a nice guy.  They talked about their grades and their familes.  And they laughed and laughed.  This is great, thought Susan, this is really great.  She felt blissfully confused, but not as stupid as last night.  Just a little stupid, a little silly.  She wasn't sure if it was the pot, but it felt so nice to open up with Paula, to just talk.  She had never realized how much she liked Paula.  She hoped Paula liked her as much, but looking over the table at Paula with her red-lidded eyes and dopey smile she was sure she did too.   

        Susan took another hit.  Her sixth.  Seventh? Fifth? She couldn't remember.  The smoke cloud was thinner this time when she exhaled, and looking down at the bowl she saw the pot was all black.  Finished bowl, she thought.  But there was something else, something I was supposed to do when the bowl was finished.  What was it, what.......the itinerary!  Susan glanced at her watch – it was past 1! 

        “Oh my god,” exclaimed Susan, “how have we been here for like 2 hours?!” 

        “What?” asked Paula, lazily looking for a clock on the wall, “really?” 

        “Yes!  We're totally late!  We've got to get lunch and see sights and stuff.” 

        “You're such a mom,” said Paula, sending both girls into another fit of giggles. 

        “No, but seriously, we should go.  I want to see a, you know, a museum, and go get that Indian food and....” 

        “Mmmm,” said Paula, “Indian food.  You sure you don't want to stay in here all day and smoke?” 

        “Yes!  You promised!” 

        “I did, I did,” said Paula, “I know.  Lets go.  I'm starving.” 

        Paula and Susan slid out of the booth and headed for the door.  Paula slipped the bong and the rest of the pot back into the plastic bag.  As Susan exited the coffeeshop she felt kinda wobbly, and definitely a little out of it, but it didn't bother her.  She felt good.  Excited.  She knew they were late, yet it didn't seem to matter that much, because everything was going to work out. 

        Paula saw Susan grinning and said, “See? Not such a bad way to start the day.”

DAY TWO - LATE AFTERNOON 

        Well, thought Susan, Paula was right again.  The Indian food tasted amazing.  No, more than amazing.  It tasted better than anything she had ever eaten in her life. 

        “This is so good!” she exclaimed. 

        “Food is the best while high,” said Paula, her mouth full of garlic na'an. 

        “Maybe.....maybe the guidebook was just right,” said Susan. 

        “Yeah right.  Smoke a few more bowls and your napkin would taste this good.” 

        Both girls dissolved into giggles.  Susan was still feeling floaty and blissful.  She noticed that her gestures were a little clumsy – she had stumbled getting into her seat and then had dropped her fork.  She also felt kinda sluggish – she didn't feel as witty as usual and even Paula's dumbest jokes were making her laugh.  But it was ok; this nice, soft haze she was bouncing around in more than made up for it. 

        “Did you see how the waiter like totally turned up his nose?” asked Susan, “Do you think he could smell weed on us?” 

        “Of course he could,” laughed Paula, “we reek!  And look at your eyes!” 

        Susan wasn't sure why, but everything Paula said was hilarious.  She giggled and took another bite of delicious curry. 

        After eating the girls wandered over to the Van Gogh Museum.  A few times they got turned around, but after consulting her map Susan was able to get them on the right track.  Upon arriving they were disappointed to see a long line stretching out the door. 

        “This is going to take forever,” whined Susan. 

        “Here, come with me,” said Paula, tugging on Susan's sleeve. 

        Susan followed Paula around the corner to an empty alley.  Paula reached into her bag and pulled out a pre-rolled joint. 

        “What are you doing?” asked Susan. 

        “My high is wearing off, and this'll make the wait soooo much more bearable.” 

        “You can't smoke in public!” exclaimed Susan. 

        “Of course I can,” said Paula, sparking the joint, “it's legal.  And everyone goes to the Van Gogh Museum stoned.  It's like a tradition.” 

        “If it's legal then why are we hiding in an alley?” said Susan. 

        “I dunno...habit?  Here, take a hit,” said Paula, holding the joint toward Susan. 

        “I, uh, can you just hurry up and get back in line?” 

        “It'll go faster if you do it with me.  Plus I bet it'll make the paintings look, like, totally amazing.” 

        Susan stared at the smoldering joint. 

        “Ugh, fine, whatever,” she said, angrily snatching it and taking a puff. 

        She passed it back to Paula who took a hit and handed it back.  Susan felt like this was a bad idea, but she wanted to get it over with and get back in line.  And what Paula said seemed to make sense – the faster they smoked it the sooner they'd be done.  So Susan puffed as quickly as possible until the joint was gone. 

        “Now come on,” she said, grabbing Paula and dragging her back in line. 

        As Susan took her place in line the world around her suddenly became so much more...intense.  She smacked her lips.  She blinked heavily.  She ran her thumb against her forefinger.  It was all so there, so real.  That drifting, euphoric sensation that had been diminishing for the last hour or so came rushing back.  Why.....why had she been annoyed at Paula?  So she wanted to smoke a little – so what?  It was no big deal.  Getting mad was so much effort anyway.  Susan sighed happily. 

        “See,” said Paula, “much better.” 

        And Susan did see.  It felt like the wait just flew by.  And once inside, Susan could hardly bare how beautiful the paintings were.  Their colors seemed to pulse with vibrancy, their heavy brushstrokes almost writhed on the canvas.  Susan couldn't tear her eyes away, and each new painting was more beautiful than the last.  At one point she passed a backpacking couple in their 20s – both slouching from painting to painting with deeply red eyes – and they gave Susan a thumbs up.  Can they tell I'm high, she wondered.  Can everyone tell? 

        When they stepped out of the museum the sky was dark.  Susan couldn't believe it.  She glanced at her watch.  It was so late!  How had they spend the whole evening in there? 

        “The historic district,” exclaimed Susan, “we gotta, like, we gotta go check it out.” 

        “Are you crazy?” asked Paula, “it's way too late.  We'll just do it tomorrow or something.” 

        “But.....but.....” 

        “Wouldn't you rather just go back to the room?” 

        Susan realized she did just want to go back to the room.  All that walking and reading the guidebook and sightseeing – right now it seemed like it made a lot more sense just to sprawl out on their bed.  Maybe watch some TV or something.  Just relax. 

        “Yeah, I guess, but when, like, how will we find time to do the historic stuff?” 

        “I dunno,” said Paula, “push something back.  We can do it at the same time as when we do the canals or something.” 

        “Yeah....that, I guess that makes sense,” said Susan. 

        Why hadn't she thought of that?  God, it was so hard to concentrate when high.  She knew she needed to rearrange the itinerary.  Somehow. But maybe later.  Tomorrow.  The girls began walking back toward the hotel. 

        “How's your buzz?” asked Paula. 

        “What?” asked Susan, snapping back into focus. 

        “How's your buzz?” 

        “Oh, nice, it's nice.  But...does it ever bother you how it feels like, I dunno, this sounds dumb, but I feel stupider.  Doesn't that ever bother you when high?” 

        “Of course not,” laughed Paula, “that's the whole point! Weed lets you turn off all the voices in your head. It shuts down your brain.” 

        Susan didn't respond.  She hadn't really heard the second half of what Paula said anyway.  She had wanted to concentrate but she had just drifted away.  She felt like she either had to focus on walking home or talking – she couldn't do both.  Up ahead Susan spotted yet another coffeeshop.  They're everywhere, thought Susan, I, I wonder how this one is different than the other two...

DAY THREE – MORNING 

        Susan looked over at the clock and sighed.  11 AM – they had slept in again.  She couldn't believe Paula had talked her into smoking up on their way home.  Although, come to think of it, she was the one who had suggested peeking inside.  Paula had just added that since they were already there, they might as well partake.  And Susan had been tired and a little stoned and it made sense that if they were just headed back to the room to relax and crash, what better way to relax?   

        And man had it been relaxing.  Susan smiled.  She had to admit – she had never felt less stressed or less worried about her future or her grades than when she was high.  Last night had been as laidback as Paula had promised, just two girls giggling and zoning out and watching Gossip Girl DVDs on Paula's laptop.  She could see why that vacant, bubbly state was so intoxicating to some people.  But not to her, no no.  Pot definitely wasn't for her.  But she was glad she was trying it out while on vacation. 

        “Did you know your guidebook lists their favorite coffeeshops?” squealed Paula. 

        Susan looked over and saw that Susan was sitting at the foot of the bed in her pajamas leafing through Susan's book. 

        “See, it's got recommended museum routes and architecture routes and art routes...but also coffeeshop routes!  This one is supposed to have great edibles.  Oh my god, you've never even tried an edible!” 

        “No,” said Susan, “today we've got plans.  We're checking out the historic district, the old buildings, the canals.  We're not going to visit coffeeshops instead.” 

        “But we can do both!” exclaimed Paula, “these coffeeshops are located all over town too.  There's a cool sounding on near that canal street you wanted to walk, and another one right by the old town hall.” 

