Aimee and I are nerds. There really is no better way to describe it. We met in college. I was actually on a date with her little sister but sitting at the party, Aimee and I just clicked. I was studying theoretical physics; she was there to become a rocket scientist. Tammie, her sister saw it. She joked that if Aimee was going to steal her guy it better be for good.
We lived together all through Graduate school and were married a week after receiving our PhD's. I was supposed to go back. I was supposed to teach and think and win a Nobel Prize but I was sick of campus. Aimee was going to work at a satellite company and I followed her. We were working 80 hours a week but we were together and we were doing what we loved.
This is supposed to be about the sex. I am boring you, I know. Stick with me. I just am trying to set the stage. I don't want you to think we are just stoners, working afternoons in a coffee shop and then getting baked every night and eating Cheetos. Nothing against those folks. There are plenty of them in our apartment complex. They are all nice enough folks. It's why we support legalization now. Drunks are gross. Stoners, they are kind of funny. They are helpful, courteous, and pleasant. It's probably why we are still in the Apartment and haven't gotten serious about buying a house.
So you are saying to yourself, "yeah right. This guy gets high. He is probably high right now." The answer to that is yes, we do, and no, I'm not. Maybe we would get high more if we could but there really is no time. Especially when you consider our thing is edibles. It takes an hour for them to hit and then at least 18 hours for them to wear off. It is two days before you are 100% and when we go to work, we have to be at least 100% if you want your phone to get your location right.
Every 17 days though we get four days off. I could explain why the weird schedule but it's boring and you want me to get to the sex anyway. Let's just leave it at a 21-day cycle. 17 on, four off. Last week I hit the dispensary on my way home, she hit the Whole foods. They were out of the gummies and I got hard candies instead. The Whole foods, happily, had all our regular supplies.
We spent the first night of our break sucking on the hard candies and waiting for it to hit. We watched movies and sipped our IPA's and waited. We waited and waited. I think we finally dozed off around two, sadly, stone cold sober. There was no freaky stoned sex. We were heartbroken.
It hit while we slept.
Aimee told me I slept through the first part of it but when she went for my ass I started to come alive. All I remember was waking up at five in the morning with her finger in my ass as my cock in her mouth. She moved into position on top of me. I licked and fingered her, she sucked and fingered me, and we moaned and came and moaned and sucked and lost the better part of our Friday morning. It was a little before 11 when we finally showered, together, and went to lunch.
We sat outside by a roaring fire. We each had a beer we nursed. We ate sausage tamales with fried eggs. If you haven't had them before, it is the ultimate still stoned meal. We chatted with our neighbors; they were way more stoned than we were. Tammie came by with the guy she was seeing. Tammie wasn't stoned. She didn't partake. Fair's fair, there is no judgment with the crowd. Well, very little judgment, when her new guy hit the head we mocked him for the trucker hat worn backward. She admitted she wasn't sure about him anyway.
There was a long discussion of the science of THC absorption, hard candies, the suckage involved, and alternative approaches. We came up with a plan, paid our check, and stopped on the way home and picked up a bottle of Limoncello.
At home, we put on Harry Potter, the third one when the kids start flirting. Yeah, I know, we are nerds. I used a hammer and zip lock Baggies to smash our little pot-laced lemonheads and put them in the bottom of shot glasses. I poured the liqueur over them and left them to dissolve. We watched the movie and held each other close under a blanket. Her shirt came off first, and then her stretch pants. My Jeans come off next. There was a little petting going on. I liked the feel of her nipple through her lacy bra.
There was a knock on the door. We yelled simultaneously for whomever it was to come in. We didn't want to get out from under our blanket.
We were sure it was Lucy and Ben from downstairs. They are older than us. There had been talk of something happening. Both all four of us and then, when it didn't, just Aimee and me, talking dirty in bed together to get things warmed up. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe today was the day. We had agreed to let it happen but not to instigate. We hadn't agreed on what we most wanted to happen. She had her ideas. I had mine. I was pretty sure, as the guy, I was obligated to go with her plan. I was cool with that. I have watched my share of girl on girl on the Internet.
It wasn't the neighbors. It was Tammie. She was hiding. Trucker hat dude was a douche. We resisted saying we told her so.
"Are you guys naked?"
"Nope." Teased Aimee, she dropped the blanket to flash her bra.
"So unfair." Her sister said. "What are we drinking?"
"Limoncello!" Aimee purred. She liked the sound of the word and repeated it slowly four more times. I laughed and told her she was stoned.
Aimee went into the kitchen and we listened as she rummaged through the cupboard and poured a third glass. We watched Ron get it on with the cute pudgy girl and discussed how much better it would have been if Hogwarts was a college and not a primer.
Tammie returned drinks in hand. She handed us ours and sat down with one of her own. She did it as a shot and we giggled as her lips pursed and her throat clenched. We told her she was supposed to sip it. She told us we were stupid for wanting to drink the stuff in the first place.
Aimee and I discussed what time it was, sipped our drink, and planned for an hour. We told Tammie she had an hour. She told us we were gross.
I watched the clock on the wall and teased my wife's breasts. She asked me if I was feeling anything and I told her I thought I was. She said she was feeling it. She was feeling it a lot.
Don't ask me how it started but the conversation moved in the direction all grown up conversations move when the thought process is altered by alcohol, drugs, or in this case both.
On a scale of one to seven, and yes, it is one to seven, not ten. Scientists, remember? A brother and a sister are a six. Very wrong but not the wrongest. A seven is reserved for generational malfeasance, parent/child, aunt/nephew, that sort of stuff. Stepsiblings are only a two and we decided it was the Brady ruling because who didn't think about Marsha and Greg. I held my tongue during the discussion of in-laws as Tammie and I had sworn that our past, the single night we had spent together before I had even met Aimee was to be our little secret until the end of time. In-laws were either a five or a two, there were extenuating circumstances. I was pretending to watch the movie and hoping neither woman observed the tent in the blanket.
The twin sisters crossed the TV screen. Tammie noticed.
"Sister on sister?" posed Tammie
"It doesn't count. No ruling," said my wife. "There's no cock. No fucking. Like pass interference on a tipped ball." We watch the Broncos every week, have since we met.
"Seriously?" I asked. I was most concerned by the rules of order. That's how my brain works. Yes, I think in hypotheticals but the laws of physics must be followed at all times. Warp travel -- possible, Transporter beams -- nope. Planet to planet phone calls... sure, as long as you sit and wait for centuries for the person to answer.
"I wondered if you remembered." Said my sister in law.
"I remember."
"I am feeling very relaxed." Said Tammie.
"Mmm... me too." Said Aimee. "Come. Come here. Under the blanket."
"Okay." Tammie's voice was soft, warm, and welcoming.
I watched her move. She moved in slow motion. I realized, far later than I probably should have, she and I had switched drinks when she brought the shot glasses in.
Aimee and I are three weeks apart in age. Tammie is two years younger. I watched her undress, forgetting I had seen it before, and enjoyed the way she moved slowly, unwrapping a flannel shirt, tugging off thick puffy socks, and finally unwrapping clingy black yoga pants from her soft thick thighs.
