Charlie my weed guy knocks on my apartment door with an ounce to sell. I pay the price of admission, and he rolls us a joint on my couch.
You know guys like Charlie, heavy but not fat, his red hair and beard long and messy but somehow appealing. He goes everywhere dressed in long sleeved tees and baggy camo shorts, like he's looking to join a latter-day nu metal group.
You see guys like him at all the college parties, even though we both dropped out years ago. If you let him, he's the guy who will climb the tables and throw his hands around, all life-sized cartoon, preaching to the masses about whatever song lyric or book blurb totally blew his mind and rocked his world this week.
While Charlies tucks the finished joint behind his ear and plays with Koko, my black cat, I find an excuse to check myself out in the bathroom mirror.
Trina, you're looking good today. Good enough for a guy like Charlie, at least. Black hair washed and plaited, no circles under the eyes. Short sleeves to accentuate the biceps, a misbehaving shirttail to show off the navel ring and pale little stomach. Or what will be a little stomach after a couple dozen sit-ups. Tight jeans that slice creases in the curves of the ass. And good on you, Trina girl, for remembering not to wear a bra.
I reenter the living room to find Charlie booting up Mario Kart on my dusty GameCube. Well, why not? Old school racing and high-grade weed often lead to naughtier things. And since Charlie is selecting a full Rainbow Road Tournament, it looks like he plans to be here awhile.
Controllers in hands, we toke back and forth on the couch. The stuff goes straight to my head. It feels like a warm cloud rising through the roof of my brain. It has a more energizing effect on Charlie. He keeps jumping up and mashing buttons any time the race gets too intense. I throw my legs across his lap to keep him seated.
All I want to do is feel his cock rise big and hard against my thigh. I want him to forget about toadstools and powerups and instead tear off my jeans and shove his mushroom head up my peach. Only, when Charlie pauses the game, the herb hasn't yet migrated to his down south brain.
"Check it, right, man?" He spins to face me, knocking my legs against the coffee table. "I've been reading this guy, Henry Miller, all week. I get to this one book, right? Black Summer - or Spring or Winter or some shit - and he's talking about bathrooms, right? Fucking, like, books you read in there and shit you see on the walls and, like, how good it feels, right, to empty your bladder?"
"Yeah, okay!" I nod and act interested. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans and inch them farther down my hips. "I never really thought about that, but yeah, I could see it!"
"I never did, either, but he's so right, man! These tiny little moments you never recognize that, like, truly make life worth living!"
I ease my thigh against his big pot belly. "I can think of a couple other things that make it worth your time..."
"Right, man! But, fucking, like, he's talking about the beauty of just, like, taking a piss outdoors. Like, in the summer or spring or, like, just warm, sunny weather, and how just your piss hitting the ground and curling off all the leaves just makes you feel so alive! And I've come to a decision, man."
I smile wide, concentrating on not raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"I am never - and I mean this - NEVER taking a piss indoors again. For real, that chapter of my life is officially over."
I've got my navel ring and ass-crack on display, but suddenly, Charlie's all about the game again. Sweating over the controller, twisting his shoulders with every crank of the wheel, accusing Koko of distracting him whenever the cat jumps onto the coffee table. I burn another toke and ease myself against his bicep. He says, "Not now. Eyes on the road."
And then, once I'm finally starting to get into the game, he pauses halfway through the pre-race countdown. "Just a sec, I've got to take a piss. Mind if I use your balcony?"
I cringe at the fact that we're on the eleventh floor, but with the state we're in, neither of us would make it back up here if we walked downstairs first. "Just make sure you aim over the railing, please."
"No fears, man, I've been a pee sharpshooter since the third grade."
He stumbles onto the balcony to find life affirmation in pissing in strangers' hair from a great height. I collapse against the length of the couch as the sound of purring fills the room. My pussy pacing the floor grumbles in hunger. The pussy between my legs does the same. At the rate things are progressing, we'll both starve to death.
I glance at the TV, our race eternally paused, seconds from blastoff.
Fuck it. Time to whip out a cheat code.
Charlie saunters back inside, clapping his hands to a funky beat. "Alright! Let's first-place this bitch all the way to Rainbow Roa-"
He freezes - mid-word, mid-step - when he sees me sitting on the couch with my controller in hand. My jeans thrown to the floor and my bushy pussy catching a breeze between my spread legs.
Charlie's wide eyes glaze over. Saliva forms at the corners of his gaping mouth.
"Well, come on, Charlie." I clench my butt cheeks and boost my labia off the couch cushions. "Do you want to play or not?"
Charlie springs to life. He hurtles over the armrest and lands in my lap, his shorts already half-unbuckled. The force of his body mass knocks me onto my back. His lips find mine as his fingers go digging in other places. His tongue and knuckles gain entrance simultaneously.