        “So that's what you want to do?” asked Susan sarcastically, “bop into coffeeshops all day so you can stay lit enough to actually – dare I say – enjoy all this culture I keep dragging you to?” 

        “Pretty much,” laughed Paula, “you don't have to smoke if you don't want to, but think of how much nicer I'll be.” 

        “Fine,” said Susan with a sigh, “we can stop off at a couple of coffeeshops.  But we're still seeing the sights today!” 

        “Oh, cool,” said Paula, surprised that Susan had been such an easy sell. 

        Susan got up and walked into the bathroom.  She began brushing her teeth.  Paula didn't want to look a gift horse in the 

mouth, but she couldn't help herself. 

        “So you really don't mind if we sprinkle a little smoking in with the culture?” she asked. 

        “I guess so,” said Sarah, “I mean it's like you said.  We're here – we might as well.”

DAY THREE - AFTERNOON 

        The Cathedral was closed.  How did I miss that, wondered Susan.  She flipped to the guidebook and it said it right there – closed Tuesdays.  Somehow she had forgotten or not noticed.  That wasn't like her at all.  But the coffeeshop across the street that Paula had wanted to sample wasn't closed.  Susan hadn't been planning on smoking, but Paula said without the Cathedral they were already ahead of schedule.  That seemed to make sense.  And Paula said she really wanted Susan to try something called a blunt.  Apparently it was a cigar wrapped with weed.  It seemed the same to Susan, although it definitely took more hits than a joint to finish.  How many puffs had she had?  Six? More?  Susan wasn't sure.   

        She wasn't sure where they were either.  She and Paula had set off for their next destination – Vondelpark – but Susan couldn't find any of the streets on her map.  The names on the map were so tiny and hard to read, and the roads all looked the same.  It didn't help that her head felt like it was underwater, or that Paula kept distracting her with inane comments.  She tried to sketch out a route on her map, but even drawing a straight line from point A to point B seemed like a struggle.  It'd be so much easier to just rest, to just relax...especially since for the last few minutes her crotch had been pulsing lightly, radiating tiny waves of pleasure up through her body.  Susan wondered how it would feel to masturbate high and her fingers starting drifting toward her pants, but she caught herself.  I'm in public, she thought, what the hell am I thinking. 

        “Hey, look over there!” said Paula. 

        Susan looked up, expecting a landmark or something, but it was just another coffeeshop. 

        “That place, it's on my list!  They've got a Volcano I want to try!” 

        “A volcano?” asked Susan, “we're not smoking more – we're looking for the park.  We can, I dunno, come back later.” 

        “But when are we going to be back here?  It's supposed to be on our route anyway, so we know we're on the right track.  You should be glad!” 

        “Yeah,” said Susan, shaking her head to try to clear the cobwebs, “right track.” 

        Susan barely understood a word the budtender was saying.  He was explaining how the Volcano worked – evidently it vaporized the pot and didn't burn it.  How could you not burn something but burn something?  Susan didn't get it.  Something about heat and ceramic and odorless, clear smoke.  She wanted to tell him that Paula was the one interested, that he didn't have to talk to both of them, but she wasn't sure how to phrase it.  As he spoke the large plastic bag filled up.  The inside was faintly smokey.  Once full he clipped a nozzle to it and extended it to Susan. 

        “Oh, no, I uh....” she searched for the words. 

        “Don't worry,” he said, “it's the gentlest way to smoke.  You won't regret it.” 

        Susan hesitantly took the bag and pressed the nozzle to her lips.  She inhaled.  The bag deflated some, but she didn't feel anything.  She handed the bag to Paula and exhaled, but nothing came out.  Paula took a breath and passed it back.  Susan took another.  Then Paula.  Then Susan again. 

        “I don't.....I don't feel anything,” said Susan, “I don't think it's working.” 

        “It doesn't taste like anything either,” said Paula. 

        “Can we go now?” asked Susan, “I wanna, we gotta go. Today we're supposed to.....supposed to.....” 

        And then it hit her.  Like a gentle wave breaking over her.  Susan actually had to put a hand out and grab the table to keep her balance.  The world under her feet shifted.  Everything got a little warmer, a little softer.  Tiny bubbles started popping in her brain. Pop. Pop. Pop. Squeezing out all the thoughts and words.  Filling her with effervescance.  Susan turned to look at Paula and it felt like her vision took another second to catch up.  She caught Paula's eye and could tell she was feeling it too.  Her eyes were glassy, her mouth slightly parted.   

        “Pretty great, right?” asked the budtender with a smile. 

        “Yeah........prettttty greeaaatt,” slurred Paula. 

        Susan closed her eyes and let a smile cross her lips. 

        “Youuu, youuuu keeep getting me ssooooo stoooned,” she pouted at Paula with a contented sigh. 

        “I jusss, juss ask,” said Paula, taking another hit, “youuuu keeep sayin yessssh.” 

        Susan had to give her that.  Plus thinking up a rebuttal took too much energy.  Paula passed her the bag and Susan took another hit.  She couldn't believe that just breathing could make you feel like this.  It didn't taste or smell like anything.  It was like the air itself was making her feel all good and tingly.  Like the air wanted her to be high. 

        The budtender took Susan's map from her and marked their location, drawing a line from there to Vondelpark.  It was so close!  Susan thanked him, and told him that they'd be fine getting there on their own when he offered to call a cab.  They weren't rich; they were already spending way too much of the budget Susan had carefully constructed on weed.  So no, no thank you, they'd walk.  Or at least that's what Susan had wanted to say, but it had come out as more of a, “Noo, it's uh, thaaaanks, but.....we.....hehe....yeahh!” 

        So the two girls stumbled out of the coffeeshop, significantly more fucked up than when they had entered.  They staggered down the street, some dim part of Susan's brain telling her they had to just keep going, keep walking, until they got to the park...the park.....the park... 

        The park!  Susan wasn't sure if it had been minutes or hours, but when she rounded the corner and saw that expanse of green her heart soared.  She had done it!  She had found the park!  She rushed forward out onto the grass, brushing her fingers against the trees she passed.  Paula followed her as they walked through flower patches and around fountains. 

        “It's so......beauti, beatifu, beautiful,” said Paula. 

        “The park the park the park!” exclaimed Susan, collapsing on the grass.   

        Paula laid down beside her and they stared up at the clouds, the warm grass nuzzling their arms and legs. 

        “You found it,” said Paula, “I knew you would. You're so like, like, god, you're just so....” 

        Paula's face was so close to Susan's, and her breath was warm, and Susan's brain felt wrapped up in such a yummy cloud, and suddenly Susan found her lips on Paula's.  For a moment there was no thinking, no noise or light, just a slow, wet kiss.  Paula pulled away abruptly. 

        “Jesus, sorry, I.......hehe....I am so ffuucked up,” said Paula. 

        “Me too,” said Susan, rubbing her eyes, “I didn't mean to....” 

        “Yea....I know......hehe.....ahhhh, this is fuuun,” sighed Paula. 

        Susan couldn't agree more.

DAY THREE – EVENING 

        Susan wanted to be pissed.  It was 5pm and all they had seen was the park.  It had taken them half the day to find it, and then she and Paula had spaced out for hours just playing in the grass.  Now they were trudging back to the hotel with barely anything crossed off on the itinerary.  Another day wasted.  But try as she might Susan didn't feel pissed.  Maybe it was the buzz still wearing off, maybe it was the strange kiss she had shared with Paula, but Susan felt alright.  Happy even. 

        “Oh, look at those,” said Paula, “so pretty!” 

        Paula pointed a shop window and Susan saw a platter of thick, rich-looking brownies stacked in the window, white sugar dusted across the tops.  They looked delicious.  Susan licked her lips, realizing how hungry she was.  For a moment she thought it was a bakery, but then her eyes strayed to the sign on the door and she realized it was a coffeeshop. 

        “Is that....are those weed brownies?” 

        “Yeah!” exclaimed Paula, “we should try some!  I wanted you to try out edibles.” 

        “We really should be getting back,” said Susan, but Paula was already headed for the door. 

        Susan sighed and followed.  Inside, Susan took her customary seat while Paula talked to the budtender.  Only a minute later Paula returned empty-handed. 

        “Where are the brownies?” asked Susan. 

        “I...I changed my mind,” said Paula. 

        “What? Why?” 

        “He said they were super strong.  I forgot, space cakes and shit here in Amsterdam are supposed to really knock you on your ass.” 

        “And?” 

        “And what?  I figured we'd already smoked twice today – a fat blunt and a vaporizer bag.  I thought you might want a break.” 

        “You don't have to baby me,” said Susan. 

        “You didn't even want a brownie,” said Paula. 

        “Yeah, well that was before you dragged me in here and talked them up and made me wait.  I mean, we might as well.” 

        “You sure?” asked Paula. 

        Susan considered it and said, “You're just going to try to convince me to try an edible tomorrow or the day after.  I might as well get it out of the way.” 

        “Whatever you say,” Paula shrugged, heading back to the counter. 

