Illegals The smell clung to him like a snitch, making him paranoid. The tube was busy for a Sunday a

Illegals The smell clung to him like a snitch, making him paranoid. The tube was busy for a Sunday afternoon, and the sideways glances that sidled up to him from the other passengers made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He had a pocket full of marijuana, a sentence he never imagined he might think. It wasn’t that he’d never smoked it; the friends he had had no qualms about drug use, and he’d been at enough parties that had wound down more than enough for the odd vapouriser or splif to appear. It’s just he’d never exchanged money for it, never had to state how much he’d like, set himself up with the paraphernalia or had to roll his own joint. It felt like a step. Towards what, exactly, he had no idea. Her, probably. That was why he had bought it in the first place. A pile full of unlistened vinyl and a comfortable couch that was just wide enough to have them both lie on it without being under threat of falling off meant that the weed was the only piece of the puzzle missing. Besides, he’d always wanted to see how the tingles in his palm from spanking her would feel with the general fuzziness of being high. Rolling it has been a disaster, but she’d been just as bad. His fingers were too large, and her’s too debilitated by the giggle fit his poor attempt had induced. The end result barely lit, but one long drag had managed to coax some life into it. He’d passed it to her, and watched the embers flare, lighting up her face and glinting in her eyes.  Time relaxed, as time does, and the journey from her lips to the ash tray seemed to take hours. He watched her inhale, watched the smoke curl around the edges of her mouth, and he had to kiss her. It was an urge of uncommon intensity, an imperative that felt like a klaxon going off in every nerve cluster in his body.  She started to exhale as he got close, and the smoke billowed around his face. The smell was brackish, harsh, but he drank it in anyway, emerged out of the cloud to brush his nose against her’s, and then she was there, against him. Smokey tongues slid off each other, and she started to laugh, splutter, cough. He joined in.  The music skipped a beat in the background as the needle bumped over a cluster of dust, and they fell into one another, laughing and kissing and groping. Time relaxed, as time does. -- source link
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