Walking through the front door, you had no idea that your roommate had bought a bong. Frankly, you didn’t even recognize your roommate! The person that stood before you wasn’t the Jason you left that morning! Your normal, average, quiet roommate was replaced by a young, twenty something stoner with long brown hair and tattoos. Not that it bothered you any, he was kinda cute!
“Hey, man. Bought a new piece today, and it hits like a motherfucker. Took the day off from work just to christen it! Wanna hit?” You hadn’t ever done marijuana before, and frankly, it kinda scared you. You sheepishly sauntered over to your table, smelling the dank weed waft from the gigantic bong. Strangely, you smelt something else… It was your roomie! He smelled like he hadn’t showered in a couple days, as if he smoked every minute of every day for a week! You could smell his armpits as you neared him, clearly a beautiful musk emanating from them. You always had a musk fetish, but your formerly clean-cut roommate always smelled like Irish Spring! Now, he’s chill as fuck, offering you a hit from a gigantic bong, and has that sweet musky scent about him. What a dream come true!
“Aight, so this stuff is called ‘Pandora’s Box. You know how to hit this thing, right?” You shook your head, causing him to whip out his Bic lighter and quickly ignite the bowl. He took a sizeable hit, and let it out in a huge cloud of smoke. The weed was clearly dank as fuck. When the thick cloud dissipated, you were shocked to see your roomie now had snake bites, an eyebrow piercing, and a tongue piercing. Before you could say anything, your roomie passed you the bong.
You stared at the huge, dirty glass cylinder. The water was a murky brown, and specks of residue lined the interior of the chamber. Nervously, you stare at your roomie, who is sitting back in his chair, his eyes closed and face toward the ceiling. He was on cloud nine, and you were starting to get a bit jealous. Yet, you witnessed what happened to him. You knew that it could happen to you. You rolled the dice, and flicked the lighter.
A flame danced around the hole, as you brought the bong to your mouth and lit the bowl. The chamber filled with smoke as you inhaled, growing thicker and thicker. Your roomie awakens out of his high and chuckles. “Fuck dude, that is a big hit.” He pulls the stem out, and the grey cloud instantly disappears into your mouth. You slowly let the cloud out. Carried with it is all of your anxiety and stress, your worries and fears, your inhibitions and tightness; all exhaled out of your body. The huge cloud swirls in front of you, clouding your sight. As it dissipates, your roomie is staring at you, grinning from ear to ear. “You feel it, man? It’s dank as hell. It’s gotta be cut with something.” You nod quietly, rolling your tongue piercing around your mouth, and scratching your gauged ears.
“Dude take another hit!” Rocco nudges you, and you quickly hit the bong again. The bowl rolled, and filled the chamber once again with the thick grey smoke. This time, you swear you see glimmers of blue, red, green, & purple. You pull the stop out, and familiarly inhale the smoke. It really doesn’t taste as bad as the Molly you tried the other day. You let the cloud out of your mouth, the world around you becomes slightly wobbly and distorted. You rub your eyes with your fully sleeved arms, your proudly displayed finger tattoos seemingly move before you! You smile and hit the bong again.
“Shit dude, another one?” Rocco lets out a chuckle. “Save some for me!” You let out the hit, and stare at your boyfriend. His dopey demeanour just how you like it, relaxed and a bit confused. He runs his hands through your messy fauxhawk and onto your high cheekbones. You feel his other hand lift up your shirt and run across your rippled abs and pierced nipples.
“Ay, hit this, so we can head out soon.” You smirk, knowing you had a shipment of Acid coming in tonight that will sell like wildfire. As your boyfriend takes the bong from you, you look down at your black, yellow, and green pot socks. You knew they stunk to high hell, as your size 13 feet were never seen without them on, but meh. Whatever. You pull one to your face and take a deep whiff. You smell the subtle but clearly evident musk emanating from them, mixed with the permanently stained weed smell: the perfect combo. I mean, what do they expect? When you tear up the halfpipe as sick as you do, you’re gonna get sweaty & smelly. It’s the nature of things, so why worry about it? Your trashed red Vans smell worse anyway.
Later that night you pick up your shipment as planned, and immediately sell $6000 worth of prime acid tabs. The first thing you buy? More of Pandora’s Box. Sharing is caring, ain’t it? You pull up your phone and begin to dial.
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