        The brownie tasted moist and chewy.  The walk back to the hotel was pleasant and quick.  Susan took a shower and the water was nice and hot.  Everything was fine, was as it should be.  And then, as Susan was toweling off, everything changed.  She wasn't sure what was happening, but it was happening fast.  Her arms and legs grew heavy.  Her vision became fuzzy.  Her mind started racing, but the thoughts themselves seemed so stupid.  The air felt cool against her wet skin.  Her nipples hardened, chafing against the towel.  What is going on, thought Susan, sitting on the toilet to steady herself.  And then she remembered the brownie.  God, she had almost forgot about that, it had been like an hour ago.  But wasn't that how long Paula said it took to kick in?  She couldn't remember. 

        Susan stood and stumbled toward the door.  This was like the vaporizer – hitting her all at once – only stronger.  And more physical.  Her brain felt as gooey as the Volcano had made it, but her body felt it so much more.  It was like every inch of her skin was ten times as sensitive.  Every sensation felt new.  And god did she feel sluggish.  Just crossing the room to the door felt like crossing an ocean. 

        “Pauuuulaaa,” moaned Susan as she opened the door, “diiiid you.......hoooow doo youuu.....” 

        Susan entered the room and froze.  Physically, Paula was on the bed.  But in just about any other way she was totally gone.  Her lips were parted and curved into a stoned smile, a thin trail of saliva leaking down her face.  Her eyes were glassy.  Her body was limp.  Obviously the brownie had hit her just as hard, only Paula had given into it completely.  Susan let her eyes wander down Paula's body, and she saw that one part of Paula wasn't totally incapacitated.  Her hand had pulled down her pajama bottoms and she was gently stroking her clip. 

        Susan knew she should be shocked, her friend openly masturbating, but her brain was just too muddled to handle it.  Paula's eyes focused dimly on Susan.  A look of slow recognition dawned in them, but no shame.  Paula didn't seem to mind that she had been caught touching herself. 

        “Suussssan,” she slurred, “it....yoooou gottaaaa, it feeeeels soooo gooood.” 

        Susan swayed in place; her legs felt barely able to hold the suddenly immense weight of her body.  She stumbled forward and collapsed on the bed beside Paula.  Her towel fell open, revealing her naked body.  But she didn't care.  No warning bells went off in her brain, no alarms.  No part of her told her that it was wrong to be naked in front of Paula, that it was wrong to be lying beside her friend while she masturbated.   

        “It'ss soooooo.....UHHHHHH,” shuddered Paula, spasming with orgasm and rubbing her clit right though it, already starting on her next. 

        It looked so pleasurable.  So good.  Susan wanted it.  She wanted to feel that way.  She couldn't concentrate on much, couldn't remember much, could barely remember where she was.  But she knew she wanted that.  With as much effort as she could muster she slowly moved her hand down her body, closer and closer to her crotch.  Her pussy started vibrating, fluttering with pleasure at the knowledge of what was approaching.  Her hand drew closer.  Paula stared over at her, gasping and shaking as she brought herself to another orgasm.  Her hand drew closer.  Susan felt every hair on her body, every pore.  A tiny voice in her head told her that the second she touched her clit it was all over, her night, her plans, her thoughts.  She'd be lost in pleasure.  But Susan didn't care.  Her hand drew closer. 

        Susan's fingers reached her clit.  And then it was nothing but pleasure.  Waves of it, oceans of it.  Pleasure like Susan had never encountered before.  Her dulled, groggy brain could barely take it, all while telling her not to stop, to keep going, to just keep going, to keep coming and coming and coming in a deep, cloudy haze until finally – who knows how much later – her hand fell still and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

DAY FOUR – MORNING 

        Susan and Paula didn't say a word.  They woke at almost exactly the same time.  They groggily sat up, rubbing their heavy heads.  They looked around and saw that they had fallen asleep beside one another on the bed, Susan naked and Paula with her pajama bottoms pulled down.  Both were sticky between their legs, with two large wet spots on the sheets from their string of self-induced orgasms.  So they dressed in silence, went down the stairs in silence, ate breakfast in silence.  Finally, staring at empty plates, Susan couldn't take it any more. 

        “Last night was.....crazy,” she said. 

        “Yeah,” snorted Paula. 

        “I...my head feels like it's a thousand pounds.  I thought weed doesn't give you a hangover.” 

        “It does if you get that high,” said Paula. 

        “I can't believe....jeez....I uh,” Susan wasn't sure what to say. 

        “It's alright,” said Paula, “we got a little crazy last night.  The Dutch are not fooling around about their brownies.” 

        Susan laughed and said, “I just can't believe we did that.  It's so embarrassing!  Right beside each other?  And for how long?” 

        “Must've been quite a while,” said Paula, “my pussy aches.” 

        So did Susan's, but she was too ashamed to say anything.  She had never done anything like that before, masturbating in front of a friend.  A girl friend no less!  But last night it had made so much sense, floating in that wonderful cloud.  Weed was dangerous, she thought. 

        “I've got an idea,” said Paula, “why don't we go see some sights?” 

        “It's already almost 1,” said Susan, “we slept away half the day.” 

        “Well lets spend the other half doing stuff that you want to do,” said Paula. 

        “That sounds good,” said Susan, feeling better already. 

        “Although you have to admit,” added Paula, “stoned orgasms are out of this world.” 

        Susan blushed, but still nodded.  Say what you will about last night, thought Susan, but I didn't even know I could come that hard.  The girls finished breakfast and Susan pulled out her guidebook. 

DAY FOUR – AFTERNOON 

        “What a success!” exclaimed Susan. 

        It was 8pm – they had been sightseeing for seven hours straight.  Two museums, a historic neighborhood on the city's outskirts, a canal tour, and even an authentic Indonesian meal.  And at one of the museums Paula had chatted up a curators, who had then shown the girls a private Dutch Impressionist collection not available to the public.  Susan felt good; it felt good to get things done.  After several days of getting pleasure from chemicals, it was nice to remember what it was like to feel good from accomplishment.  And for a day that hard started out so slow, they were really making the most of it. 

        “We should win a medal for so much culture!” said Paula, “so what's next?  I'm on a being-a-good-friend roll!” 

        “Actually,” said Susan, “that's all I've got.  There are a few more places I want to check out, but they're closed by now and I wasn't planning on seeing them today anyway.  We've gotten way more done then I ever thought we would!” 

        “Well then I know one way to celebrate,” said Paula, pointing to a nearby coffeeshop. 

        “They are everywhere!” said Susan. 

        “Like ATMs – it's just so convenient,” giggled Paula. 

        Susan opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out.  She just couldn't will up a complaint. She searched her mind, trying to decide how she felt, and realized that if she was being honest with herself she did want to get high.  Even after all those thoughts of feeling good from accomplishment, she still felt an urge to feel good through weed.  And why couldn't she do both?  They had gotten so much done – why not celebrate?  But better be careful not to get as high as the night before, she thought. 

        “What? No whining?” asked Paula. 

        “No, lets do it,” said Susan, “lets smoke.” 

        “No fight at all!  I'll make a pothead of you yet,” laughed Paula as they walked toward the door. 

        “You've certainly gotten me to smoke more than I ever planned,” said Susan with a smile. 

        Paula glanced up at the sign. 

        “Ohhhh, I actually think I know this place!” she said. 

        “Seriously?  When did you become such a coffeeshop expert?” joked Susan. 

        “No, really, they have a famous tasting menu.  It's like single hits from lots of different strains.  It might be fun to try.” 

        “God, Paula,” said Susan as they entered the coffeeshop, “I don't know if I'm up for that.  Plus it sounds expensive.” 

        “You know what - it's on me,” said Paula, “today is all about being nice to Susan.” 

        Susan stepped into the smoky, high-ceiling room and inhaled deeply.  Acrid, sweet weed smoke hung in the air and she had to admit she was starting to like the smell.  And the tasting menu sounded like a novel idea – they had done a sightseeing tour of the city, so why not do a little “tour” of coffeeshop wares? 

        “What do you say?” asked Paula, “my treat?” 

        Susan nodded. 

DAY FOUR - NIGHT 

        It had started innocently enough.  Paula and Susan had taken stools at the front counter of the coffeeshop, and Paula asked the surprisingly cute (and even more surprisingly fluent in English) budtender to give them the full omakase tasting menu experience.  He said he'd be back in a few minutes, and when he returned he was holding a silver tray.  On it were two glass pipes, two small glass bongs, and several small vials of brightly colored nugs.  The budtender - who told them to call him Sam – said he was going to take them on a tour of different strains from all over the world. 

        “Just puff or two from each and then on to the next,” he said, “much like a, how you say, wine tasting.” 

        “Why are there two pipes and two bongs?” asked Susan. 

        “So I can repack one while you hitting other.  Gives it more seamless experience.” 

