Tagged: free

19 Puffs of Smoke

19 Puffs #13

19 Puffs of Smoke #13

Copyright James Crawford, 2014

Forget that, I was transfixed!

When I looked around, similar things were happening all over the place. Gay people were checking out various kinds of heterosexual behavior. Straight people were experimenting with homosexual people, and the brides were going at it like starving wolves trying to share a rabbit.

“Wow,” I breathed. “I’m in a porno flick. This is so cool!” I tucked into my slice of cake, and watched the fantasy unfold.

I wished Annette had come along for this one. We could have expanded our sex life in the company of adventurous people! Sweet!

I munched on the sugar rose that lived on top of my cake. All those little crystals danced in my sensitive maw and I nearly wailed from the ecstatic experience.

Ecstatic experience.



My brain assembled that reality, and I understood I was stoned out of my ever-loving mind. Pot, alcohol, X… oh my goodness. About that time, the colors all ‘round me got drippy, and the rest of the cake on my plate started laughing at me.

Someone spiked the entrees with two to three drugs.

Someone spiked the cake with LSD.

Trouble arrived with an entourage of Murphy’s Lawyers.


I was paranoid, tripping, really wanting to touch people (and be touched), and worried how drunk I was… or how drunk I might not be. Nobody else seemed to be feeling quite the way I was, because they were all over the dance floor being immensely lewd with one another.

That’s what it looked like anyway. My spirit guide kept popping into and out of my drug induced mind flatulence, and I could tell he really wanted to communicate something important.

“Blah blah blah blah blah fart blah,” is what he seemed to be telling me. I didn’t understand it, and I told him so. This did not make him happy. “Blah! Blah! Blah! Your mama! Blah!”

“Dude, that’s not nice,” I chided him. He turned away from me in a cosmic huff. “Suit yourself, I’m going to get another dinner roll, and maybe hug some people.”

I staggered, crawled, undulated, and slithered into the throbbing heart of the party. Just as I suspected, there was a hedonistic festival occurring all over the… just everywhere. In my travels from the veranda to the buffet line, I crawled over four people having sex, crept under two people who were beating one another with waterlogged napkins, and narrowly avoided losing my toga.

Finding the bread took more time than I expected. I asked the cheese where to find the bread, and got a nasty remark. Don’t ask French cheese for directions. The cheddar was much more forthcoming.

There were no plates left, and no butter knife with which to apply butter to my roll. I used my hand instead, and emptied that cow product bowl. The wad of butter in my hand made a satisfying slap when it landed on the roll, and I giggled.

For some reason I smelled my hand, the one that had been in the butter, and I caught a distinctly familiar presence.

“Jammy, baby! It’s me, Bardo Express!” The butter on my hand said.

“Hey! Didn’t I review you six months ago? You’re that subtle marijuana from the mountains near Boulder, Colorado. Right?”

“Dude, yeah! Guess what?”

“What, Bardo?”

“They put me in the butter! Isn’t that some wacked out shit?”

I looked down at the roll and the clump of weed-laced goodness that sat upon it. The image wavered a bit, and some of the colors weren’t quite right, but it was clearly what I’d come inside for. It seemed to want me to eat it.

So I did.

My face was lubricated with melted milk fat when I attempted to make my way back to the veranda, where I believed I could be safe. Denying myself the pleasure of touching other people was really hard, but I knew, somewhere in my blown mind, that starting down that path would be…something.

I don’t know who grabbed the corner of my toga, but I found myself standing, naked, in the middle of the floor. I imagine my pose looked like the “Birth of Venus,” if Venus had a penis, and a face full of melted butter.

A hand that looked like a plush, purple walrus, grabbed what might have been my ankle. Chocolate ganache joy shuddered up my body. The Kundalini snake inside me thrashed to heavy metal Enya. Without a breath of doubt left, I succumbed to the humping floor.

Bacchus, in his festive glory, would have blushed at the things going on down there. That was only the rolling around, moaning, and random touching. Even Shintaro Katsu, my cosmic excuse for a self esteem drubbing, was concerned about the things I was engaging in. He’d break into my wandering awareness periodically, to leave a comment or offer an opinion.

“Roll a little to your right. Perfect. Now hump like a wild dog.” Katsu instructed.

