Hookers And Blow

By | September 4, 2011

Denim SkirtAlex and I have never been heavily into the drugs scene. We dabbled with pot some years ago when we were students and all our friends were doing it. Not because we followed the crowd but I think because it was readily available from a friend. It may seem strange to some but we have never wanted to try anything other than marijuana, even though we have passed through many drug culture epidemics along the way.

Which is safer than previous methods, including one late evening visit to a seedy basement club in our red light district. I remember me and Elizabeth entering this club and descending the stairs in to the gloom pot filled air. Our partners had decided that it would be safer for a woman to go in than them. Yeh, right.

You could cut through the air with a knife and if the local police paid a visit I’m sure they could probably filled their cells. We approached the bar at the end of this long thin basement and as we made our way, we could feel eyes penetrating our souls. It was like a scene from a film, we so totally didn’t fit in there, still dressed in our clubbing wear. The basement cliental dressed casually in cargo pants or jeans.

We stood out like sore thumbs. It didn’t cross my mind until we left that we could have been perceived as hookers. Expensive ones. We continued to walk through the room avoiding both body and eye contact. “What do you ladies want?” enquired the guy behind the bar. I ordered for us, “2 Southern Comforts, please”. Did I sound out of place being so polite? Funny how you consider things differently when placed in certain situations.

Drinks in hand we made our way over to a small table to the left of the bar and tried to look relaxed. Very difficult when you fear for your life. Ok, that may have been an exaggeration but we were not in the best of company, known criminals and pimps were know to frequent that place. It didn’t take long for a guy to come over and approach us. “Are you girls looking for something?”, he enquired. I explained that we wanted some Lebanese Gold. He said it was no problem and then disappeared for several minutes.

He came back with the goods minutes later and the deal was done. Elizabeth was a little gob smacked this was far from her normal hangout and she didn’t even smoke. She just came with me for backup. I had some great friends. I wonder where she is now? Well, if you are reading this Elizabeth thanks for escorting me that night.

We hurriedly finished our shorts and made for the steps back out to the safety of the waiting car and our boyfriends. As we stepped in to the car Craig informed us that the car had been approached by a couple of hookers whilst we had been gone. I jokingly enquired as to where they were, we could have had some fun.

Elizabeth and her boyfriend (sorry I can’t remember your name) asked to be dropped off at his house on our way home. Craig then drove us back to his flat. That is one memory which will stay with me for some time but has limited share ability, if you get my drift.

The last time I smoked pot was when I went over to Alex’s flat. We decided to get the secret stash out. I kicked off my shoes and settled down on the sofa next to him. Alex did the rolling, I have never been any good at rolling joints, just don’t seem to have the knack. I was an emergency roller, those who have indulged will know what I mean but for the uninitiated I will explain. When the effects of the drug intoxicate you and your hands don’t seem to have the functionality they once had, you have to get someone else to roll for you. No matter how you try, you have neither the hand dexterity nor the ability to concentrate on rolling. LOL.

Pot relaxes me and my mind and I quite enjoy the feeling of loss of special awareness. It also makes me loose periods of time, I seem to drift off in to sleep and then shake back to reality. Things, objects that would not amuse me in the “real world”, make me laugh. On this particular evening I recall lying on the floor and staring at a crumb on the carpet. I was in stitches, just couldn’t stop laughing at it. See what I mean?

Alex always kept a level head and didn’t seem to get quite as giddy as me. I think sometimes he was wondering what the hell I was on about. I would start a sentence and then drift off, never finishing what I started to say. When I came back to consciousness again he would ask me to finish what I had started only moments ago and I had no idea what I was just saying.

After several hours of miscommunication and chilling out I made my way to his bedroom and climbed in to bed. I must have drifted off for a while and when I woke, Alex was not in bed or within view. In my sleepy state I got up to find him. I almost stumbled over him in the low light. He was lying fast asleep in the hallway, he never made it to bed.

I gave him a gentle prod and he stirred. It was then that I noticed he was as white as a ghost and not looking at all well. He tried to get up from the floor but was unsuccessful. He tried once more and was complaining that he felt quite ill. Now I know this is well out of order but I just couldn’t help myself and I started to laugh uncontrollably. I told you I would break in to laughter at things which I normally wouldn’t. On this occasion it was also one of those not now moments. Alex was not amused.

The more he complained about my laughter the more I wanted to laugh. Not because I have a cruel streak but because of my state of mind. He eventually managed aided to crawl to the bed and I helped him in. It was at this point I must have started to come down and I began to panic in case I had to summon medical help. How would I explain his present state without incriminating both of us? It was a very sobering event.

I must have stayed awake most of the night keeping my eye on Alex in case he took a turn for the worst. Fortunately he didn’t. The next morning he couldn’t remember a thing thankfully or we may not have stayed together. Somehow that night put both of us off weed.