Rendezvous
Copyright© 2017 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 23
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 23 - Oh Well. Shit happens.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft Consensual Drunk/Drugged Heterosexual School Western Science Fiction Aliens Time Travel non-anthro First Oral Sex
Cora
Ya know ... holding that big ziplock full of dreams ... I missed my man.
Take that anyway you wish.
I laughed.
Chuck looked the question.
Back down the road a piece, there was a sort of a visitors center ... kinda. A wide spot with a pull off that made a turn or two and ended up in a parking lot.
There was a sign board commemorating the Show of Shows. It listed the bands ... some of whom I’d never heard of ... and some of the eventual greats; Santana, Hendricks, Grace Slick and the Airplane.
And people I’d never heard of.
God ... and I missed it ... I missed Hairy so much. I needed to mellow.
“Ok, Chuck. Fill your bowl.” I tossed him the bag.
Snatching it out of the air, he fished out a brass Proto pipe, the one with the swivel cap and a cleaner rod along side. Opening the bag ... and letting out the skunk again, he didn’t hesitate, sorting through the buds until he found the One.
It was red haired, tight and full of crystal. He looked it over carefully, sniffed it, tongued the bud to dampen it ... so it wouldn’t burn too fast ... adroitly packed it in the brass pipe. He handed it to me...
“Ladies first,” he said. Patting his pockets to find his BIC, he flicked it and held the fire to the pipe I had stuck in my mouth. I inhaled drawing in outside air to cool the hit as I packed my lungs with the fragrant smoke.
I passed the pipe.
Chuck hit it ... nowhere as hard as I did ... but sufficient. He was watching me. I let out a nearly invisible stream of air ... nothing wasted.
“Great hit, mom. As heavy as you hit it I expected coughing.”
“Hey ... no Bogarting ... pass the pipe.”
After a few rounds we reached the dottle ... no smoke. He took out the poker and cleaned the bowl, put the brass rod away and looked.
“Nope ... plenty, Chuck.”
Amazing ... pot had come so far. Prior to this my most memorable high had been when every body was out and Tim cleaned out his empty baggie collection.
Just the dust leftover from three years of madness. The dregs managed to fill the foil lined bowl of a miniature corncob pipe.
One hit and everything turned maroon. That hit was so powerful that nobody hit it again ... once was good enough.
What Chuck had was fringed with clear crystals of hardened THC.
Whoever had stashed his stuff in my shed missed it ... I’ll bet.
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