19 Puffs of Smoke

19 Puffs #12

19 Puffs of Smoke

© James Crawford 2014


Wow! It was beautiful. I put another mouthful of something between my lips and the flavors exploded in my mouth. I think I moaned slightly. My tongue was pushing the food around inside me in the most sensual way. I definitely moaned.

Stan stood up, looking a little confused, and announced that it was time to cut the cake. After that, he told us, the dance floor was ours.

Everyone made it to their feet, and started to clump together with everybody touching as though we were glued together. The messy horde of us shambled to the cake table, and let out loud expressions of joy at the beauty of the commemorative gateau.

Stan tried very hard to be the emcee, but things fell into a kind of merry chaos. The brides cut the cake, and started feeding people with their fingers. More happy noises, gooey sucking sounds, and the odd moan of pleasure, erupted in the room. Cake and frosting-coated fingers were taken into the mouths of the waiting throng.

The First Femme fed me cake, and it was a religious-sexual experience for me. Imagine a glowing, lesbian goddess, wearing a sheer, tight dress, stuffing ambrosia into your mouth.



Even the ghost of Shintaro Katsu, from his cloud-filled seat in my consciousness, rolled his eyes back and let out a little cry of pleasure.

I’ve heard about cruises for hedonists where everybody runs around naked and orgies are arranged for the customers on sandy beaches. They’re supposed to be the height of sexual adventure, and the pinnacle of pleasures of the flesh. Someone tried to book me as an educator on one, you see.

My girlfriend, Annette, put the kabosh on that.

She would have really been opposed to the way the wedding reception was evolving. Yes indeed.

Feeling peaceful, almost in a Zen state of “no mind,” I meandered back to the table, found the seat with my butt, and sat down. Drinking more wine seemed like a good idea, so I did.

Just like with the cake, the flavors had sex with my mouth. I kind of slid down in the chair and let it all wash over me. I couldn’t see over the floral bouquet in the middle of the table, so I can’t be sure of what I think I saw going on across the way. It looked like Mr. Steel grabbed a whole stick of butter and pounced on Scooper Ronson. They fell under my field of vision.

What in the world could they have been doing? I drank more wine.

More cake landed on the table in front of my face, placed there by a worried-looking Stan.

“I really like you, mister,” I drawled. “Your parties are special.”

He frowned at me, and kept distributing cake.

Someone on the dance floor squealed, and I heard the sound of shredding taffeta. I was curious, so I sat up to take a look. I also happened to see what Chauncy and Scooper were up to. I was unaware such things could be accomplished with butter, if at all.

Back on the dance floor, two of the guests were tearing their dresses off, in between fondling one another. Now, I knew what that was. I’d seen movies.

“I’m so happy to be here!” Katsu cried in my mind. “Get closer, gaijin pansy! Get closer!”

19 Puffs of Smoke

19 Puffs #11

19 Puffs of Smoke #11

Copyright James Crawford, 2014

“Whoa. Wait. This stuff is legendary!” I bobbed up and down slightly. “I have to write a review.” I giggled. “That is, if I remember it later.”

Katsu took the opportunity to speak up, by possessing me.

“I don’t know about the smoke, but I like the thing we’re smoking from!” He used my hands to pull the thing to my lips, and licked the glass orifice before taking a huge lungful.

“Hey!” Tina, the First Femme cried. “You just spoke Japanese! I didn’t know you were fluent! That was the best Kansai accent I’ve heard outside of Kyoto!”

“You lesbians aren’t as uncultured as I thought,” Katsu said through me.

I thanked my lucky stars that Tina thought that was the funniest thing she’d heard in years.

My spirit guide let me back into my body just as we pulled up to the house. My ass. Stan Jingle lived in a fucking mansion with a metal gate around the property! The reality of that hit me through all the pot vapor in the limo. That little dapper man was loaded.

Somehow, he’d arrived before us. He orchestrated our procession into the house, probably for the photographers, after he used a fan to blow all the smoke away from us. We tumbled out of that limo in a cloud of burnt weed.

It was a stately parade into the cleanest room I’ve ever seen, and one of the largest, too. It was all white, with pale peach accents that matched the marble floor. Insane, just insane. The buffet line seemed so far away!

Stan gave us a little formal welcome to his home, explained that the tables were set up on the veranda beyond the buffet line. The bridal party would be the first to proceed through the catering extravaganza, and tables would be called one by one after.

