Chapter 1: Where There's Smoke...
© kate7891
Whenever I sit out on my balcony (and I say 'balcony' with a great sense of irony, but my humble studio apartment with its fenced ledge suits me and my needs just fine) and light a joint, I always do so inconspicuously.
Or so I hope.
I've deliberately woven ivy and fairy lights around two-thirds of the wrought iron rail; I've tall, pink bougainvillea blocking my third-floor neighbours directly to my right, and shrubby sweet bay trees placed strategically around the small space for some semblance of privacy. Hard to achieve when we're packed in together like sardines.
But the pretence privacy is required to appease the sometimes-paranoid thoughts that come with smoking weed.
But I couldn't, for the life of me, block the view to the left. The big open ocean. I live for the sea, its colours, shapes and sounds. And due to this herbaceous indulgence, I'm left vulnerable to the possibility of being caught by the neighbours who face the Southern Ocean. Thank goodness the hippie surfer couple on the first floor partake in my recreational habit. We keep each other stocked up, occasionally get stoned together and have existential conversations and argue whose theory of life is right.
The second-floor apartment homes a nice middle-aged woman and her two cats. She's harmless; every now and then she comes out to her own balcony whilst I'm relaxing on mine, and she gives me a knowing smile. I suspect she's a reformed stoner. Not quite brave enough to ask for a toke.
And then there's the enigma directly across from me. Lucille.
My stoned pussy can't help but tingle thinking of Lucille, my neighbour and friendly acquaintance.
She has somehow managed to squeeze a tiny Jacuzzi onto her outside space. Like me, she's used lights and plants to gain some sense of privacy. And, also like me, she obviously has a soft spot for the view, and hasn't blocked the ocean.
I sit back on the cushions of my cotton hammock chair swing, finding my balance before crossing my ankles over the rail and taking a long drag of my joint. I inhale deep and slow, tilting my head back as I do, really feeling it swim in my head.
In Nika.
Weed, I've discovered, is the ultimate aphrodisiac. It lowers my inhibitions, liberates me to let go of my occupational self-control, gets me out of my head. And, side benefit, bent sex is the best.
I lift my head and exhale hearing the door slide open, and smile at my boyfriend, Grady. His dark hair curls around his temples, still damp from his post-training shower. He smells like the forest by the ocean, fresh and woody. My glazed eyes drink him in from head to toe, his taut olive skin, brown eyes that burn black when aroused, the three-day beard shadowing his chin. Even I can feel my smile turn sly, inviting. He leans on the rail opposite me, leans over and takes the joint for a shallow drag.
"Good day?" he asks, giving my foot a squeeze.
"Not bad. Friday night deliveries worked me up. You know how I get with all those dickheads on the road."
Grady shakes his head. "For a yoga loving florist who also," here he takes another drag for effect, hands it back, "you sure get fired up easily."
I nudge him with my foot, take a deep drag of the joint. "Don't tease, Gray."
He runs his hand up my shin -- tanned gold from the summer -- toward my knee, back down again. "I thought you liked it when I teased you, Annika."
Has his voice deepened, become huskier? Or is that just an effect of marijuana swimming through my system? I feel all heavy and more than a little dopey.
"Nika's not yet falling for your tricks," I murmur, referring to our pet name for my pussy. I'm Annika at home, at work. But I'm Nika when my defences are down and want only to be taken.
He squeezes my foot, knowing full well the effect weed has on me. The effect
he
has on me. I take another long drag of the joint, lungs expanding, offer it to Grady, but he shakes his head. I smile and lean my back against the hammock, eyes locked to his. We're silently engaged in a staring contest, our prelude to foreplay. I bite my lip and the ache in my pussy starts to throb.
Nika is making herself known.
I bring my free hand to the button of my denim shorts, undo it and leave my fingertips just in the waistband. He raises a brow. "Is that how you want to play?" he says huskily. Fuck this man is sexy.