        Seamless was right.  Susan and Paula took a hit of a sweet, almost tropical strain as Sam explained that it was an indica hybrid called Jamaican Farewell.  Then it was an earthy sativa called Mexicali Blues – Sam encouraged them to take a second hit with their eyes closed while picturing the jungle.  “I can almost see what you mean, and-” said Susan, but they were already moving on and another packed piece was being lifted toward her lips.  This was Thai Stick, and according to Sam it was good for wake-up smoking since it provided a lot of energy.  And after that Amber Dream, a Polynesian blend and a good counterpoint to Thai Stick with its bright purple indica hairs guaranteed to induce couchlock.   

        On and on they went, with Sam crumbling a small sample into one bowl as Susan and Paula took hits from another.  For the first couple hits Susan and Paula tried to keep a conversation going.  Susan was curious to see if she could taste the differences Sam was describing and Paula just wanted to impress him.  But as soon as they exhaled a hit he handed them another, marching onward from strain to strain, his explanations running together in their increasingly befuddled brains.  After a half dozen samples they were just nodding or saying “Mmm!” or “So smooth!” between hits.  After a full dozen they weren't saying anything at all – just robotically smoking as Sam continued to load new samples. 

        God, thought a sober corner of Susan's mind, how did this happen again? How had she gotten so stoned?   With the bong and blunt and then the vaporizer and then that brownie – every time she smoked she ended up smoking so much more than she intended.  Even the first time, when she had just wanted to try it out and Paula had fed her joint after joint.  And here she was again, totally wasted.   

        Of course Susan couldn't have realized that this time it wasn't really her fault.  Sam had sized them up pretty quickly when they walked in the door.  Unbeknownst to the management Sam offered two types of tasting menu.  The “6 to 10 strains for a normal customer” tasting menu, and the “Keep feeding hits to stupid coeds until they're easy pickings” tasting menu.  He figured another half dozen puffs and these girls would be completely gone.  Then he'd tell them his shift was over, offer a lovely midnight canal walk, maybe a few more joints from his private collection.  After that perhaps a trip to his apartment, or if he was feeling lazy a park bench blowjob.  Either way not bad for a Wednesday night. 

        “Maybeee.....maaybe I'll....taake a...like....uh....a break,” said Paula, raising her hand to block a freshly packed bowl Sam tried to hand her. 

        “But this one of my favorites,” he said, “taste faintly of strawberries.” 

        “I dunnno,” said Paula, her head feeling like it weighed 1000 pounds and buzzing with a cloudy pleasure. 

        “Comme, comme onnn,” said Susan to Paula, “you gottaa fiinissh.” 

        Susan took the piece from Sam and pressed the mouthpiece to Paula's closed lips.  Paula dutifully parted her lips and Sam lit the bowl.  Paula sluggishly drew in another hit, held it for a few seconds, and let it go.  Her eyes were red and barely open, her brain miles away.  She felt like she was smoking too much, losing control, but if Susan said it was ok then it must be fine.  Susan would make sure to do the right thing.  Good old Susan, she though, letting a dopey grin spread across her face. 

        “See,” said Sam, “you like it.” 

        Susan wasn't sure why she had pressured Paula to take that hit.  It was like the tasting menu had tapped into the same methodical part of her personality that led her to be such a driven student and thorough tourist.  Just like she had to get all the questions right on a quiz or had to visit all the Gothic churches on a tour, she had to make her way through the entire tasting menu.  Although it seemed to be going on for so long.  How long had they been here?  Susan started to look around for a clock, but a bong was being lifted toward her and Sam was saying something with a friendly smile. 

        Flick, inhale, exhale.  The warm smoke drifted out of her lungs, but she knew most of it had stayed inside her, making sure she felt so soft and floaty.  What had she been thinking about? Something about a clock? It was too hard to remember. Probably better to just give in to the blissful fog  thickening around her.  Wait, she wanted a clock to check on the tasting menu, right? Because it was so long, because something wasn't right about, about...Sam handed her another piece.  Without thinking she brought it to her lips, but her fingers were too clumsy to work the lighter.  Sam lit it for her.  What a nice guy, she thought.  She exhaled a white plume and went to move the piece but Sam pressed it back toward her.  He told her this strain tasted better after the second hit.  Oh well, she thought, he was the expert. 

        Flick, inhale, exhale. What had she been...the tasting menu, something wrong with the tasting menu.  But how could anything be wrong? With trying all these brightly colored and delicious smelling strains? With feeling like this? No, everything was alright.  God, she loved smoking.  Susan smiled, surprised at her own naughty thought.  Where had that come from? She tried to focus on why that idea had popped into her head, but instead all she could think of was why she had waited so long to try it. 

        Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sam helping Paula to another bowl.  Paula seemed totally out of it – Sam had to hold the piece to her lips, light it for her, and whisper in her ear to inhale.  He was so nice, thought Susan, helping make sure that Paula felt as good as she did.  And boy did she feel good.  It was like she had just woken up after a pleasant dream, in that moment before reality seeps in, only that moment was stretching out over hours. 

        “Well,” said Sam, making his move, “that all for menu.” 

        “Awww...” said Susan, a few seconds delayed. 

        “But my shift over now.  If you two girls like I could show you midnight tour of canals.  Streets very pretty.” 

        Paula groggily turned her head to Susan.  She felt too stoned to decide, barely even aware of the meaning of Sam's words.  Better just do what Susan says.  Yeah, just go with Susan.  Susan saw Sam and Paula staring at her.  She knew she was supposed to decide. 

        “I could bring my friend Marco,” added Sam, “so you both have company.  He can bring some of his homegrown joints too, very good, if you want to smoke more.” 

        Susan did want to smoke more.  She was sure she'd look back on this moment, this sentiment, while sober and laugh.  But right now, totally stoned, all she wanted to be was more stoned. She realized that smoking just made her want to smoke more, like she had with the vaporizer, like she had with the first joints.  She'd never admit it when sober, but once in this haze she just wanted to see how much deeper it would go, how much more she could turn off her brain and just melt away into the carefree smoke. 

        “Lezz do it!” she exclaimed, nearly falling off her chair. 

        “Great,” said Sam, “let me get my coat.”

DAY FOUR – MIDNIGHT 

        Sam was right – the canals were lovely at night.  Susan sat beside him on a bench, looking at the string of lights that lined the water.  Marco, who had been just as cute as Sam, was sitting with Paula on a bench about twenty feet in front of them.  And other than that they were all alone – just the peaceful rocking of boats moored in the canal and the rush of wind through the trees dotting the street. 

        Sam was talking about something; Susan caught snippets of his life, his job, his friends.  It was hard to follow completely, but she felt like she got the idea.  The walk from the coffeeshop to this vantage point had cleared her head a little, but Marco had met them there with some of his own homegrown product.  A shared joint had put Susan back where she wanted to be – drifting, relaxed, the sharp edges of her mind softened.  She couldn't even feel the cold anymore, especially not with Sam's body so close to hers radiating heat. 

        Up ahead Susan heard the flick of a lighter and then saw a thin smoke trail start to rise between Marco and Paula.  It looked like they were sharing another joint.  That sounded like a great idea to Susan.  She turned to Sam but he was already sparking one.   

        “You reeaad my miind,” she slurred and he smiled back. 

        Susan took a puff and as she exhaled she felt a tingling warmth trickle through her body. How long had she been smoking for? Hours? She knew she'd chastise herself once she'd sobered up, but for now – why not enjoy herself?  This felt like a magical night, and she was already so stoned anyway.  What harm could more do?  They shared a few more puffs. 

        “Want to see a good way to cool smoke?” asked Sam. 

        He took a hit, but instead of exhaling he leaned in close to Susan.  Before she could react he pressed his lips to hers.  She could feel the pressure of his lungs, and she parted her lips, drawing the smoke from his lungs into her own. God, she thought, that's so sexy.  He started to pull away but she put her hand on the back of his head, holding him in place as she started kissing him.  He kissed back and for a few moments the only sound was their soft, wet kisses. 

        They broke apart wordlessly and Susan couldn't help but grin.  This was so unlike her! Making out with a cute boy at midnight in a foreign city – how exotic!  She could feel the sensation between her legs from the brownie night returning.  She ground her legs together, grunting lightly from the shockwaves of pleasure that even that incidental contact provided.  Wait, where was Paula?  Looking ahead Susan could only see Marco's head.  Paula's had vanished from sight.  Then she heard Marco moan and she realized what was going on.  Paula was blowing Marco! 

        Susan couldn't believe it.  Her friend was going down on a guy in public, a guy they had just met.  Although he was a cute and nice guy.  But not as cute and nice as Sam, Susan thought.  She realized she was kissing him again.  She wasn't even sure how she had started this time, but she didn't mind.  His lips tasted too good.  But a part of her mind was still on Paula – who said she couldn't be as naughty as Paula?  Paula had a reputation as a wild girl at school, but Susan wanted to be wild, to be exciting. To be sexy. She liked Sam, there was no one else around, and she felt so very good.  So why not? 

