By Cindy and Walt
The show was really very good for me, as that sort of thing goes. I made several drawings on site and sold even more from stock. I never did get around to the images I had planned to have ready for the show. That was because I spent the time I should have been drawing getting laid instead.
After the show Bobby Joe and his clan headed for home. Since I had no idea Bobby Joe’s wife had such control on him, I had already paid for a second night in the motel. That being the case I decided to stay.
One of the sketches I made on sight was of a college girl. She was very young and very cute. So I asked her, “What is there to do in this town after dark?”
“If you don’t mind college boys playing around, there is live music at the Barn. If you want something more grown up, there is the Dinner Theater,” she replied.
“Oh I’d like to see the zoo animals in their natural habitat,” I replied. “So how do I find this barn place?”
“It in an old building downtown. You can’t miss it they have a big sign. Don’t look for a barn though. It’s in an old automobile dealership building. It’s been a dance club so long none of the kids know what kind of cars they sold there,” she said with a laugh.
“Thanks, I’ll give it a try since I’m stuck here another night.” After the show I went to dinner then back to the motel. I moved everything that might get damaged or stolen into the room. I hung around watching cable TV until 8:30 then went in search of the Barn.
The sign read Bailey’s Barn. Like the college girl had said, it was an old automobile dealership building. Also like she said there was a live band. The band started at 9 PM which was fifteen minutes away after I arrived. While I waited I took a quick tour of the building. I carried a draft beer for ballast. The band was elevated slightly above the showroom floor. The bar was set up in what had been the office area. The two bay repair area was kind of a lounge.
The smell of burning carpets was already heavy in the air. I was kind of amazed that so much regulated pot was on the market so soon. The national pot law had been in effect since a few months before my trip to paradise. In one year the former cigarette manufacturers had found enough legally grown pot to supply the country during the up coming year. There would be no further need for them to import it into the country from Mexico.
Pot was still being imported for the short term but it was no longer smuggled. There were nowhere near the profits for the middleman. The manufactures bought it at a regulated price and sold it at a regulated price. They also paid a huge tax on the product.
Pot was sold two ways. Loose cutting in the smoke shops like pipe tobacco had been. The other way it was sold in a ten pack of pre-made cigarettes. The slogan of one cigarette manufacturer was simply, ‘No Stems, No Seeds That You Don’t Need, Just a Bad Ass Weed.’ Yes there had been some changes while I was away.
I wore a tight tee and a pair of tight jeans, so I was right at home with the younger crowd. The tight tee was cut so low in front that it probably should have been illegal. If I still had the fake boobs, guys would have been hanging all over me. Since it was still obvious I was a female, although I was a slightly older one, the men still came to speak to me.
One of the guys looked to be either a senior or a grad student. “Hi there, I’m Jeff,” he suggested.
“Well hello there I’m Rita,” I said. I guess old habits do die hard. When I left him and I would leave him, I didn’t want to be tracked.
“I would offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one,” he said.
“I do indeed,” I said.
“How about a smoke do you have one of those,” he asked.
“No I don’t,” I admitted.
“Would you like one?” he asked.
“Sure why not?” I asked as an answer.
“We have to go back into the lounge to smoke,” he admitted. “Since they pipe the music back there we won’t miss anything.”
His cigarette wasn’t the size of the ones I had seen advertised on TV. It was short, fat and stubby with a wooden tip. “That’s an interesting joint,” I said.
“Yeah there are all kinds of manufacturers these days. They have to do things a little different since the big guys can sell cigarettes so cheap. Some of them mix their weed with something else to blend it, some just make a different shaped one. Some even use a different strain of marijuana,” he said.
“So what are you some kind of pot expert?” I asked with a laugh.
“Kind of,” he admitted. “I’m a grad student in biochemistry.”
“I will be damned and I’m smoking your pot. I think I need a chastity belt,” I said with a laugh.
“Pot does relax your inhibitions for sure. It relaxes you before you get really high, so you aren’t falling down drunk before your panties get slippery and fall off,” he said with a laugh.
“So if I sit here and listen I’m going to learn more than I ever wanted to know about weed?” I asked.
“There isn’t a lot to know. The hardest thing for the government to understand is that they are going to create a large demand for this shit. They need to learn how to control it on a lot of levels. If they tax it high enough to dampen sales, they will encourage the illegal market. It’s going to be a mess for the next few years.
