'Go on,' Myra urged. 'It's the greatest.'
Deciding she had not a thing to lose, Kit imitated Myra, sucking savagely at the stick, filling her lungs, her stomach, tensing every muscle as she forced it down. About to burst, she wrenched the stick from the vise of her lips and returned it.
She struggled to cramp the smoke down inside her, packing it by gulping, swallowing air. At last she had to let it hiss slowly out of her.
The next drag was easier. It sat like a lump inside her, then seemed to ooze through inner pores into her bloodstream. When she released her lungful there seemed little pressure left.
She had been gazing at one of Myra's abstract paintings. It was colorful, decorative, almost garish. But now she saw it come alive. The colors were layered and moving. Reds began to scream. Yellows blushed. The frame was transformed to a rectangular rainbow, a psychedelic nimbus.
Kit gasped, 'Myra, I'm turned on! That painting is like a Technicolor movie.'
'This is grassy grass, this Panama Red. Besides, there's a little hash mixed in. It lifts you like a balloon. Have you ever been a balloon?'
'No, I'm a movie projector,' Kit giggled. 'I'm projecting that painting of yours inside out on a wide screen.'
'If you're zeroed in that heavy, I won't be a balloon either.
This nonsense talk somehow made perfect sense to Kit.
Myra took gold tweezers from the cigarette box and gripped the remaining butt of the pink stick, the roach, they called it. She held it to Kit's lips. Kit sucked it down to her toes. Her toes seemed to bloat, spread out, curl like fingers. She kicked off her sandals and toed into the nap of the rug, tugging it as she Pressured her gutful of grass down into a tiny pocket.
Myra had another pull before dropping the roach into the ash tray.
Kit watched the abstract painting change colors like a kaleidoscope. She gasped, 'What a crazy cigarette that was!'
Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Myra's hand reach up to her. Slender fingers combed into her hair.
'Silky,' Myra murmured. 'Copper, gold, silken threads, a million of them, fluffy soft-'
Kit was aware that the girl had moved closer to her. The abstract painting was going away. She saw Myra's eyes, green warmed by other colors, not that green glitter associated with bitchy women, but a smiling haze beaming affectionately at her. She studied Myra's peaches-and-cream complexion, her delicate nostrils, her baby- pink lips. The lower lip was wide and plump, a damp cushion flattening as she smiled.
She realized that her time sense had been stretched by the drug. While drawing a single breath she could. study Myra's smile, look inside it, wonder at its meaning, evaluate everything the girl had said to her on their brief previous meetings. She gazed at Myra's slim golden arms, examined their contours, looked at the knobs her nipples made in the white halter, glanced at her long, downy, sun-gilded legs, at the shorts crotch molded to the form of her plump mound and large cunt lips, at the line of material drawn into her split. With a single look she saw Myra a thousand times and thought a thousand things.
The pertinent thought was that Myra's fingers winding voluptuously into her hair, her nearness, and her smile, all fitted that single ass caress at the party.
Kit knew she was going to have a lesbian experience. The thought did not disturb her. It would be part of this fourth dimension where picture frames were transformed to rectangular rainbows. She liked this shimmering, iridescent world. She would swing with it, let it happen, judging no one, especially not herself. She would float, drift, engulfing whatever pleasure arrived.
Myra's lips parted.
Her pink tonguetip slid out, wet and sinuous. It advanced. The fingers that had been weaving into Kit's hair curled around behind her neck, emerged touching her other cheek, turning her face toward the encroaching tonguetip.
Kit watched the tongue slipping in between her own lips, which had formed a small circle to admit it.
The tonguetip revolved slowly, rimming Kit's lip circle, opening it. Myra's mouth pressed in. An open seal was established.
Within it, Myra's tongue probed.
The tongue spilled heat down Kit's throat, a syrupy pink warmth that filled her body, dripping like honey down her vagina and seeping out her cunt lips into her panties.
It was delicious. Oh, it was a grass-floating drug thing, not real. Or did the drug only exaggerate the bald fact that she loved kissing this girl?
She raised her hands to Myra's face and caressed the velvety skin, held her firmly while yawning, turning her head to thrust her tongue in deeper.
In a corner of her mind she knew that no kiss could last this long or be so voluptuous. The drug tripled time, quadrupled it. An instant seemed an hour. Even the ending of the kiss was ridiculously drawn out, a lingering, sucking separation. Still reluctant to quit, Kit licked ovals about the girl's lips.
Myra spoke into her open mouth.
'I knew you would swing, Kit. Your every movement is so sexy. You sort of flow against people, man or woman. You're a very hot cunt, aren't you?'
Kit slowly nodded agreement without pausing in licking Myra's lips. They were simply creamy. She sucked the plump lower one as Myra spoke again.
'Sex with a girl is so much better, isn't it?'
Kit was puzzled. She was not exactly sexing with a girl, but with her mirror come to life, with a dream, a fantasy, colors from the abstract paintings gathered together and shaped into female form. She caressed peach- fuzzed cheeks, delicate earlobes, a soapy-soft throat. She fingered through warm hair that clung sensuously to her hands. What Myra said mattered little. This new world of visual beauty and voluptuous tactile impressions had consumed her.
Kit remembered many years ago staying overnight with a girl friend. She had been thirteen or so. In bed they had kissed, caressed each other's titties. In those days without responsibilities, she had been a giggling, giddy, happy girl, willing to try anything.
The drug was letting her float back to those days, away from the Sonny problem, into a world where each sight and touch and smell was new, exciting, unburdened by meaning.
Her fingertips brushed down Myra's soft throat to the white halter. They dug under it and drew it down long, white, broad slopes. She lifted it to clear nipples thumbing out from aureoles the size of small saucers. She levered the material down underneath the luscious melons.
The time-stretch afforded her an hour to finger-circle each breast, to tour the puffing aureoles, to tweak and gently milk the nipples.
A finger touched her chin. Myra's open mouth was approaching hers. She tongued into it, licked and sucked the sweet saliva.
With thumbs and forefingers she still milked the huge nipples.
Myra drew back. Kit glanced down at the protruding breasts shadowing the girl's belly and shorts. A metallic glitter caught her eye, the zipper tab of Myra's fly. She pinched it and pushed downward. The shorts yawned, exposing white flesh, then low-cut flowered panties, the material marked with the dark whorls and tangles of pubic; hair beneath.
Abruptly Myra moved.
Kit's time-lagging gaze blurred. The other was standing now, holding Kit's hand, saying, 'Come with me.'
Kit became the balloon Myra had spoken of. She did not rise, she simply floated to her feet.
'Let's go to the bedroom and take our clothes off,' Myra said.
Myra drew the bedroom drapes, reducing the shimmering light that had been the soul of Kit's color-riddled psychedelic euphoria.
She felt calmer now but intensely curious about the next step in this adventure she was groping her way through. She watched Myra's big breasts sway, wobbling and jiggling as she moved. She eyed the girl's gaping shorts, where flowered panties were darkened by the backing of fluffy pubic hair. She thought, I want to tear her