        Susan pulled away from the kiss.  She glanced over at Paula's bench, then back at Sam.  He could tell what she was thinking.  He didn't say a word, didn't want to jinx it.  But, in a flash of inspiration, he handed her the mostly finished joint.  Susan took it from his and, without breaking eye contact, took a puff.  A second.  A third.  She dropped the finished joint to the ground.  The sweet smoke filled her, pushing out all doubt and worries, making her feel confident and sexy.  Her vision tunneled.  In her stoned brain all that existed in the world was this bench and this moment.  She reached over, unzipped Sam's pants, and lowered her mouth onto his dick.

DAY FIVE – 1AM 

        Sam had been delicious.  This was an hour later, but lying in bed Susan could still taste him in her mouth.  She had never liked giving blowjobs before – too messy, too much effort.  But while stoned it had been different, sexy, fun.  The taste of his dick and his low moans alone felt like they had brought her halfway to orgasm herself. 

        After he came – and boy did he come, thought Susan, remembering eagerly gulping him down - Sam seemed less chatty than before, more sleepy.  But it was alright – he gave Susan another one of Marco's joints and by the time she had finished it she wasn't feeling very chatty either.  At some point Marco and Paula came walking over, Paula with a guilty look on her face, and they all had a few puffs.  Then Marco and Sam, perfect gentlemen that they were, had walked Susan and Paula back to their hotel.   

        They exchanged kisses and goodnights.  Paula stumbled in the door toward their room.  As Susan turned to enter as well Sam pressed something into her hand.  Susan looked down and saw he had given her a baggie of Marco's weed and a card with a phone number on it. 

        “Call me if you want hang out,” said Sam with a smile. 

        Susan nodded and trudged inside.  Her head felt like a balloon floating off her body; her arms and legs felt like they were made out of clay.  She saw Paula had passed out on the bed fully clothed, and Susan considered doing the same.  But instead she somehow managed to take off her clothes, set the weed on the table, brush her teeth, and climb into bed.  She giggled with the idea that she could do normal things stoned too, not just kiss boys or sit in coffeeshops.  She could probably do lots of stuff stoned.  Almost everything.  What a great night, thought Susan. 

        She licked her lips, tasting Sam, and stared over at the bag of weed on the table.  She realized that, even while this stoned, a small voice in her head was still telling her to get out of bed, cross the room, open the baggie, roll a joint, and get a little higher.  No, she was already too warm and comfortable.  What about just open the baggie and smell that earthy aroma? No! Better to leave it alone.  Plus, she thought as she drifted to sleep, that just leaves more to smoke later.

DAY FIVE – MORNING 

        “No way! No way!” exclaimed Paula. 

        “Hand to god, I did too,” said Susan, blushing. 

        “I can't believe, I mean, I guess I just never thought you were that type of girl.” 

        “Jeez, just stop staring at me,” said Susan, “you're making me embarrassed.” 

        “Oh, no, sorry, I didn't mean to.  I just, well, not to be too graphic, but that's not the first time I've gotten wasted and blown a guy in a public place.” 

        “How shocking,” said Susan sarcastically. 

        “Oh shut up, I just didn't peg you as the type.” 

        “I didn't peg me as the type either,” said Susan, “but it was, you know...” 

        “...what?” asked Paula with a smile. 

        “Ugh, don't make me say it,” said Susan, “...fun.  It was fun.” 

        “So,” said Paula, sitting beside Susan, “take the quiet girl out of the classroom, put her in a place where nobody knows her, and suddenly she cuts loose a little?” 

        “Ha, I guess so.” 

        “All that weed probably didn't hurt either.” 

        “No, no it did not,” said Susan. 

        “Speaking of weed, what's with...?” asked Paula, gesturing toward the baggie on the table. 

        “Oh! That, sorry, I forgot.  Sam gave it to me last night.” 

        “Bringing weed back to the room – seems like a dangerous turn,” laughed Paula. 

        “Well, he just gave it to me.  Plus, if the past few days are any indic, indication, I'm sure we'll end up smoking again.  So why not make it more, like, convenient?  Right? Less time spent hunting for a coffeeshop means more time checking out, like the sights. You know?” 

        It had sounded so much clearer in Susan's head, but when she said it out loud she felt like she had trouble stringing the right sentences together.  She looked to Paula to see if she'd say something, but Paula didn't seem to notice. 

        “No, it's fine.  I just wasn't planning on bringing weed back to the hotel this trip.  You've finally crossed a line before me!” 

        Paula rose, took the empty bong she had previously bought, and tapped the end on each of Susan's shoulders. 

        “I hereby knight you, a junior stoner!” she said, trying to sound kingly but dissolving into giggles. 

        “Why thank you your majesty,” said Susan. 

        “One problem, though,” said Paula, “what's to keep me from doing this?” 

        “Doing what?” asked Susan. 

        Paula walked to the bathroom, Susan heard the rush of water, and when Paula reentered she could see water in the bottom of the bong.  Paula then opened the baggie, pinched off a nugget of weed, and placed it in the bowl.  She looked at Susan and raised an eyebrow, but Susan made no move to stop her.  In fact, a part of Susan was just waiting for the pleasant smell of the dank bud to just drift over from the baggie to her...there it was.  She inhaled deeply, savoring the earthy aroma. 

        Paula lit the bowl, smoke filled the chamber, and Paula sucked it into her lungs.  She exhaled and instantly the herbal smell of raw pot in the room was replaced with the sweet, thick smell of smoked pot.  Paula then hesitantly extended the bong toward Susan. 

        “I dunno,” said Susan, taking the bong, “I'm still feeling a little buzzy from last night.  Sluggish.” 

        “Yeah, me too,” said Paula, “but there's no cure for a smoke hangover like more smoke.” 

        But Susan was already lifting the bong to her lips and sparking the lighter.  As the smoke rushed into her she felt a tingly shock of excitement, like right before going onstage or a kiss from a boy.  Smoking in the morning – what a nice idea!  What was it called again? Wake n bake?   

        “I thought of something,” said Paula, taking back the bong, “if you're worried about all this smoking getting in the way of your perfect-little-tourist routine.” 

        Susan realized she hadn't worried about that in forever, since yesterday morning at least.  The first couple times she had gotten high that was the first thought that had popped into her head – guilt over wasted time.  But the last few times she had smoked it hadn't even occurred to her.  Why not? God, she should feel guilty, she thought, when would she next be in Amsterdam? She had to see everything! 

        “Our classes don't start until three days after we get back,” Paula continued, “so maybe we can check online and see if it's cheap, or even free, to push back our flight by a few days.  Then you could definitely find the time to pack in all the sights, and still smoke whenever you want.” 

        Paula took another hit as Susan mulled over the idea.  It made perfect sense! Why hadn't she thought of it before?  Good old Paula, always thinking outside the box.  The guilt and worry she felt over wasting time vanished as quickly as it arose.  They had a plan now – Susan just needed to check online and make sure they could push back their return flight.  And call her parents to let them know. And figure out new train times to get to the airport.  Easy.  And then she could smoke as much as she wanted and still see everything worth seeing.  But first, she had to finish this bowl.  All that other stuff could wait.   

        As Susan took another hit, Paula crossed the room and shut both windows.  Then she grabbed two towels from the bathroom, shut that door as well, and stuffed the towels under the bathroom and hallway doors. 

        “If you're going to be a junior stoner, I need to teach you some stuff.  Do you know what hotboxing is?” asked Paula. 

        Susan didn't, but she wanted to learn.

DAY FIVE – LATE AFTERNOON 

        The room was full of smoke.  And so was Susan.  She knew she should probably feel a little guilty about getting blazed the very morning after getting so fucked up with Sam (although she wasn't sure it was still the morning).  But she had no room inside her for guilt.  Or worries or responsibilities or big, heavy thoughts.  The smoke has pressed all of that out of her brain, demanding every inch of space.  And now she felt like she was floating on a cloud; that's while everything seemed lighter than air.  No, she was in a cloud, that's why everything was so white and hard to see.  No, she was the cloud, that's why she felt all puffy and soft.  Maybe it was all three – maybe she was a cloud on a cloud in a cloud.  She giggled at the thought. 

        Hotboxing was fun.  Susan liked the idea of all that smoke drifting in an enclosed space, getting her higher even when she wasn't trying to.  It seemed so decadent.  Of course the girls had to smoke two full bowls to get the full effect.  After that Paula had wanted to take a break, but Susan wanted to know more stuff.  So Paula dug some rolling papers out of the bottom of her purse and gave Susan a lesson on rolling joints.  It took a few tries, but the girls made sure to be nice and smoke the failures along with the successes.  Paula then showed Susan how to shotgun a hit and even how to french inhale.  Paula found herself strangely turned on watching a trail of smoke trickle out of Susan's mouth and into her nose, and Susan got a little flustered herself when Paula got so close to her face while shotgunning.  But a few more puffs for each and any awkwardness vanished in a haze. 

