Marijuana, Sleep, and Dreams

Via Psychology Today
Published on June 22, 2009 by Jann Gumbiner, Ph.D. in The Teenage Mind

Does Marijuana Affect REM Sleep?

Marijuana affects dreams. Stoners say they don’t have dreams but if they stop smoking for a few days, they are flooded with dreams. Is there any psychological reserach supporting this?

Sleep and wakefulness are both parts of a normal daily rhythm. Fish, cats, humans, and many other living things have daily cycles of activity and rest. This daily cycle is called a circadian rhythm. “Circadian” comes from the Latin root “circa dies” and means about a day. Both external and internal events can influence circadian rhythms. Morning light and alarm clocks trigger wakefulness. When isolated from normal time cues, the daily human cycle is about 24 hours, hence “circa dies.”

The study of sleep is fascinating! Sleep has been extensively studied in research laboratories, like the University of Chicago, by measuring brain waves and eye movements while research subjects sleep. Gentle electrodes are placed on volunteers’ scalps and near their eyes. While sleeping, the electroencephalogram (EEG) provides evidence of brain activity. Though sleep seems like a passive state to us, the brain is still very active. In fact, the EEG of a person falling asleep shows five stages of sleep: Stages 1-4 and a stage called rapid eye movement (REM) sleep. Each stage is progressively deeper and the complete cycle is repeated several times during the night. When awakened during REM sleep, subjects report dreaming. So if dreams take place during REM sleep, the question for us is, does smoking marijuana interrupt REM sleep?

To address this question, Feinberg, et al. (1975) compared the sleep patterns of experienced marijuana users on tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) and a placebo. Feinberg, et al. (1975) reported reduced eye movement activity and less REM sleep in the THC condition. They also reported a REM rebound effect, that is more REM activity, on withdrawal from THC. So,there exists some scientific evidence that marijuana interfers with REM sleep.

If sleep is fascinating, dreaming is even more so! No one knows for sure the meaning or function of night time dreams but there is plenty of speculation. Freud believed dreams represented the royal road to the unconcsious. They told us our secret desires and fears. In his book Memories, Dreams, and Reflections, Jung describes some fascinating dreams of his own. In particular, he describes one dream that haunted him for a very long time. When he was about three years old, he dreamed he was in a large meadow. In this meadow, there was a big dark hole. Slowly and cautiously, he descended this dark hole. At the bottom, he found a richly decorated king’s throne and on the throne was a huge fleshy object. This thing was about 10 to 15 feet high and came to head but had no face. At the very top was a large eye gazing upward. During the dream, he heard his mother’s voice saying this was a man eater. The 3 year old Jung, awoke terrified and dripping in sweat. This dream preoccupied him for years. Many years later he came to understand the dream as a symbol of a giant phallus and the beginning of his theory of archetypes.

I must confess I have never been visited by a giant phallus during the night but I have had some pretty cool dreams. During a period of intense anxiety, I was obsessed with death. One night I dreamed I was sitting in a movie theater impatiently waiting for the movie to begin. My father and my brother were next to me and I was facing the big white screen, waiting and waiting. Finally, the picture began and I was flooded with profound white light and overwhelming love. Death had come for me but death was not scary, but extremly benevolent, loving and blissful. How about you? Any night time dreams you’d like to share? Any thoughts on marijuana and dreams?

Feinberg, I., Jones, R, Walker JM, Cavness, C, March, J. (1975). Effects of high dosage delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol on sleep patterns in man. Clin Parmacol Ther. 1975; 17(4):458-66.


Bonging with the Bard: Shakespeare Smoked Marijuana?

Via Harvard Magazine

Perhaps the second-most-cultivated plant in Elizabethan England, after wheat, was hemp—Cannabis sativa, also known as marijuana. The sovereign herself encouraged its growth. Hemp fibers were fashioned into rope, paper, garments, and sails. “Queen Elizabeth’s navy ran on that stuff,” says Clay professor of scientific archaeology Nikolaas J. van der Merwe, who recently helped focus high technology on fragments unearthed from a literary dig to suggest that the Elizabethans may also have smoked marijuana for its mind-altering effects. One smoker may even have been William Shakespeare.

With colleagues Francis Thackeray and Tommie van der Merwe (not a relation), van der Merwe analyzed scrapings from the bowls and stems of 24 pipes dug from sites in and about Stratford-on-Avon. The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust provided fragments of kaolin (white clay) pipes, some unearthed from the garden at Shakespeare’s residence and all dating from the 1600s. “There’s an archaeological dating system for pipes, based on shape and the diameters of the bowl, stem, and stem bore,” van der Merwe explains. “I scraped things out of them—mostly soil—but you could see little black flecks on the inside of the bowls.”