That’s not even to mention the number of habitual users who will be driving cars and running dangerous machinery while high. Drug testing failures will go through the roof. All that is in the name of the war against drugs, and of course new revenue stream. Those taxes will be hitting those who can least afford it. It will be a high percentage of their lower income,” he said. “I mean a habitual user who makes a hundred thousand dollars will pay the same tax as one who makes ten thousand.”
“So it’s going to be a ‘let them eat pot’ moment in the making,” I suggested.
“Exactly,” he said.
I was mellow enough that I didn’t really care about the pot business any longer. I wanted another beer and to dance. Jeff was amicable and I was feeling the effects of the pot. It was a nice mix and one guaranteed to get me laid.
There was a problem with me and sex under the influence. It felt good, but it was much harder to orgasm. Poor Jeff tried everything in the club to get me turned on, but in the end I left before it happened. I had to leave. I was getting high on the second hand smoke as well as the short stubby cigar like joint I had inhaled.
Jeff followed me into the parking lot, “Why don’t you follow me to my place. We can have a few more beers and maybe a little more pot?”
“I want to get back to the motel or I’m going to be too high to drive soon,” I suggested.
“Then I’ll come back with you,” he suggested.
“I appreciate the offer but I don’t think so,” I said.
“You seemed really curious about marijuana and I know all there is to know,” he said. “Maybe I could give you a quick lesson.”
“You and I both know you want more than to give me a lesson,” I said with a laugh.
“You know that knowledge comes with a price,” he said.
“I’m not sure I want to pay the price,” I said.
“Let me try to convince you,” he suggested.
“Okay, just follow behind me,” I said. I drove carefully not because he was following, but because I felt the effects of the beer and pot. I frankly didn’t care if he made it to the motel or not. Sure I was relaxed, but I really wanted Billy and his dad again.
When I got to the motel, I was almost disappointed to find Jeff pulling in beside me. I didn’t even have time to get out of the truck before he was in the parking space beside me.
We went to the pool to sit in the dark and talk. Jeff lit another of the pot cigars. “Here give this one a try,” he suggested.
“Where do you get these things,” I asked. I had never been a pot smoker and I found it tasted as bad as it smelled. It did make me feel good and relaxed, so I continued to smoke.
“I make them myself,” Jeff said. “I buy the rice paper tubes and I have a hand crank machine to make them. It’s a blend of Marijuana and some other herbs. Then I fit them in the wooden holders.”
“So you don’t grow the pot?” I asked.
“No, I know the guys who does though. They don’t process it. The sell their pot to a small manufacturer who blends it. He has the secret blending recipe and process. I know it’s a little different and not as potent but it taste better and makes for a more mellow high,” he said.
“So your stubby cigarette is home made from shit that fell off a truck?” I asked.
“Yeah, something like that,” he said.
We passed the stubby joint back and forth for a while, then lit another. I was pretty high when we finished the second one. Jeff leaned over to kiss me by the pool. His kiss seemed very sweet and tender. I enjoyed kissing him. Hell I would have enjoyed kissing a frog at that point.
He broke the kiss after a moment or two then slipped his hand under my tight top. His hands were warm and I responded to him by pressing my chest harder against his hand. It might have been his hand but in my mind it belonged to Bobby Joe.
When he unbuttoned my jeans so that he could slip his hand down to my clit, it was Billy’s hand in my mind. “Not here,” I said buttoning my jeans. I walked to my room, opened the door, and went inside.
Jeff followed like a puppy. I didn’t fault him. I expect most any man would have. I hadn’t really refused him, I had simply said not here.
Once inside the room Jeff removed my top with some difficulty since it was overly tight. The jeans gave him an equal amount of trouble. As a contrast I found his clothes fell away under my more expert manipulations.
I was a lot smaller than Jeff and it showed in his approach to me. He seemed to be afraid I would break. I didn’t bother setting him straight. I was naked when he kissed me again. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. It was all pretty exciting. He massaged and tweaked my nipples. I felt really good. Most of the post surgery numbness had gone. I was sure there was some reduction of sensations but all in all it was a delightful feeling.
I felt him run his fingers up my arm, then lift and lowered it until my hand was in contact with his penis. I grasped it instinctively. I heard him moan at my touch. That moan encouraged me to stroke him not too gently.