        The girls ordered some room service and asked for it to be left outside the door.  It was a little pricey, but Susan figured today was a celebration.  Paula had figured out a way to see the sights and smoke, by, by....Susan knew it was a good plan.  Oh well, she'd remember it when she was sober.  And this was kinda like seeing the sights anyway, she thought.  Learning all this new stuff, these new words – that counted.  Once the coast was clear, Susan opened the door and grabbed the tray of food.  A cloud of smoke drifted into the hallway.  She scampered back inside and reapplied the towel. 

        “Some, uh, some sschmooke got out,” she said, “gottta like, we gotta maake up fur it.” 

        Paula didn't protest.  She lit another joint and the two girls tore into the food. 

        “Whaz thaa time?” asked Paula. 

        “You broke yur ooown ruule!” shouted Susan, giggling. 

        “I did?....I ddiiidd!” said Paula. 

        Paula took a long puff off the joint.  After Susan had twice asked what time it was while hotboxing Paula had instituted a rule – if you asked for the time you had to take a hit.  Susan had liked the idea of making rules – no surprise – and the girls had been inventing them all morning.  Say you're hungry – take a hit.  Trail off in the middle of a sentence – take a hit.  Take a hit and hold it for less than three seconds – take another hit.  That last one had really gotten them. Several times now a girl had taken a hit, exhaled too quickly, taken another hit as punishment, exhaled that one too quickly forgetting the very rule they had been penalized for, and so forth. 

        Paula passed the joint to Susan and Susan finished it.  The room was so cloudy she could barely see the opposite wall.  Both girls were still in their pajamas.  Their hair was a mess, their eyes bloodshot, their mouths stuck in permanent grins.   

        “I feeel so st, so stu, stupid,” said Susan. 

        “Mmm, me too.  I looove it,” said Paula with a smile. 

        “Light like another j,” said Susan, “I wannna be even more, even more....” 

        “Stupider?” 

        “Yeah!” said Susan. 

        With rubbery fingers Paula groped at the plastic baggie.  Her vision was blurry, not to mention cloudy, and so she had to lift it right in front of her face to see inside.  It was empty!  It took her confused brain a few seconds to process this. 

        “Izz empty!” she exclaimed. 

        “Whaaa?” 

        “Izz E – M – P.....” 

        “But we neeeed to schmooke more,” said Susan. 

        A few minutes passed, the girls trying to feebly think of some idea or plan, before Susan had an epiphany. 

        “Lezz call Sam!” she said. 

        “Who'sss, oh yeah!” 

        “He's got pot, he'll, yeah, hehe, he'll give us some more!” 

        “But what if he wans like, you know,” said Paula, “in return.  He might wanna....hehe.” 

        Susan thought back to the night before and her crotch buzzed. 

        “I don't miiind,” she said, grinning.

DAY FIVE – EVENING 

        “Come in, come in,” said Sam, ushering them past the door, “I so glad you came!” 

        Susan had called and Sam had told them he couldn't come over – he was hosting a party – but if they came to him he'd be more than happy to provide.  So the girls had ventured out of their smoke-filled room, giggling and stumbling their way out of the hotel, up streets, back down the same streets when they realized they went the wrong way, and (after knocking on the wrong door twice) finally finding his apartment. 

         The girls stepped through the doorway and followed Sam up a flight of stairs.  They could faintly hear music and smell weed, and with each step both grew stronger.  They reached the top of the stairs, rounded the corner, and found themselves in the middle of a raucous house party. Colored lights flashed, techno roared, and two dozen people in their 20s were dancing, smoking, drinking, and talking. 

        “It my friend Rao's, how you say, going away party. You stay if you want – the more the merrier.” 

        Paula looked around and grinned - “We'd love to,” she said. 

        “Wait, I dunno, like, I dunno if I want to party or anything,” said Susan, “We're mainly here to, you know, score some weed?” 

        “Got it,” said Paula, “first weed, second party,” and when Susan gave her an evil eye, “ok, maybe party.” 

        “Sure,” said Sam, “come back into my room.” 

         Sam led them through the party-goers to his bedroom and shut the door.  He pulled out a baggie of pot and tossed it to Susan.  Susan took out her purse, but Sam waved it off.  He told them it was theirs – a gift – as long as they shared the first bowl with him.  The girls were happy to oblige.  Sam took a massive three foot bong from beside his bed and packed a bowl.  Susan's eyes went wide – a new pot toy!  More fun stuff to learn.  Sam took a monster rip and passed it to Susan. 

        “Now you can do in two puffs if you want,” said Sam, “very large chamber.” 

        But Susan sparked the bowl, and kept it lit until the whole chamber was flooded with smoke.  Then she drew out the piece and sucked the whole thing into her lungs.  Her eyes watered, but she held it and didn't cough until after she'd exhaled a tremendous plume. 

        “Wow, I'm impressed,” said Sam. 

        “I like being good at things,” said Susan with a smile. 

        The girls and Sam passed around the bong, taking hits until they were back to as stoned as they had been when they left the hotel.  Susan sunk back into her pleasant stupor, swaying slightly to the sound of the music from the other room.  Sam, a gentleman as always, fetched the girls drinks for their dry mouths, and another round after they finished the first.  Finally, after the bowl was cashed, Sam leaned over to Susan with a gleam in his eye. 

        “Pot is fun,” he said, “but sometimes it more fun to do something a little stronger.” 

         Sam took two small tablets out of his pocket and held them in the palm of his hand.  A tiny smiley face was etched on the top of each tablet. 

        “Is thaat....is thatt ecstasy?” asked Paula. 

        Sam nodded.  Susan stared at it.  She had never even seen ecstasy before.  Wasn't it dangerous?  Or was it one of those “safe if taken every once in a while” drugs?  She didn't know.  She felt like there were so many things she didn't know, especially while drifting in this state of blissful confusion.  But she did know one thing - she was feeling good, really good, and it wouldn't hurt to feel even better. 

        “I dunno,” said Paula, “I think, I'm nooot surre I...” she searched for an excuse, not wanting to admit she was nervous and unsure, “it's jusss, Sussan has nevver done stuff like that annnd, I'm like, I shoould take caare of her.” 

        “Hey!” said Susan, “I dunn, I don't neeed taaking care of!” 

        Susan was tired of being the nerd, the worrywart, the boring girl to Paula's party animal.  In one motion she snatched a pill and popped it down the hatch.  Then she grabbed the other and pressed it to Paula's closed lips.  Paula looked at Susan timidly, still not sure she wanted to do it, but reluctantly parted her lips and let Susan deposit the pill on her tongue. 

        “Whoo's borring now?” asked Susan.

DAY FIVE – NIGHT 

        “I think I'm beginning to feel it,” said Paula, sitting beside Susan in Sam's room half an hour later.  “Yeah,” she continued, “I'm starting to.....wow.....oh wow.....oh my god.  Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” 

        Susan stared in stoned fascination at Paula.  It was like a wave had washed over Paula, transforming her in front of Susan's eyes.  Her hands were now running up and down the couch, darting out to touch Susan's skin.  Her breath was ragged and lusty.  Her pupils were enormous.  Even in Susan's baked state, she felt a little nervous.  Watching Paula was like a preview of what was about to happen to her.  When was her pill going to kick in? In minutes? Seconds? Never? 

        “How doo you feeel?” she asked Paula. 

        “I feeeeel, oh my god, I feeel......oh my god.....can I, can I pleease kiiss you?” 

        Before Susan could respond Paula leaned over and passionately kissed Susan, letting her tongue dart in and out of Susan's mouth.  Then Paula sprang to her feet, did a feisty pirouette, and crossed the room to Sam, planting an equally passionate kiss oh his lips.  Susan felt a little embarrassed just watching it.  Then, suddenly, she felt a tingling in her toes and fingers, then in her chest, and then....then...then....Oh my god, thought Susan, oh my god. 

        Susan had never felt like this before.  Not even close.  The couch beneath her felt like like Egyptian cotton.  The strings of Christmas lights twinkled like stars.  The temperature was perfect, the music was beautiful, and looking across the room at Sam and Paula kissing, Susan felt only desire.  No, it was more than desire.  She felt so...so...happy.  So unbelievably happy.  She wanted to experience everything, to kiss everyone, to share herself with the whole world.  If pot brought her relaxation, blissful brain-deadening relaxation, then ecstasy brought her pure bliss.  She loved Susan and Sam and even Rao – who she had yet to meet – for throwing this party.  She loved parties.  She loved drinking and smoking.  She loved Amsterdam.   

        Paula noticed Susan rise off the couch out of the corner of her eye.  She turned and saw her own grin matched by Susan, a grin both girls would have plastered across their faces for the next few hours. Paula didn't need to ask if Susan was feeling it.  She crossed the room and both girls began running their hands over each others' arms, brushing their lips over each others' necks, the sensation of skin on skin electrifying. 

        “You two are good friends, no?” asked Sam. 

        “Yesss,” moaned Susan, “yesss we are.” 

        “Then show me,” said Sam mischieviously, “show me how good friends.” 