When subjected to a chemical assay using gas chromatography and a mass spectrometer—as summarized in the South African Journal of Science—these flecks proved most interesting. Though cannabis itself degrades fairly quickly, cannabidiol and cannabinol are stable combustion products produced when it burns. (Van der Merwe has detected these substances in 600-year-old Ethiopian pipes.) Eight of the 24 pipe fragments showed evidence suggestive of such marijuana-related compounds.

Unexpectedly, cocaine also appeared on two specimens, including one from the Stratford home of John Harvard’s mother. Cocaine was introduced from South America to Europe during the sixteenth century, the authors explain, “initially through Spanish conquistadors who in turn were raided by English explorers such as Sir Francis Drake, a contemporary of Shakespeare.” Other pipes showed nicotine, implying the smoking of another New World plant, tobacco.

While no one knows whether Shakespeare himself smoked any of the pipes in question, the data of course provide fodder for speculation. The researchers muse on the phrase “noted weed” in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 76, which also mentions “compounds strange.” They ask if the “Tenth Muse” of Sonnet 38 might refer to chemical inspiration.

Scholars like Cogan University Professor Stephen Greenblatt, an authority on Shakespeare and general editor of the Norton Shakespeare, are amused but not persuaded. “I suppose it’s remotely possible that Shakespeare and his family were getting a buzz from what they were smoking, but I very much doubt that it played any meaningful role in his life,” Greenblatt says. “Shakespeare never mentions pipes, tobacco, or smoking anywhere in his poems or plays, in contrast with Edmund Spenser and other writers of the period. Alcohol is a much more likely stimulant for Shakespeare’s imagination, and even that is probably unimportant. The seventeenth-century gossip John Aubrey described Shakespeare as not much of a partygoer—when he was invited to a debauch, he’d beg off, saying he was in pain. More likely, he was working on another play.”

~Craig Lambert

Drug-Bashing Republican Lawmaker Charged For Marijuana

*urgh, what a dick!​

Via Toke Of The Town

bobwatson flip.jpg
Photo: Franky Benitez
Rep. Robert Watson likes making fun of marijuana. Oh, and smoking it.

In the latest fine example of Republican high-pocrisy when it comes to cannabis, a high-ranking GOP legislator in Rhode Island is squirming after being charged with driving under the influence of marijuana, possession of marijuana, and possession of “drug paraphernalia.”

An embarrassing pot bust would be bad enough for any politician, but this guy — Rep. Robert Watson — is a real piece of work who is remembered for making offensive anti-drug, anti-gay and anti-immigrant remarks, reports Kase Wickman at The Raw Story.
In February, Watson said the Rhode Island Legislature had their priorities right — “if you are a Guatemalan gay man who likes to gamble and smokes marijuana.”
Rather than just apologize and move on, Watson — while a guest on a radio show soon after that misstep, and in response to the understandable outcry over his comments — said, “I reject the suggestion that it’s insulting.”
Watson continued to refuse to say he was sorry. “I apologize when appropriate and/or necessary,” Watson told the Providence Journal in February. “I identify this situation as representing neither circumstance.”
The East Greenwich, R.I., politician recently pooh-poohed debate over the decriminalization of marijuana as not worthy of legislators’ time, reports The Associated Press.
Watson was pulled over at a police checkpoint on Friday, according to East Haven police. Officers noted a “strong odor of marijuana” coming from the nervous Republican’s car, and charged him with possession and driving under the influence after a search.
The loud-mouthed, bigoted legislator seems to have suddenly gotten a lot quieter.
But his office finally released a statement on Monday in which he denied he was driving under the influence. He claimed he was in Connecticut to help a friend move, and was driving home from dinner when he was stopped.
“Trace evidence of marijuana was discovered and I was charged with operating under the influence, a charge I vehemently deny,” Watson said in a prepared statement.
Watson won’t face immediate political consequences for his little adventure. Rhode Island’s Ethic’s Commission won’t investigate allegations that fall outside a lawmaker’s public duties. So it looks like this two-faced THC-hound will continue having a bully pulpit to badmouth marijuana despite the fact that he enjoys it himself.
He’s been released after signing a $500 bond and promising to appear in court on May 11.

