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Stoned

By on August 31, 2015
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A59 stoned

Written by Karalyn Dane. For more fiction by Karalyn, check out Mikvah Night.

Rated R

Editor’s Note: This piece has been identified by the Jewrotica staff as containing content that may be triggering for some readers. This type of content may include sexual assault, questionable consent, abuse of any kind, self-harm, or violence.

“What a stupid fuck,” I said out loud to the stone animals in the sculpture garden where I sat on a bench, smoking up. We used to call them the “stoned” animals, which is why this was the place where we always came to smoke. Yeah. Me and the stupid fuck. Me and the stupid fuck and his frat-boy friends. And sometimes me and the stupid fuck and my friends. My real friends.

Now I come here to smoke alone. I always swore I’d never smoke alone. That was the sign of a real addict, I thought. If you smoke with friends it’s fine, it’s a social thing, you know? I mean, everybody does it. Well, here I am, smoking a big fat bag of his shit. The shit he and his frat boy friends grow in their Jewish frat house. The fucking frat house where I lost my virginity to the stupid fuck. Yes. It was a stupid fuck. So very very stupid.

They were having one of their weekly parties. It was a Friday night – an “oneg Shabbat,” this time with four kegs. Everyone milling around holding big fat red and blue plastic cups whose insides glowed green, purple and amber from the strobe lights. Our little cups like shiny bubbly beacons of stupid fucking hope.

When things got a bit more mellow they broke out the pot. Joints (lit from the Shabbat candles that one of the girlfriends lit in the frat house) were passed around the room, their tiny cocoon-like bodies glowing ultraviolet in the black light, fluorescent orange butts trailing curlicues of smoke up towards the ceiling. I was already trashed. I lost count at six beers. Seven or eight puffs later and Jake was leading me to his room. I felt so awesome from the pot! It must have been a cement shoes strain or something similar. Now I felt like one of those weed cocoons had burst forth in my chest. My heart fluttered. I was a beautiful butterfly on the holy Sabbath, even though I totally smelled like stale beer and pot. At this point, I was having a somewhat psychedelic experience. I felt that the wallpaper in the room, random objects, and the table was also moving along with me. It was perhaps the mixture of alcohol as well, but it’s known there can be cannabis strains that are far more psychedelic than others. For example, take a look at this webpage found on https://www.budexpressnow.net for some psychedelic strain information.

We were on his unmade queen-size futon in an instant. He didn’t bother to turn down the zebra-striped comforter, we lay down on top of it. We were kissing. No. He was prodding my orifices with his tongue. I saw everything in a detached pot-induced haze. Then he was in his boxers and I was in my bra and bikini underwear. When did that even happen? My bra came off. He was sucking at one nipple, squeezing the other like it was one of those yellow styrofoam smiley face hand-exercise balls. I stared out the window at the stars.

My heart was pounding out the rhythm of the music still coming from the stereo in the living room. He got up out of bed, and my eyes followed him – a question under my lids. “Just getting a condom.” I nodded.

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Staff writer and editor at Jewrotica, Karalyn Dane is a poet and a novelist with a penchant for beer and unusual vegetables. She may or may not live out the many fantasies that she writes about on this site.
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