“Oh,” Stan pointed to a nook on the opposite side of the room, “please avail yourselves of the bar. It is complimentary, but please tip the bartender! Okay, everybody, let’s celebrate!”

“This is some spread, you secret queer.” Katsu whispered in my brain. “I hate to give you credit, but you were right, lesbians know how to party.”

My only complaint is that the music leaned so heavily on The Indigo Girls.

True to Stan’s plans, our table (or two) was the first to run the gauntlet of impressive food. As much as I wanted to know how much all of this cost, I really didn’t want to know. There’s something about eating very pricy food for “free” that bothers me.

Once in a while, I feel like a sham. Then I get a blast of clarity from the universe and I’m right as rain again.

“What’s that thing that looks like a little round pie?” Katsu asked me, and I told him I didn’t know. “Well, as the serving girl what it is, and get her phone number while you’re at it.”

I ignored the last part. “Hi, miss! Could you tell me what these adorable little crusty things are?”

“Certainly, sir! They are baby brie en croute, with a warm berry reduction on the inside of the crust. Would you like one?”

“Please,” I said.

“I want to sleep with the cute gaijin girl. Get her telephone number.” My spirit guide urged me on, and I blatantly ignored his ass. He was sulking until we got to the beef tenderloin.

The plate that I carried back to the head table required both my hands. I spent so much time at the buffet that I missed the first toast to the happy couple.

Shannon’s father, who had been drunk before, was nearly catatonic, but he had enough presence of mine to catch me before I reached the table.

“Le’ the Rabbi shay a prayer fore we eats,” he slurred to the assembled merrymakers. “Got to than God fore eatin’!”

I didn’t expect a round of applause from the room. My wrists were starting to hurt from the weight of the plate, and I did a quick calculation in my head. I’ll get to the table faster if I pray right now.

“Would everyone bow their heads for a moment, and pray with me to the universe, or to whatever great spirit holds your heart?” Every head dropped, and Shannon’s dad passed out. “We thank you for this beautiful day, these tender people, and for the love in the union we witnessed. Bring joy and blessings upon all of us here, and really, really, pretty stuff. Amen.”

I tanked at the end, but the plate was becoming a painful challenge. As soon as I hit “Amen,” I rushed to my seat at the table and put my dinner down. Everyone clapped and took their seats, too.

To me, that had been one of the worst impromptu prayers I’d ever uttered, but you would have thought I’d been spouting William Shakespeare from the way everyone was acting. Maybe they were all high, too. Considering what Karlye’s family did for a living, it was completely possible that they were as baked as we were. It certainly made me feel less paranoid.

The food was awesome. Really, awesome.

“This would have been a 400,000 Yen dinner in Tokyo,” my ghost commented, “and it would have been worth it. I didn’t eat this well when I was alive, and I was a movie star!”

“Really, I thought you would have had feast, after feast, after feast.” I responded in my mind.

“No, I had to watch my weight for the movies.”

“Oh, I never would have known that. You’re such a portly fellow, after all.” I don’t know where that came from inside me, but I delivered it deadpan.

The superior expression came off his face and was replaced by puffy, purple, cheeks, and fiery red eyes. Steam rose from the crown of my Bhodisattva’s head. I anticipated a tirade of furious Japanese, but it never came. All I heard was a rapid tweeting noise as his lips moved, fluttering like red sparrow wings at sunset.

Feeling pleased with myself, I drank some of the really nice red wine that had appeared in my glass. I don’t know wine like I know weed, but this stuff did things to the brie en croute that turned it from amusing into sucking on the boob of Mother Earth joy. I forgot about the pissed off spirit in my head, and got down to some serious exploration of viticulture.

Honestly, I felt amazing. I don’t think puffing on my Buddha had ever quite lifted me to the loving, floaty, heights that the food did. The same for the wine. There was bliss. Then there was an attack of the munchies, piercing in intensity.

It seemed like seconds before my plate was empty and I was trotting back to the line.

Somewhere in the back of my brain, I noticed that I was not the only one feeling this way. I was awash with a feeling of loving kinship, and hugged everyone of the people who were returning for more food. Some of them kissed me. I kissed them back.

Touching people felt so good and so right!

When I got back to the table, the brides were making out. That sort of thing seemed to be spreading around the room. Where people weren’t sucking face, little knots of people were cuddling as though their lives depended on it.