We were both breathing hard as we engaged in some serious foreplay. Jeff was really trying hard to make me lose control but it wasn’t happening. I was enjoying it, but I was very much in control of myself.
That changed when he pushed me against the bed. It hit the back of my knees so that I collapsed onto the bed in a sitting position. Before I could pull him down on top of me I found him between my legs with his mouth pressed firmly against my clit. His mouth drove me to distraction. So much that I just gave in to it to the exclusion of doing anything for him.
He used his tongue to manipulate my clitoris up and down then side to side and back to up and own again. I came with a huge expulsion of air. When he realized I had cum he moved to sit beside me on the bed. He waited while I recovered.
When I looked at him he smiled at me expectantly. I knew what he wanted so I moved between his legs. I licked the underside of his shaft until it was standing almost straight up. Then I licked the head of his penis as if it were a lollipop. At first his penis tasted stale like dry semen. Very soon it became wet with more precum. I soon began to taste that as well. He was moaning and trying to force his penis into my mouth.
I opened my mouth and allowed him inside. I gently nursed on his cock while he moaned and begged me to suck it harder. Finally I did and I even worked it into my throat as Sam had taught me. He was much smaller than Sam of course so it slipped easily past my throat. When he came I choked on it but not as much as I had with Sam, so I didn’t panic as I had with Sam.
Jeff emptied his semen into my throat and I managed it. Jeff or the other hand was almost mad with the feelings of cuming directly down my throat. “My God I have never felt anything like that,” he said. “I came so hard it felt like it was being torn from me.”
I just smiled as I lay down beside him. I was a little queasy and needed to just lie still. I thought it was probably from the pot. Whatever it was went away after a few minutes. I lay there till my breathing was normal and my stomach settled.
When I felt normal again I said, “It was fun Jeff but now you have to go.”
“Are you sure? If you give me a few minutes I can go again,” he said.
“I’m sure you wore me out,” I said to appease him.
After he left I fell asleep remembering Bobby and his son Billy. I had been with two men before, but never a father and son. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. I replayed every second of it and found myself screaming for sexual release. I knew Bobby thought of Billy as just his cover, but Billy was a large part of what I found exciting about the experience.
I slept like the dead until 5 AM Sunday morning. I left the motel for an hour walk along the road. As usual I walked a half hour out and a half hour back. I loaded the show materials in the truck then went back inside to shower for the day.
I stopped by a Breakfast House restaurant on the way out of town. I went inside since I had nothing to do in Mossberg that couldn’t wait while I had a real breakfast. When the waitress came I ordered a full breakfast with eggs and pancakes. When the meal was over I felt pretty sure I was at least a pound heavier.
After the four hour drive, I was back in Mossberg in time for lunch at the diner. First I had to stop to unload the truck. Then I went inside the downtown diner. I found to my surprised that there was no Lunch Lady special on Sunday. I didn’t know if I knew it and forgot, or I never knew it. Either way I was disappointed, but I ordered a Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes anyway.
“You done put on some weight girl. You sure do look better,” my boxer friend said.
“Well I feel some better as well,” I agreed.
“Good for you,” he said before he returned to the kitchen.
As I walked home from the diner I noticed the farm supply store across the street from my studio. I noticed, not for the first time, that it had an alley on either side of it. There were buildings on either side of the alley but none had an alley on both sides like the farm store. I had lived in the town well over a year and had never been to the rear of that building. It would require walking back there since the alley had gates somewhere along the sides of the building.
I made the walk across the street and down the alley. I was surprised how far the building went back. I was at least fifty feet deep with a loading dock on the rear. It had no access from any other street hence the two alleys. One was for incoming traffic and one for out going traffic, I suspected. There also were some pretty run down storage buildings behind the main building.
The main building appeared to be in really good shape. I wouldn’t really know till I went inside but it looked good to me from the outside. Like I said it was at least fifty feet deep and twenty five feet across the front. Not to mention it was two stories tall. My guess was that it was close to twenty-five hundred square feet not including the storage buildings. Most of those were useless but there was at least one block building which could be used. I had no idea exactly what I would do with it but something might occur to me.
I thought about that on Sunday afternoon as I went back to my studio and apartment. I had not done any more than unload my truck, so I was far behind in checking my mail. I found email from both Jeff and Billy Joe.