Happiness In Slavery (Excerpt) – “Don’t Kanye Me or I’ll Chris Brown You and Tiger Woods Your Mother!”

A couple chapters before the last excerpt I posted, Grey returns home from his “date” with Mia, which, of course, didn’t end with him dying.  He realizes that he doesn’t have the power to see the future through his dreams and is extremely surprised that, in contrast, the “date” went really well.  She was still with her boyfriend but seemed to lack any enthusiasm when speaking about him.  Leading Grey to believe that he may have a chance after all.  She tells him that she wants to do something special for his birthday (which he himself forgot about) and they plan on making dinner together.  His melancholy feelings evaporate and feels a new infusion of optimism.  He returns to the apartment to experience this:


“What are those assholes thinking?”

Seth was over and was sitting on the couch with Nathan and Laura as I entered the apartment.

“What?” I inquired.

“Oh, never mind.  We’re too far into the show to explain it now.  We’re watching Dateline’s To Catch a Predator,” He said, turning in his seat to address me.

“With Chris Hansen,” Laura helpfully pointed out in an accent I assumed was trying to imitate Chris Hansen, but it came of a little more like Cartman.

The fragrantly pungent scent of pot was thick in the air and even before I sat down, Seth was offering me the pipe.  I took it and sucked in a powerful lungful of smoke.  I began coughing, actually it was more like hacking; I hadn’t been expecting the smoke to come in so fast.

“Oh, yah,” Seth laughed, “We cleaned the pipe.”

Between coughing fits I managed to ask, “How?”

“We boiled some water and then threw the pipe in,” Nathan explained.

“That works?”

“Sure,” Seth started but Nathan interrupted.

“It dislodges all the resin in the pipe and then we made tea from the pot water.”

“Hey,” Seth turned to Nathan and said in an exaggeratedly angry tone: “Don’t Kanye me or I’ll Chris Brown you and Tiger Woods your Mother.”


We all burst out laughing.

“Nah, nah,” Seth threw his hands up dismissively, “I’m just fucking with you.  I heard that on Facebook awhile ago and I’ve been dying to use it.  I’ve been waiting ages for someone to interrupt me.”

I could already feel the high rippling through my consciousness; dulling everything in a wonderful glowing warmth.

My eyes were beginning to tear.

I was still kind of coughing, “You don’t have to drag that hard at all now.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Laura chucked.

There was silence for awhile as the ambient sounds of television commercials seem to attract everyone’s full attention.

“What were you up to today?” Seth asked, halfway through the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser commercial.

“He had a date with Mia,” Nathan answered, giggling.

“Ooo, really?” Seth raised an eyebrow.

“See,” Nathan started, “I told you you wouldn’t die.”

I just nodded.  I was still dangerously optimistic and I feared that speaking the events out loud would somehow curse any future dates with Mia.

The Dateline special ended and Nathan began channel surfing.

“You know,” Seth began, “I wish we could smoke music.  You know, spread a little Led Zeppelin over the pot, or maybe a little Bob Marley.”

“Nine Inch Nails,” I added.

“That’d harsh your buzz,” Nathan joked.

“I don’t think so,” I defended Trent, sitting up alertly, “What about A Warm Place, or some of the other instrumentals?  And most of Ghosts I-IV?”

Seth shook his head.  “I think you have a chubby for Trent Reznor.”

“What? No.” I was immediately aware of my defensive stance and eased my way back into the seat cushions.

“Yah,” Laura laughed, “Yah, you do.”

“I think we take for granted that we’re at the top of the food chain,” Thankfully, Seth took the conversation off course, “Like, what must rabbits or other animals be thinking?” He changed his voice to imitate what he thought a rabbit would sound like, and it was quite humorous, “What happened to Jenny? Oh, yah, she got eaten by a wolf last week.  Aw really?  That’s too bad, she was hella cool.”

We all laughed at his dialogue between to two high-pitched rabbit voices.

There was a commercial on the television for some fast food restaurant.

Laura spoke up, “Props to the dude who first looked at a potato and said: ‘I bet I could fry that’.”

Everyone nodded their agreement.

“You know what though,” Seth began, “If you look at all of the problems we have physically in our society a great deal of it has to do with our diets.  We as a species have lived for a hundred thousand years eating only meat and fruit and it was only with the advent of the agricultural revolution that grains and dairy became a part of homo sapiens’ diet.”

“No bread and no cheese?” I shook my head, “Man, I’d have been a terrible caveman.  I live for those things.  I hardly ever have fruit or meat.”

