Sexy Almost Evil

I started with a lyrical phrase and then unreliabled the hell out of my narrator. Short, naughty and ambiguous, it’s everything I love in prose. – Malinov

Sexy Almost Evil
by Lord Malinov

We had been at the party for hours, drinking fairly steadily, until it was late, after one. Janice seemed caught in a conversation with some strange couple about injustice in different lands, at least, she wouldn’t acknowledge my subtle hints that maybe it was time to go. I felt too drunk to follow their conversation so I retreated to a sofa, to wait them out or fall asleep. I wished I had some more weed.

“I have some,” a woman beside me said, reaching into her clutch purse and extracting a long, fat joint. My eyes surely went wide with surprise, which she took for acquiescence and she snapped a lighter into flame and bathed the pinched paper end until it smoldered with thick grey smoke.

“I appreciate this,” I said, fighting back a harsh cough. “How did you know?”

“You had the sad look of a stoner without weed. I assumed.”

“Well noted,” I said, choking back another hit of the sticky sweet smoke. “Have you been here long? I mean, I’ve been here all night and I never saw you before.”

“We just arrived. Just off the job.” She took a deep draught off the doobie and held the hit in without struggle. I was no light-weight and I was fighting to keep even a bit of the monster dope down. When she released her hit, the smoke was faint, barely there, as though she had absorbed every molecule of the drug into her lungs.

“We’ve been here all night,” I said, relaxing through every muscle until I nearly sprawled across the cushions. “It was getting a bit dull.”

“But not any more,” she said in a way that made me think we were up to something more than just sharing a big reefer on the sofa. Like a wink or a little air kiss but even more subtle. I noticed then that she was very pretty, very attractive, something special in the sexy department. Tits and ass and what a fine mouth.

“Who do you know?” I asked, lacking anything better to say.

“No one. I’m a friend of a friend.”

“I see. Well, a friend with weed is a friend indeed so you can count me as your friend, no doubt.” I held up her joint and tried another big hit. I coughed until it hurt.

“Are you all right?” she asked with a hand on my knee, very concerned.

I nodded for a minute before I could voice an answer. My cock noticed her hand before I did, springing to life within my pants, inching quickly toward the pressure of her fingers on my thigh. When did she move from my knee to my thigh?

“Great weed,” I said. Her fingers grazed the bulge of my thick dick.

“I love it. It’s the kind that makes you feel happy and sensual. Every touch is like electric magic. The aroma, the purrs, the sizzle.” Then she whispered close to my ear. “Sex is the best.”

My addled mind raced, tight with desire, muddled with intoxications. Screams within rattled me. Fuck the pretty lady. I sent my imagination down the fast course of picturing her naked, sucking my cock, lying beneath me, kneeling before me, all in a slurry of seconds, calculating time, space and energy, where and when and how and now. My cock twitched. I began to lean.

Then I remembered Janice, just in an instant, just for a moment, just long enough to lead me to turn to look her way.

When I looked back, the pretty lady was gone. She took the roach with her. My eyes searched to no avail. My cock throbbed and subsided, forgetting all the excitement to slumber again.

Janice told me it was time to go and so we left. I thought to ask someone, anyone, but I realized I didn’t even know what to say, how to describe her. She was sexy, almost evil.


About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, cannabis, fiction, literature, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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