”At one point she dropped the pipe as I was passing it back to her, ashes spilled all over the sheets. She got up and wiped them off while I teased her for being clumsy. She was wearing a t-shirt and these hot little pajama pants that made her apple ass look great. She got back in bed, I packed another bowl. She was moving around, trying to get comfortable, when she slapped the sheets back. I had a raging hardon tenting in my boxers.She giggled and laughed at first, then she made a comment about my size. She flicked it, playfully. It responded.“It’s not you,” I said.“I know.”(It was.)She turned away from me, curled up a little. Her ass was hanging out of her pajama pants and pointing at me. Every time one of us shifted, we slowly moved closer to each other.After a minute or so of silence she said, “We could do stuff.”“We could,” I said. “But we shouldn’t.”“Should we?”“Probably not.”By this point I was almost touching her butt. She moved and felt me. “We’re not blood,” she said.We. “Damn! Sorry ma’am,” he mumbled. Marian was shocked by the group and the smell that assaulted her senses. She may not have been a partier in her day, but there was no mistaking the aroma of pot that exited the bus. “Dog, you ass,” one of the other men yelled. “Are you trying to get us thrown out of town?” I know him, Marian thought, trying hard to remember why the man who yelled at his friend looked so familiar. Her heart began to beat a little faster when she realized she was looking into the green eyes of her teen-aged dream. The walls in her bedroom had been covered with posters of the band named Manchester, and its lead singer, Stephen Lowd. Older now, but still an attractive man, he stood before her. “I’m really sorry,” his eyes seemed to burn into hers. “Can I offer to have your clothes cleaned?” Marian didn’t realize she was staring. His dark hair showed streaks of gray and the laugh-lines around his eyes were evident, but he was still the gorgeous singer she remembered..
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