Kelly Lane - Wet and ready

I could still see the couple from Marc's blanket, and occasionally I could hear their harsh, urgent whispers of lovemaking. I turned my attention from them and looked again at Marc.

"Drink up," he said, draining his beer. "It'll warm you up."

I did as he instructed, holding my breath and allowing the cold bitter fluid to trickle down into my stomach. I hated beer; it made me silly almost immediately, but I could never admit that to Marc.

"It's good," I said, smiling across the darkness.

Someone put the radio on, and I could hear the sound of the Stones against the muted roar of the ocean. The music sounded so far away and small in the emptiness of the night.

"You going steady with anyone?" Marc asked. "No." I thought of Stu, my boy friend back home. "No one. What about you?"

Marc thought for a moment. "I was, but we broke up."

I took another sip of my beer. My head was beginning to feel swimmy and light-headed. "Why did you break up?"

Marc ignored the question. "You smoke?" he asked.

I took another swig of beer. "Sure."

"Good. I've got some good stuff with me." He reached over and fumbled through the pockets of his shirt. He pulled out two twisted-looking cigarettes, lumpy in the middle with the ends twisted.

I suddenly understood what he meant by "smoking".

"It's good stuff," he repeated. "You want to light up?"

"You go first," I said, feeling my stomach go empty. "I want to finish my beer."

Marc put the joint in his mouth, twirling it around and wetting it down. Then he put it in his lips and lit it. He made a loud sucking noise, and the end of the cigarette glowed brightly in the night. It looked like he was holding his breath. He offered the cigarette to me.

I swallowed heavily on the beer and took the joint. I put it to my lips nervously and took a small drag. The smoke was thick and hot and burned in my lungs. I expelled it almost immediately and handed it back to Marc.

"No-no!" he said, taking the joint. "Hold the smoke down, down in your lungs. And take more air in when you suck."

He handed the joint back to me.

I sucked with all my might and felt a solid mass of smoke flood my lungs with a burning harshness. I almost gagged, and I coughed up the smoke.

Marc took the joint from me. "Are you sure you've done grass before?" he asked, staring at me.

I turned away from his stare. "Of course I have," I lied. "Hundreds of times. It just went down wrong."

"Oh," Marc responded flatly, and I couldn't be sure if he knew I was lying. "Well, you've been doing it all wrong. Watch me."

I took a long sip of my beer; it tasted cool going down my throat. I almost enjoyed it that time. I watched Marc carefully.

He sucked in on the joint, taking a tremendous drag. The sides of his mouth were open around the joint, and he seemed to be pulling in air as he inhaled. Then he closed his mouth and held the smoke down in his lungs, periodically sucking more air into his body every few seconds. After a long time he exhaled, and a thin cloud of smoke gushed from his mouth.

"Wow! This is good stuff. What a rush." He looked over at me, but his eyes looked out of focus. "You want to try now?" he asked, offering the joint to me.

I drained my beer and flipped the can away.

"Sure," I said, feeling the heady confidence of the beer swirling in my brain. I took the joint and sucked on it, holding my breath and drawing in air just as I saw Marc do.

"That's it," he observed. "Good. Good. You're doing it good now."

I felt something hot in my chest, spreading out through my body like warm rays of sunlight. My arms tingled and my fingers felt numb. Something seemed to be traveling up my spine, fondling my brain, clouding it up like steam.

I let my breath out and my blood felt warm, like surges of heat rushing through my body. "Wow!" I said, listening to myself talk, feeling almost dizzy. "That's good. It's strange."

Marc took the joint, "I told you it was good dope."

I tried to listen to the music, but I kept forgetting the words. I started to remember, but I got halfway through and I would forget what I was thinking about.

Marc handed me the joint, and I dragged on it again. Marc seemed tote blipping in and out of my awareness.

"Is that song still on?" I asked Marc after I had exhaled. "It seems like it's been on for so long."

Marc smiled stupidly and shrugged his shoulders. He began to giggle uncontrollably. "It does, doesn't it?" he said between laughs.

The laughter was infectious, and I found myself giggling. "Well, it has been on a long time!" I insisted, giddy with laughter. "I remember when it came on, and it was a very long time ago."

He handed me the joint, and, strangely, it was almost gone. Just moments before it had been a whole joint. I sucked on it again, burning my lips and fingers but not caring. The smoke felt like a fist punching into my chest.

"Man," Marc giggled. "You're really stoned."

I spit the smoke out in a loud laugh. "I know it!"

I rolled over on the blanket and looked up at the stars. They looked so far away and I couldn't remember what they were.

"Hey!" Marc said. "Gimme the joint."

I looked over at him. "Didn't I give it to you?"

"No. It's still in your hand." He pointed.

I looked at my hand and tried to figure out what it was. "Oh, yeah," I said. "It burns."

Marc took it. "You want to eat the roach?"

I giggled and shuddered. "No. I hate bugs."

Marc took the smoldering joint and doused it against his tongue. I heard the ember sizzle, and his tongue curled back into his mouth, and he swallowed the roach.

I began to giggle again. "Oh, I must be stoned," I said. "I just saw you eat a cigarette, and I was going to ask you how it tasted!"

Marc joined my laughter. "Great!" he screamed, as though it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

I began to roll around on the blanket, laughing hysterically and holding my sides. "Oh, shit." I moaned, weak with laughter.

"What's the matter?" Marc asked, lighting the second joint.

"I can feel my laughs!" I screamed. "I can feel them along my skin. It feels like they're running up and down my arms like wiggles."

"You can feel your laughs?" he asked, inhaling.

I took the joint from him, controlling myself. "They seem to be popping out of my stomach like bubbles, tiny bubbles of laughter." I sucked deep on the joint.

The fit of laughter seemed to pass as suddenly as it had descended upon us. Not that I was sad or somber, for an occasional fit of giggling did manage to break through, but it was a singular explosion, and not part of the whole previous mood. My body seemed tired, but not sleepy, languid almost, maybe even sensual. I felt myself stretching across the blanket, enjoying the sliding, shifting sand underneath, relaxing in pleasure as it comfortably supported my body.

"Wow," Marc mumbled for the hundredth time. "This is really good shit."

We smoked in silence, feeling the unreal, dreamlike numbness of the smoke. My thinking patterns seemed to broaden, and I found myself wandering down them, losing myself in the complex patterns.

I watched Marc stand and lie down next to me on the blanket. He seemed to be moving slowly, almost in slow motion, as though he were floating in water. His body felt warm and pleasant against mine; if I listened very closely, I could almost hear his heart beating.

"Listen," he said, and for a moment, I thought he was talking about what I was just thinking; but he wasn't, and I heard something else. It sounded like a moan.

"What is it?" I asked, trying to fix the sound in my mind.

"Sshh. Listen…"

"Uhhh!" came the moan. "Harder. Screw me harder!"

It was a girl's voice, but I couldn't remember whose. But that wasn't important. All that mattered was that she was being fucked, and I could hear her moaning in pleasure.