“And that’s why you’re so fuckin’ skinny and pasty, dude!”

I didn’t think that Seth meant that as an insult, but it did hurt.  I was immediately silent, and so was everyone else for a long while.

“Do you guys ever get stoned and look up at the sky,” Laura broke the silence, “And wonder if there isn’t someone somewhere in some distant galaxy smoking up and looking up at their sky and wondering the same thing?”

“Wow,” Nathan began giggling.

That idea blew my mind.  What if there were people in far off galaxies using mind altering drugs and wondering if there was someone else in some other far off galaxy?

“The likeliness of any extraterrestrial being anything remotely like us is almost astronomical.  But yah, of course it would be astronomical anyway,” Seth laughed, “Not just another similar being with consciousness but a conscious being with access to pot.”

“Well,” Laura began to defend, “Not necessarily pot, maybe some other mind altering plant or something.”

“Out of all the species of animal ever to be on the earth, we’re the only ones who have developed a concise language which has led us to develop technology and science-“

“But there only needs to be one,” I interjected, “Who’s to say that there couldn’t be another one species of some alien life form in the nearly limitless space beyond our puny little planet.”

Seth nodded, “True.”

“If I was a cop,” Nathan interjected, “I’d yell PIKACHHUUU before I tasered someone.”

The whole room erupted in riotous laughter.  My lungs began to hurt, I was laughing so hard.

I was wholly happy.

Happiness In Slavery (Excerpt) – Emerald

We sat in a circle in Pat’s apartment.  There were eight of us in the room: Nathan, Pat and I; two other guys and three girls.

I didn’t recognize any of the other people at the party.  There were roughly fourteen other people at the party but they were in the living room watching sports and doing shots.

Earlier, I’d gone through the living room to get to the washroom and saw three overweight guys in stained football jerseys talking loudly and wrestling.  I didn’t know what they were wrestling about, or if they even needed a genuine reason to, but it all looked so stupid to me.

I used the washroom and came back to Pat’s room for the massive bong rips we were about to take.

Pat had the most insane bong I’d ever seen.  It went all the way up to my belly button if I was standing, and it was taller than me when I was sitting.

We all contributed a little bit of weed into the oversized bowl.

One of the girls, a strikingly beautiful brunette with dark, exotic looking eyes, said: “I think I have a little hash,”

She reached into her backpack.  I saw a box of condoms, a small glass pipe, something that looked like a whip, and a copy of the newest issue of Rolling Stone magazine.

She zipped the bag closed and I couldn’t help but wonder what else was in there.

She sprinkled some hash over the top of the bowl and then we all took turns taking huge hits.

Another thing I loved about Pat’s bong was his bong water.  It was half water, half mouth wash.  It helped with the harshness of the smoke, and secondly, your breath. Yet another cool feature of the bong was that it had an ice catcher.  You’d put a cube or two of ice into the neck of the bong and it was supposed to make the smoke smoother going down.  I didn’t know the real, scientific reason for the ice catcher, and maybe it didn’t even help at all and we just thought it did because we were high, but I thought it made the bong more sophisticated somehow.

Pat turned on some trippy music he’d been collecting on his Mp3 player and we all closed our eyes and took in the wonderful sounds cascading down around us.

In the blackness behind my eyelids I saw a face.  It was a female face and one I didn’t really recognize, but somehow knew I should.

She was saying something.  Her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.  It looked like she was saying: “Yoga.”

“Hi.  I’m Emerald,”

The girl with seductive eyes was sitting next to me.  Closer up, I could see the flawlessness of her beauty.  She had large, almond shaped eyes cloaked in dark, smoky eye shadow.  Her dark eyeliner arced up toward her eyebrows on the far side of each eye, making her look somewhat Egyptian; like a punk rock Cleopatra.  I was kind of taken aback that she would talk to me.

I stammered out my response: “Hi.  I’m Grey,” Of course it was a lie.  My real name was nowhere near as cool as Grey, but she was gorgeous and seemingly interested in me and I was very interested in her.

“That’s a really intriguing name,”

I wondered if she had realized I was a totally full of shit, but she didn’t seem turned off; rather the opposite, actually.

Suddenly I thought about it.

Grey. That was a really cool name.  How did I come up with that? I wondered.  I’m pretty sure it was an involuntary action.  It just came out.  I didn’t even think about it.

“How do you know Pat?” I asked her.

“I don’t really,” She said, but didn’t say anything more and I assumed the long silence afterwards meant I shouldn’t push the question.

