#remert

Happy birthday to Remerting!

Remert hated to blow in public, but there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that he would ever be permitted to do so on college  grounds. And since he didn't really feel comfortable in any of the smart shops around the city, he had taken refuge to the a small park where the people were used to worse things than a fat joint stuffed between the paint-stained fingers of a cooky artist. Letting out a small sigh of triumph as his fingers closed around his lighter - a chick gadget with psychedelic flowers on it - Remert pulled it from the pocket of his hip-hugging bootleg jeans to light the small stick of pot dangling from his lips. He had been longing for this kind of smoke all week. It wasn't that he was addicted, not by far, but the week's events taken into account, Remert had found his fingers aching to roll a nice batch of grass to calm down his nerves. So far, he'd suffered from a migraine twice this week, had woken up in the middle of the night a few times in a row (which made him crankier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs) and he had forgotten to finish his exercises for several classes resulting in bad grades all over the place. Life was not looking up for him at the moment. Lighting his joint and inhaling deeply, he could feel the aromatic green smoke filling his lungs where his body fed off it greedily. The burning tip of his joint sported the same colour as the sun and had the same warming effect as well. Remert sighed blissfully, breathing out a small sliver of smoke and he couldn't help himself chuckling. Usually his mind and his mouth were going ninety on the dozen, blabbering on and on and on about everything and nothing and whether or not he had done his groceries and watered his plants, but right now he was more focussed than ever, his mind not dwelling on anything in particular. It was rare for him to be focussed and he couldn't help but wonder why he was such a scatterbrain in everyday life, while a smoke of weed brought him the clarity of mind most people possessed naturally. But next to that clear feeling he acquired from killing his brain cells with pot, there was also a rather inconvenient downside to being high and he could already feel the blood rushing through his body to gather at his sun-freckled cheeks. And not only his cheeks. Getting stoned out of his mind also made Remert horny as hell. And that was exactly why he had gone to the park that afternoon, because there was nothing to tempt him here. Grass (ooh, yes, very hot). Wooden benches (not very comfortable and what was he going to use them for on his own?). Screaming children (a general turn down for him, especially when engaged in the aforementioned screaming and shouting). Nothing to tempt him here but his own thoughts and fantasies. Taking another drag from the joint, Remert sighed. What was he going to do with himself? How embarrassing to get hot and high tucked away deeply inside the green skirts of the Hanging Gardens with nothing but his own mind to accompany him. His own mind that decided to turn traitor and screw up his discomfort just a little bit more, providing him with all kinds of yummy visions and naughty thoughts of a couple of attractive classmates and some of the guys he knew that he thought to be pretty hot. Grabbing around for his brown leather jacket, Remert draped the fringed thing over his lap with his free hand just to be sure, not wanting to scare off any possible passer-by's with the fact he was sporting a boner. He wasn't a pervert, he wasn't! His body just worked in mysterious ways. Sighing once more at his own predicament, Remert sat back against the back of the bench, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. There was nothing he could do now but wait until his heat had passed, his cheeks ablaze and his brows furrowed in the discomfort his tight jeans gave him. But he was not going to pull his own cord in the park. He was not.