Hi Rita, remember me I’m Jeff from Saturday night at the Barn. I found a card on your night stand in the motel before I left. It had your web address and I got your email there. So when can I come visit? It was signed Jeff.
I had absolutely no plan to answer him. The other Email was from Billy Joe.
Hi Iris, when can you come to Selma. We would like to see you again. You know how I feel about you. Please answer this email. Billy Joe.
I checked my maps and found that Selma was over an hour’s drive away but that wasn‘t bad, I thought. Still I wanted to think some about it before I answered.
I went inside to work on the drawing of the building on the campus of the private college in the small Georgia town where I had spent the weekend. It was after 6 PM when I finished part one of the
drawing. I would be working on more versions of it over the next day or so. I really wasn’t sure what else I wanted to draw. To be honest I kept staring out the window at that old farm supply building. It had my imagination running wild. I felt like I wanted to do something mostly legal with the headquarters in Mossberg.
I ate dinner from my freezer, then went to the web to research various businesses. Finally at 9 PM I slipped into a pornographic website to check out the older woman younger man type photos and videos. From there I switched to adult chat rooms with mostly that same clientele.
A chatter who claimed to be a young man but wouldn’t give his age talked to me. The discussion got a little hot and heavy before I closed the window. I also finished my orgasmic self workout, thinking of Bobby and Billy Joe. After that I crawled onto the sofa bed.
Five AM rolled around to find me still sleeping. I looked out my huge front window, which faced the street, to find it raining. I was glad I had a truck, but was even more glad that I didn’t have a job that required my presence. I just rolled my skinny ass over and went back to sleep.
I hated the idea of drawing under totally artificial light. Luis had always said the best tattoos were made in the prison exercise yard with a pen and ink. “The light,” he said. “It’s as much about the light as the pin and ink.”
That being the case I was in no hurry to start my day since there was going to be only piss poor light on that dreary Monday I probably wouldn’t touch a pen at all.
I could give the farmers supply building some more thought, so I did. I had some vague thought in mind, but I couldn’t quite pin it down. I looked on line for a legal pot grower in the area. There were actually three.
The closest one was Gentry Farms. I decided that I needed to take a look at their operation. To do that I needed to just ride over and look around.
From all my research it appeared that the pot farms were set up much like the tobacco farms in the old days. There was an allotted amount of land you could use for growing pot. What that failed to take into consideration was that with modern farming methods, and in a place like Alabama, it was possible to grow year round without too much expense. The acreage allowed by the Fed could be used to grow three crops inside a green house. It was a bit more expensive than growing it ‘in the wild’ but it made a farmer pretty rich. That is until it drove down the price of the leaves. The manufactures of Marijuana cigarettes were only interested in the leaves. The stalks and stems had to be disposed of. Most of the farmers buried them in the ground to aid in the fertilizing the plots.
I learned that from talking with Adam Gentry. He was the patriarch of the Gentry family. The real problem was that his two sons could make more money with less work in the city. His one teenage son was also looking forward to getting away from the business. There just wasn’t as much money in it as people thought.
“So you are telling me that once this last kid is set for life, you might be interested in selling the farm?” I asked.
“Not the farm but the allotment and a few acres to build new greenhouses. The big growers are interested in buying me out at any time. I really don’t want to sell to them.
They have been trying to get me out of the business since day one. The politicians said they wanted the business to be like the old tobacco business. Use it as a way to insure the survival of the family farms. Then the assholes came in and bought up all the allotments. The politicians probably knew it would happen,” he said.
“So how about selling the allotment to me?” I asked. “I hate politicians and corporations as much as you I’m sure.”
“I ain’t doing nothing for at least five years maybe ten,” he said.
“Well then how about selling me the stalks and stems from the plants? The stuff the manufactures won’t buy,” I suggested.
“You would have to get a permit to market anything that contains THC,” he said.
“I figured that. If I can take care of that would you sell to me at a decent price? I’m just going to blend it into tea bags,” I said off the top of my head. I could remember Jeff talking about all the things I could do with it. Tea struck me as the least work.
“You get the license and I will sell you that stuff for a hundred bucks a bale. You seem like a nice lady,” he said.
“And I didn’t even have to flirt with you,” I said.
“Well honey I’m a little old for that,” he said.