"Here's your receipt, Sir, and your purchases." He handed me a bag. "May I say, Sir," and he leaned forward until his face was inches from mine. "You ...otta be the luckiest son of a bitch." Oh, that right?" Sure seems that way from here." Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." So ... which one is yours?" Oh, none of them." No?" Uh uh. We're all just friends." So you're not ... with Heather?" Nope." You might be lucky, but I'm not sure you're smart." What do you mean?" Hey, no offense ... but she's. There was a feeling of mutual satisfaction I could sense it. Mine from the feeling of his body pressed tightly to me like this, his hands at my face keeping the seal tight so I was sure to get the full hit. And all the while he knew what I became once this kicked in. Whore weed. That's what we called it. I'd say, 'this is my last hit'..and he'd smirk and bring his mouth back to mine to blow yet another into my body. He wasn't taking no for an answer and I needed to know that. Just as we. More

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