I felt my whole head dissolve into mindless fragments of thought.

No no!  I need to focus!

“What . . . uh . . . so, what dos . . ,” Dos?! Shit, man!  Learn how to talk. “What do you . . . do?”

“About what?” She looked at me with her deep, intoxicating eyes, and the contours of her lips beckoned to me; scintillating in the dim light.

I laughed.  Not because anything was funny, but because of the palpable tension pressing in around me.  After awhile she too began to laugh.  She had a beautiful quiet laugh, yet it seemed to drown out all other sounds in the room, until there was only the sound of her laughter and the blood sloshing around riotously in my ears.


I don’t know why I thought the voice was directed at me, but the sound pulled me away from her gaze and I saw Nathan flagging me over.

“You have to sit here by the speaker,” He said.  “You can feel the bass entering your body.”

I looked back over to Emerald, but she was gone.  I scanned the room and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone walk out the bedroom door and into the hallway.  It could’ve been Emerald, maybe she was just going to the washroom.

I shrugged it off and went over to where Nathan was sitting.  He was right.  You could totally feel your body rocking out along with the music.

I closed my eyes and took in the feeling, but there was the face again.


I opened my eyes and saw they were loading another bowl.

“Where are you from?” I heard Pat ask one of the two remaining girls.  One of the girls was a blonde with frayed, ill-kempt dreadlocks and the other, the one to whom Pat was speaking with, was a short, stocky gothic girl who looked as though this was the first time she’d left her apartment in years.  She had ridiculously white skin and copious amounts of makeup staining her face.

“Here,” The Goth girl said blandly.

“No . . . I mean . . . where are you from?” Pat asked again.

She just looked at him, confused.

“I think,” The girl with dreads began, pedantically, “he means: what is your heritage?”

The gothic woman continued to look blankly at the two of them.

“I’m Italian,” Pat said.  “And like my grandparents before me, I can cook like a mofo.”

Nathan got excited and chimed in: “I’m English and I’ve inherited my tolerance for alcohol.  I can drink anyone under the table.”

“My grandparents are from the Netherlands, and you know what we’re known for,” The blonde woman with dreadlocks gave a sly grin.

I wondered whether she was talking about pot or prostitution, but the Gothic girl spat out her answer before I’d fully locked onto that thought, and it was gone.

“I’m German,” The gothic girl said, pouting.  “Where’re not really known for anything,”

“Hello!” Nathan started.  “World War II; Sausages; beer,”

“Oh great,” She rolled her eyes.  “So we’re the fat, alcoholic, Jew killers.  And that happened one time.”

Everyone laughed.

I felt as though some sort of punch line was supposed to accompany this conversation, but if there was one, no one knew what it was.  Or maybe her comment had been the punch line, albeit a very morbid one.

The track on the Mp3 player changed and I recognized the song.  It was “Rain Song” by Led Zeppelin.

Yes. I thought.  I loved that song.

“What do you like about it?”

I turned.

It was Emerald.  She must’ve just gotten back from the bathroom.

“Sorry?” I mumbled.

“What do you like about this song?  I can tell you really like it,”

“I’m hugely addicted to Led Zeppelin,” I confessed.  “Jimmy Page is a god,”

She laughed.  “I totally agree,”

“The music is so . . . so . . ,” I was searching for the word: powerful.

“Powerful?” She said, not missing a beat.

“Hey, yah!  Exactly,”

“I know what you mean,” She smiled and slid a little closer to me.

At that instant everyone got up and left the room.

“Where’s everyone going?” I asked, but no one answered me, and Emerald just shrugged.

So we followed them.

We followed them into the living room past the drunk assholes in football jerseys and out the front door, down the hallway and took the stairs to the lobby where we exited his apartment and walked for what seemed a good ten minutes before we arrived at our destination.

The park.

It was a remarkably small park; only twenty feet by twenty feet at most.  It had a solitary jungle gym and a set of seesaws.

We all got up onto the jungle gym and immediately we were deep in discussion.

I was too high to fully appreciate, or comprehend, what they were talking about and zoned out quickly.

Nathan wasn’t paying attention either, he was going up and down the slide and being entirely too loud.  I was worried we’d get busted by the police for public intoxication; although, that might have just been the paranoia of the pot kicking in.

“Did you want to go on the seesaw with me?” Emerald was sitting beside me and motioned over to the other end of the park.

