There was knocking on the door around 9:30pm in the middle of the week, a bit of a surprise. Getting up from the PC and opening the door, my ex-wife was standing there, unexpectedly. We divorced for various reasons more than 5 years ago, but had remained amicable enough. I still lived in the same house, while she maintained a number of friendships and social contacts in this town, some of them on a regular basis. Today was not one of those regular days, with this late being more than a touch unusual too. Further, normally she would politely inform me first about coming by.
"Hello - I was at John's, and you know how he is" she said, providing a fair bit of background in a few words. John enjoyed drinking, having a quite large wine cellar he liked sharing. He was married to Lisa, a wife of strict attitudes concerning fidelity, and the fact that they lived directly across the street made things close to home, so to speak. My ex-wife and I had never shared that strict idea of fidelity, but the complications for John and Lisa would have been real compared to what we had done during our marriage.
On the other hand, John was fully aware of how my ex-wife got when drunk. Which she seemed tonight, leaning lightly against the door frame. The top of her blouse was unbuttoned, and she was braless. That was not a surprise, as she often did not wear a bra regardless of how obvious her nipples might become.
"Can I pee?" she asked walking past me unsteadily even before I said sure, noticing a skirt bought sometime in the last few years, having never seen it before. Leaving the bathroom door open as she pulled up the skirt then sat, no more shy than in the past. She giggled a bit in a certain remembered tone, saying no panties made things quicker when needing to pee.
It was apparent that she was in a familiar drunk mood as she rose, holding the skirt up while reaching for a bit of toilet paper. She was facing me, displaying her bush, a sight she knew full well made me horny. Our expressions were fairly obvious to each other, hers displaying her enjoyment at teasing me. When drunk like this, such teasing works both ways.
Stepping out, skirt still held up, she asked if she could spend the night, since driving would be a bad idea. Adding that staying at John's would also not be a good idea, since Lisa was away.
"You don't mind?" she asked, now next to me, letting the skirt drop and grinning at a recognized expression on my face as my attention left the no longer exposed area between her legs. She knew I would not turn down any request she made in this mood.
"No, not in the least."
She leaned a bit closer, almost comically lowering her voice a bit and asked if I had any weed. That question was a larger surprise then the original knocking, as during the 20 years we were married, she always hated the smell, and only very rarely would get stoned. However, I also knew that changes occur, being dimly aware that she had spent a number of vacations in places where weed was legal after divorcing.
"Yes, a couple of joints upstairs. Are you sure, considering how it is much better to get stoned before drinking?"
She started to press against me, and the temptation to touch her ass only grew as she said this was the best time to get stoned. Reluctantly separating from her enticing body, I went upstairs to get a joint and the bong. Plus our original vibrator, leaving it discretely on the staircase. Entering the room where she was now sitting, I explained that we would be sharing the weed together, not just smoking a joint.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, after taking a hit, breathing out as the other person breathes in. That is a good way to use less," I explained. Left unsaid was the other reason to get stoned that way, being a wonderful form of foreplay with a willing partner. Sitting next to her on the sofa, tearing a bit of the joint off to put in the bowl, I took a deep hit.
"Ready" I half croaked, making her smile, as she always found that style of talking funny. We leaned together, lips meeting, exchanging the hit. Straightforwardly, without sexual overtones, regardless of what undertones might exist.
"That's good" she half croaked herself, noticing how I was looking down her blouse in appreciation. After breathing out, she asked about using the bong, another more than minor surprise. Her skill became apparent as the smoke swirled into her lungs. After a longish interval, she grinned and used her hand to bring my head to her. This time, the exchange started to resemble kissing on her part, and unsurprisingly on my part too.
Separating somewhat regretfully, her hand rested lightly on my inner thigh as I prepared and did the third hit. The weed was definitely starting to reach my cock in delightful fashion, and this time when exchanging the smoke, our lips meeting developed into a proper kiss, tongues playing. A kiss that lingered on after she breathed out. We had always enjoyed kissing, both of us recognizing mutual skill, starting with our first kiss decades ago.
A skill we continued to enjoy after she did her next hit, my hand sliding under the skirt and over her soft thigh. Like last time, she held my head to guide our mouths together. Our kissing quickly became openly erotic, much like the way our hands were stroking each other's upper thighs. Her nipples were erect, but unlike John, I knew that meant nothing. My ex-wife is the only woman I have known who cared nothing about having her breasts played with. A somewhat ironic fact considering just how sexy they looked, something unknown to John at least from past stories. And quite possibly still, considering how open her blouse was, he remained unknowing.
Exhaling, noticing that half the joint was gone along with noticing just how turned on we were getting, her hand sliding over the jean covered outline of my shaft. My own hand was under her skirt, not quite reaching her pussy as her legs relaxed, but lightly teaching her over her soft hair.
After a bit of mutual teasing, she giggled and asked why we weren't still smoking the joint, since she did not have to worry about driving. "Besides," she added, "I know how you enjoy this. Just like with Joan in the past." Which was very true, as Joan and I used to get stoned together precisely this way, knowing where it would lead us.
Taking my hand away to deal with the bong was disappointing, but the way she began to unbutton my jeans as I did a hit was a wonderful way to even the scales. Kissing became delightful long before she inhaled as I exhaled in perfect balance. Weed provides a sense of skill when creating pleasure, time stretching luxuriously with minds sinking into paradise. She had a distinctive taste, one that has always appealed to me, indicating how drunk she was.
She took the bong, looking as drunk as she tasted, turned on and stoned doing another hit, legs open, blouse revealing her hanging breasts. Obviously, the past years had removed her reluctance to getting high and having sex, undoubtedly through practice. Likely much the way she had lost her reluctance to playing with a vibrator, through learning how easy it was to get off using it.
I intended this hit to be my last, not having smoked this much in years. She turned to me, hand running under my jeans along my downward pointing shaft as we resumed our kissing. When she started to breathe out, it was effortless to breathe in, my fingers playing with her sexy bush as she sighed and opened her legs further.
