She looked like she had the flu. And she was restless, squirming around in her seat.I parked behind a gas station, reached over and opened my glove bo.... Took out a baggie with four blunts. Winked at Balukas whose face lit up. We hustled over to a battered plastic picnic table, faded red, and I brushed some twigs and trash off the bench. We bundled our coats tighter.I lit hers, then mine. Mine was more tobacco than grass; hers wasn’t.Just like the self-help articles recommended, I waited for her. She might be small, but her weight was still enough to elicit a groan of pain if she landed too hard.“I wish you could be on top of me,” she moaned, doing deep knee bends at a rate that would have made a personal trainer - had they existed yet - quite proud.“I’d squash you,” panted Mortimer, who was having great fun squeezing her leaking breasts. “I don’t want to squash you.”“My legs are getting tired,” she complained. “But I love this! I don’t want to stop.”“I love this too,” sighed the giant.. More

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