“Sure,” I got up unsteadily, and sort of wobbled over to the seesaws.  My legs felt oddly numb, yet I could feel the wind against them.  The cold air seemed to cut its way through the fabric of my pants and nip at my skin.

I shook one leg in a futile effort to dislodge the wind’s teeth from my skin, but then realized how utterly silly that thought pattern was and walked embarrassedly towards the seesaw.

I got on my side, and she got on hers and we started seesawing.

“So what do you do?” She asked.

“I’m a contract killer,” I said, trying to remain deadpan.

“Really?” She smirked.  “So he sent you after me, did he?”

“Well, I could forget I saw you.”

“I know contract killers, and they don’t do anything for free.  What do you want in return?”

This was going pretty well for me.  My next comment could either make or break this night.

I had to think of something really witty, yet intriguing.

“Mew Two could totally kick Mew’s ass.”

I heard a voice from the jungle gym.

“Are they talking about Pokémon?” Emerald asked and got off the seesaw.

She walked back to the others and I followed.

Damn. I thought to myself.  I was too slow.

“Are you guys talking about Pokémon?” I asked as we neared.

“Yah,” The Gothic girl said, nonchalantly, taking a drag on her cigarette.

“No way!  Mew Two was genetically engineered to be superior to Mew, there’s no way that Mew could beat Mew Two.”

“You haven’t seen the movie?” Another voice responded.

“Well, yah, I’m just saying that it’s not realistic that a normal Mew could beat a genetically superior Mew Two.”

I laughed at the fact that the word realistic was used in a sentence about Pokemon.

“Gengar could,” Another voice shot out.  It was Nathan.  “I always played Gengar and he was awesome against Mew because ghost is good against psychic.  And Gengar was also poison, so it was like a double whammy.”

“As if you guys are talking about Pokémon,” I rolled my eyes.

“How about you?” Nathan turned to me.  “What Pokémon would you usually use?”

I looked over at Emerald.  This answer could also make or break my evening.  I had to think fast.

The blonde with the dreads saved me.  “I always played with Rapidash.  Ninetails was also a very good Pokémon,”

There were scattered sounds of agreement from those on the jungle gym.

Emerald took my hand and I felt a jolt of electricity surge through me.  I shivered.

She pulled me back over to the seesaws, but this time she waited for me to sit down and then sat down on my lap.

I was breathing in rapid gasps of air, and when I realized this, my eyes widened and I tried to slow my breathing and settle my fiercely beating heart.  The sound of the blood rushing through my head was nearly deafening.

“If I kissed you, would you let me live?” She whispered and leaned in closer.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to swallow the large lump in my throat and sound smooth.  “It better be some phenomenal kiss.”

Her lips pressed against mine and the ecstatic feeling of it ripped through my very being.  I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer.

Things progressed so fast I hardly remember how we ended up back at my place.

I labouredly fiddled with the key to the apartment while she attacked my face; darting her smooth, wet tongue in and out of my mouth.  She snaked her arms around my back and I had the faint sensation, only for a split second, that there was a boa constrictor slithering around my torso slowly readying itself to squeeze the breath out of me.

I opened my eyes and saw that, of course, that wasn’t the case and realized we were still in the hallway.  I looked over at the keyhole and concentrated, as much as I could with Emerald’s tongue in my mouth, on unlocking my door.

I heard the lock turn over and I opened the door and turned the front entrance lights on.

“This is your place?” She asked as she somehow managed to remove her shoes and her coat while still ravaging my face.

“Mine, Nathan and Laura’s,” I said between mouthfuls.

“It’s nice.”


“Where’s your room?” She asked pulling me further into the apartment.

I couldn’t think straight.  Was this actually happening?  Was I going to have sex with this woman I’d only met a few hours earlier?


We burst into my room and landed together on the bed.  She grabbed my face in her hands and pressed it firmly against hers.  She pulled away slightly just enough to start kissing my neck and then licked along my jawline and finally began sucking on my ear lobes.

The wet feel of her tongue flicking quickly back and forth against the skin of my ear made my whole body erupt in goosebumps.

She stopped just long enough to say: “So are you going to fuck me or should I call a cab?”

We had sex for what seemed hours.  I couldn’t really tell because of the time dilation that happens when you get stoned, but I was sure it was at least three hours before we finally collapsed onto one another; holding each other tightly.  I could feel the wet sweat and the warmth of her body against mine and it felt amazing.

Laying there with her filled me with a wonderful feeling I didn’t want to end, but then I closed my eyes and fell asleep.