        The girls didn't need any more prodding.  They began kissing each other, first the lips, then their necks and chests.  They pressed up against each other, panting and sighing, kissing and touching.  Paula's fingers brushed Susan's thigh and Susan moaned.  Susan bit Paula's nipple through her shirt and Paula cried out in pleasure.  Sam watched them, biting his lip.  The girls knew he was watching, but they didn't care.  They couldn't stop.  It just felt too good.  Paula meant so much to Susan, and Susan had to show her.  It made all the sense in the world. 

        Sam loved how impressionable ecstasy made people.  Even the smallest desire, once mentioned, had to be fulfilled.  And the more someone desired something while sober, the more irresistible it was while on E. He picked up the bong and packed another bowl.  He crossed the room and placed it on the floor beside the kissing girls.  Susan saw it and stopped, staring at it while Paula continued to kiss her arms and face. Case in point, thought Sam. 

        Susan had to smoke.  As soon as she saw the bong she felt an insatiable need to fill her body with those sweet, cotton candy-like clouds of weed.  Sam held out the lighter and Susan broke from Paula to grab it, but Sam pulled back his hand. 

        “Please,” said Susan, “pleease....let me....let me smoooke.” 

        “How badly you want to smoke?” asked Sam, teasing her. 

        “So....so baadly,” Susan practically moaned, “I want to smoooke....untill I can't moove. I want to smooke until staars and birdies are daancing aroound my head like, like a cartoon.  I waanna smooke until I foorget evvvrything.  Pleease, let me.....” 

        Sam acquiesced and handed Susan the lighter.  Susan took a massive bong rip – it was better than she could have ever imagined.  The coolness of the glass against her lips, the warmth of the smoke in her throat.  She even loved the gestures of it, the choreographed steps of smoking.  Paula hadn't been thinking about smoking more, but as soon as she saw Susan take a hit it was all she wanted to do as well.  The two girls passed the bong back and forth, hitting it as quickly as they could. 

        And from there the night got a little hazy for Susan.  She had a few clouded memories, but she couldn't connect them.  She remembered dancing at the party, throbbing to the music, pressing up against several different men and women.  She remembered exhaling cloud after cloud of pot, sometimes into the open air and sometimes into Paula's mouth.  She remembered Paula pulling Rao toward the bathroom, slurring something about a going away present.  She remembered the crowd thinning out, until it was just Sam and Marco dancing closer and closer, their hot breath so nice against her skin.  She remembered Paula going down on Marco right beside her on the couch, while Susan watched and fingered herself. 

        But her clearest memory was riding Sam as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her super-sensitive body and befuddled brain.  She bucked and moaned and screamed, clawing at his chest and pulling her own hair.  She had no sense of time or space -  only bliss.  She couldn't remember what had happened two minutes earlier, couldn't concentrate on what would happen two minutes from now.  All she could do was experience the present, and the present was the most mind-blowing orgasm she had ever felt.  It exploded from her pussy through her entire body, like a flood of light and sound and color, and she whited out – lost completely in it.  Her eyes rolled back in her head.  She opened her mouth to scream but no noise came out.  She spasmed so hard it looked like a seizure.  Then she slumped forward, drifting in afterglow as Sam continued to thrust. 

        Her last memory of the night was Sam then flipping her onto her stomach and fucking her from behind.  Over the edge of the bed she could see the bong and, without breaking stride, she grabbed it and brought it to her lips.  As Sam pounded her from behind she lit the bowl, and as she watched the smoke fill the chamber she felt more aroused, more blissful, more wasted than she had ever been.

DAY SIX - ??? 

        Susan lost day six of her vacation.  It vanished in the smoke.  She didn't realize it at the time, but soon most of her days would be like this – just dropping off the calendar in a blissful haze.  She woke up that morning with her head pounding, her mouth dry, and her thoughts fuzzy.  She looked around in confusion, unsure of her surroundings, but slowly the memory of the party filtered back in.   She noticed Paula sleeping beside her, both girls naked and sprawled out on Sam's bed.  But where was Sam? Probably off at work, she thought.  We gotta get back to the hotel and reschedule those flights.  But first, what to do about this headache?  She saw his bong still half-packed beside the bed, the lighter on his bedside table.  She brought it to her lips and got to work finishing the bowl. 

        When she zoned back in who knows how many minutes later her headache was gone, but her stomach was grumbling.  She got up to find the kitchen, and the motion roused Paula. 

        “Whaaa, whattt time....?” moaned Paula, rubbing her eyes. 

        “Ima goiing to gett breakfassst,” said Susan, “youu hungryy?” 

        “Nooo,” said Paula. 

        Susan pressed the bong into Paula's hands and said, “This'lll hellp.” 

        Each girl poured herself a giant bowl of cereal.  But what to do while eating?  Maybe some tv, thought Susan.  She flicked on the television, but all the channels were in Dutch.  Still, while stoned it was pretty entertaining.  They finished their cereal and stared in slack-jawed silence at the tv.  During a commercial break Susan padded to the bedroom for the bong, packed another bowl, and brought it out to Paula.  They smoked and sank deeper into the couch. 

        And that was their day.  There was no special weed to try, no super strong strain or edible, no suggestive horny man, no strange circumstances.  Just bong hits and daytime television, with occasional trips to the kitchen for more food or the bedroom for more weed. Susan didn't feel guilty for smoking away the day.  She didn't even feel guilty about not feeling guilty.  She didn't need an excuse for why she was doing this or a plan to “make up for it later.”  None of that mattered.  In fact, it didn't even occur to her. 

        She lifted a nugget of pot from the baggie and before loading it into the bong she held it before her eye.  How did I ever get by without you, she thought, how did I ever feel anything toward you other than affection?  Then she placed it in the bowl, turned its little hairs and crystals into forgetful, lulling smoke, and held it in her lungs until her brain melted ever further. 

        Sam came home to a smoky apartment and two shit-faced, red-eyed, slack-jawed, brainless girls sitting on his couch.  He didn't mind – he had a thing for stoners.  And that's what these girls were.  Potheads. Stoners. 

        “Nice to see you two still here,” he said. 

        Susan sluggishly turned her head.  For a moment she was confused – who was this man – but then she grinned when she remembered Sam.  Then the confusion returned – why was he home?  She furrowed her brow, trying to put things together. 

        “Isss it....iss it niight allreaddy?” she asked. 

        “Of course, silly,” he said, crossing the room, “and I have present for you. But first...” 

        He crossed the room and sat beside Susan, pulling her face to his for a long, wet kiss.  She kissed back eagerly.  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill, this one green and octagonal. 

        “Barbituate. Like opposite of ecstasy,” he said, “downer – make you feel so relaxed.” 

        “Buuut I ddoo feel sooo rellaxxed,” grinned Susan. 

        Still, she took the pill from Sam and popped it down the hatch.  Sam didn't have a second one for Paula, but she didn't seem to mind.  She had gone back to hitting the bong and watching the tv. Sam went into the kitchen and fixed himself dinner, well aware that the girls weren't going anyway, and when he came back Susan was a million miles away. 

        “Work faster than ecstasy too,” he said. 

        Susan floated with her head in the clouds.  It felt like she was flying.  Then she realized she actually was flying. Well, sorta.  Sam was carrying her toward the bedroom.  She knew what was coming and smiled.  Or tried to smile, but it was so much effort.  As Sam laid her down on the bed the edges of her vision started to blur.  She felt her thoughts and knowledge drain out the back of her head – state capitals, current events, algebra – she could practically hear it drip onto the floor.  It felt wonderful. 

        Sam straddled her chest.  He snaked one hand down under Susan's underwear.  With the other hand he grabbed the back of her head, lifting her mouth up onto his dick.  Susan was too out of it to do anything but moan as Sam began thrusting into her mouth while fingering her clit. 

        Later, Susan wasn't sure of how much later, Paula wandered in.  She had finished her bowl and was looking for more weed.  While she was a little surprised to see Susan and Sam naked, she was also too blazed to really care.  Sam gave her a fresh bowl, but convinced her to smoke it with them.  After that, with the room thick with smoke and Paula's eyes barely open, he convinced her to do some other stuff.   

        “Two more things to cross off tourist list,” joked Sam, “threesome and lesbian experience.” 

        But Paula, her head buried between Susan's legs, didn't seem to hear.  

DAY SEVEN – AFTERNOON 

        Susan didn't realize it at the time, but this moment would be the closest she would get for a long while to making it out of Amsterdam.  She stood with her backpack across the street from the train station, where a quick twenty minute ride would take her to the airport where her flight was departing in two hours.  But she hadn't brought her backpack to the train station with the intention of leaving.  She hadn't even realized she was passing the train station – or that her flight was today – until she looked up and recognized the immense Victorian building from the day of their arrival.  How long ago had that been?  A week? It seemed so much longer. 

        She and Paula had woken up that morning with the same idea as the day before – cure their mild hangover with the bong conveniently located at arm's length, then make plans from there.  But the bong was basically cashed and they couldn't find more weed.  What they did find, however, was a note from Sam.  It read, “Your hotel must be expensive.  Why not move things to my apartment?” 

        “What a, like, totally great guy,” said Paula. 

        “Yeah,” said Susan distractedly; something about his note reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite place it. 

        So the girls set off across the town, headed back to their hotel to formally check out, grab their backpacks, and drop them off at Sam's.  For the first time in quite a while Susan was sober.  But it was the sobriety of a girl who had just spent the last few days smoking pot at any available instance, much like the sobriety of a stoner girl who takes a day off every two weeks to prove to herself she isn't a stoner.  She felt sluggish, forgetful, droopy.  Her body responded a little slower than she remembered, her mind a little groggier.   

        Susan felt like she kept getting tripped up over her own tongue, that thoughts that seemed valid inside her head sounded stupid as soon as they were outside her mouth.  But Paula didn't appear to notice or mind.  In fact Paula seemed to be having just as much trouble.  So Susan didn't worry about it, and the two continued their airheaded conversation as they walked through the city streets. 

        “Last night was, like, so nuts,” said Paula. 

        “Oh god yes, I was so fucking wasted,” said Susan, “things...got a little crazy.” 

        “But it was fun.” 

        “Oh, yeah,” said Susan hurriedly, “It was sooo...much fun.” 

        “I'm surprised we, we didn't eat the rug with all that...carpet munching,” joked Paula. 

        “Eat a rug?” asked Susan. 

        “Yeah, you know.” 

        “Why would we eat a rug?” 

        “It's a joke, because it's like, carpet munching...when girls hook up.” 

        “Oh, oh, I get it,” said Susan, “Sorry, I'm just, whew, those barbit, bar, whatever pills were intense.” 

        “Looked like it.  Mmm, I wonder if Sam can score us nitrous.  Or shrooms.  We should...totally shroom!” 

        “Yeah, that sounds nice,” said Susan. 

        The girls arrived at the hotel and checked out with little fanfare.  They took their backpacks and headed back toward Sam's apartment, getting a little turned around and ultimately taking a different route.  They had been walking for about ten minutes when Paula tried to loosen a strap on her backpack and with clumsy fingers accidentally detached the arm. 

        “Shit, hold on,” she said, lowering it to the ground, “let me fix this.” 

        As Paula struggled with the strap Susan glanced around, and that's when she noticed the train station across the street.  She suddenly remembered what had been gnawing at her earlier – today was their seventh day in Amsterdam! Susan still hadn't changed their tickets, and today they were supposed to leave.  That's why no one at the hotel had batted an eye when they checked out – this was supposed to be their last day anyway. 

        Well, she thought, it's not really that big of a deal.  There would probably be a penalty for changing their flights after missing the first, but her parents would cover it.  They'd freak out when she didn't arrive home that night, but she'd sort it all out.  Yeah, better to head back to Sam's, relax with a few bowls, and then take care of that stuff.  After all, she still wanted a few more days of Amsterdam.  Maybe a week?  Would that be bad?  Just skip the first few days of class; the first week never mattered anyway. 

        But then another thought slowly dawned on her.  Maybe if she didn't go back now, right now, she wouldn't go back at all.  Maybe she should grab Paula's hand, lead her across the street, catch the train, catch their flight, and return home.  Nobody would be the wiser, and she and Paula would always be able to remember this crazy Spring Break.  Because if she didn't do that, who knows how long before she'd get around to changing the flights, to remembering, to going home?  It seemed so easy to just smoke away the days – maybe she had to escape before it was too late.  Susan took one step toward the curb.  Then another. 

        “Hey look,” said Paula, standing. 

        But Paula wasn't pointing at the train station.  She was pointing up the street, where just a few buildings down from them hung the friendly neon sign of a coffeeshop.  And when Susan looked at it she felt none of the complex emotions of looking at the train station, none of the confusion and worry, none of the stress and parents and class and schedules and flights and major life decisions that she felt weighing down on her when she looked at the train station.  No, looking at the coffeeshop she felt only longing, a longing for such immediately available bliss and relaxation.  Because what she wanted most in the world right now was to smoke.  Once she was stoned she could think about these other things. 

        “Maybe a nice little joint to get us back to Sam's?” asked Paula, but Susan was already walking toward the door. 

        Susan knew she had made the right decision when she stepped into the coffeeshop and the warm, sweet smell of pot filled her nose.  She knew she had made the right decision when she watched Paula lick the tip of her perfectly rolled jointed.  And she knew she had made the right decision when she greedily sucked the smoke into her lungs, humming with pleasure as she felt it start to dull her brain. 

        “Promise me you won't let me out of this chair until we are blazed,” she said to Paula. 

        “Ay ay, captain,” said Paula with a mock salute, “I promise.” 

        And she kept her promise. 

DAY ???? 

        Susan flicked the lighter and inhaled, watching the flame jump into the bowl and the tiny green pieces ignite.  For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but then milky white vapor swirled into the base of the chamber, spiraling upward as she continued to inhale until the entire shaft was a column of dense, cream-colored smoke.  She lifted out the bowl and the smoke rushed up through the chamber, vanishing into her mouth like a magic trick.  She removed her lips from the cool glass, watching a tiny tendril of smoke trickle straight up out of the bowl.  She opened her mouth as if about to say something, but instead of words a fountain of smoke drifted gently past her lips.  The room grew a little smokier.  Her eyes a little redder.  Her smile a little droopier.  Her body a little heavier.  Her thoughts a little softer.  This is the life, she thought. 

        How long had it been since she skipped her flight?  A few weeks maybe? Maybe more? She can't really remember.  She tried to piece it together, but she wasn't even completely sure what day of the week it was.  Lets see...Sam was gone, so he must be at work.....Tuesday? Wednesday?  She and Sam started dating a few days after she moved her stuff into his place.  He was a great boyfriend, better than any of the boys she knew back at home.  He took care of her, let her stay for free, and gave her plenty of bud.  What more could a girl ask for?  He even got her a job two days a week at a nearby coffeeshop so she could have some extra spending money.  At first the boss didn't look kindly on a new budtender who seemed stoned most of her shift, but the stream of male tourists who visited the shop to smoke with the giggly, buxom American soon changed his mind. 

        And two days a week was perfect, because it gave her time to focus on other stuff.  Like....like... oh, like entertaining! She remembered that Paula was coming over this evening and she wanted to clean up the place.  She didn't see as much of Paula since Paula had started dating Sam's supplier of other drugs.  Sometimes Susan worried that Paula was too into that stuff – half the time Susan saw her she was grinding on ecstasy or stumbling around on downers or barely conscious on opium.  But then again Paula did get them all the best hookups.  Just a few days ago her beau had gotten hold of a dentistry-grade tank of nitrous complete with gas mask, and Susan and Paula had spent an entire day completely gone.  Just passing the mask back and forth in a stupor sprawled out naked on the floor.  Susan giggled at the memory. 

        Susan looked around the apartment.  It was a mess; she really needed to get started.  Maybe after another bowl or two.  Or maybe not bother with cleaning at all.  Not like it mattered anyway.  Usually when Paula and her man came over for a “double date” the two girls just ended up putting on a little show for their men.  The boys had discovered that all it took was a few puffs or snorts or swallows to make Paula and Susan more than willing to demonstrate their affection for one another. 

        Thinking of some of their steamier evenings and Susan's hand drifted to between her legs.  She circled a finger around her clit with one hand while drawing the bong back to her lips with the other.  Maybe a little “me time,” she thought.  That was the name she had given the part of her day she dedicated to smoking and playing with herself.  She kept herself on track like that, on a schedule.   

        After all, she didn't want to become a complete pothead.  No, just a little when she woke up to help soften the morning.  And a little before bed to help her drift off.  Probably a few tokes before each meal to make her food extra delicious.  Some at work to pass the time and keep the customers interested.  And usually when Sam got home they smoked some.  With Paula, of course.  When masturbating.  When watching weird Dutch tv.  And once or twice a week she gave herself a “me day” popping edibles until the whole day disappeared in a haze or packing bowl after bowl until the bong slipped from between her fingers.  But that was it.  Well, except for occasionally just smoking because she was in the mood.  But that didn't count. 

        Susan took another toke.  The smoke revolved through her lungs, into her bloodstream, and washed over her brain. A few minutes slipped off the clock as she stared into space.  Then she saw the bong and, as if noticing it for the first time, her eyes lit up and she took another hit.  I bet my friends would be shocked to see me now, she thought – they probably wouldn't even recognize me.  And she was right.  Who was this girl?  This slutty, glassy-eyed, confused, bubbly, mess.  Who couldn't cross a room or finish a sentence without stumbling.  Who couldn't seem to remember much of anything these days.  Who ate pussy and sucked dick whenever she felt like it.  Certainly not Susan, Susan the bookworm, Susan the nerd.  Susan giggled, and her giggle turned to a low moan as her finger rediscovered her clit.  This was truly the greatest Spring Break ever. 

        “You know the best part of vacation?” she mumbled with a smile to no one in particular, “If you don't go home, it never ends!” 

THE END