I’m Never Getting Stoned In Arizona Again

I wrote this a couple of years back, and it’s been posted to a couple of sites. Wanted to share it with you folks.

I visited AZ a while back, and I’ve been puzzling over this for a while now. Shortly after arriving in some small two horse town whose name I never bothered to learn, I smoked some fine ass White Widow, then decided to stroll downtown to check out the town. I don’t drink, but I spotted a bar, and with my mouth feeling dry as sand walked over to the bar. I entered the bar which was dark, and you could smell decades of puke, and spilled drinks. The stench hit you in the face like a well trained boxer. It contained the usual assortment of people one expects to find inside a bar at noon. A drunk middle aged woman, well past her prime that eyed me as if I were a Porterhouse steak the moment I entered the room. Some of the town drunks huddled at the corner of the bar were comforting themselves with what I imagine were Jack & Cokes, glad to have the company of the other drunks to share their collective misery.

I’d no sooner ordered my coca cola in a short glass from the bartender that I suspected was the drunk middle aged woman’s sister as they shared the same beaten down face that people get when dealt a raw hand in life when the doors once again opened let in a flood of light that was almost painful to they eyes that grown accustomed to the dark interior of the bar. The bartender, and the regulars offered up a cheerful greeting of “Hey B” to the young woman in her 20’s with brunette hair. She strolled across the bar, her hips swinging in that seductive way that women have mastered in the course of their lives, well aware of the desires it can invoke. She sat at the bar leaving a bar stool between us. She ordered herself a Jack & Coke then turned to eye me over, and evidently she approved of what she saw, as she tossed a smile my way, and gave her hair a flip with a shake of her head. She spoke up, informing me that I must be new to the area because she knew all the men in town intimately, then threw me a wink to make sure I understood what she was saying. She introduced herself simply as “B”, and I saw no need to inquire what it stood for, but I had a niggling suspicion that I somehow knew this woman from somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place from where. We chatted for a bit, I paid for her next drink then excused myself to use the men’s room. I finished up my coke, went to stand up, and suddenly the world started spinning. I’d only smoked about a gram of that White Widow, it shouldn’t be hitting me like this I thought. “B” grabbed me before I fell, and guided me back to my barstool. She then stated the obvious telling me that I was in no condition to go anywhere without help, and offered to take me back to my hotel. Unable to move my mouth, I simply nodded as the room continued to spin, and my knees grew ever more wobbly. I remember thinking that I hoped the poor thing would hurry up, and get me to the hotel before I passed out. She walked me out to her BMW which I thought was rather strange vehicle to see in such a two horse shit hole of a town, but didn’t give it a second thought as I collapsed into the leather seat, and drifted off to sleep, unable to keep my eyes open for a moment longer.

I was awakened by a mighty slap to my face only to discover that my hands were bound to the bed posts, as were my legs. I was naked, and so was the helpful stranger named “B”. She smiled, and told me that she noticed the faint aroma of cannabis in the room, and in my stupor I grinned, and replied that I only smoked the best. She asked if I was a liberal, and I assured her that I most assuredly was, momentarily forgetting that I was tied to a hotel bed by a complete stranger. Her eyes kind of got funny when I answered that I was indeed a liberal. I can’t tell you to this day if it was excitement, anger, or madness that was in those eyes, but it was scary as I’d never seen such a bizarre transformation in someone’s eye’s like that before. She started rubbing herself against me, and playing with my willy until it was sufficiently erect. She told me how her mommy hated it when she fucked liberals, and that there wasn’t anything more fun in her eyes than pissing off mommy dearest. I started to protest that we should probably use some protection if this was going to happen, and she slapped my face, smiled the sweetest smile I ever seen, and told me to never suggest such a thing in her presence ever again. Sitting with one hand on my erect member, and using the other to stroke my face where it held the red mark of her hand, she asked if I was parched, and I told her that yes indeed I was parched. She smiled that sweet smile again, picked up a glass of coke with a straw in it, and held it to my face so I could drink.

Fuck! Goddammit! The room started to spin, I couldn’t move my mouth to speak, and I was quickly starting to fade! It hit me in that moment just exactly what had gone down at the bar earlier. She must have spiked my drink when I went to the men’s room! How could I have been so fucking stupid? The last thing I heard was that it was time for momma to have some fun, and I have a vague recollection of her climbing on top of me, and starting to insert my erection into what looked like the hairiest vagina I had ever seen. It looked like she was using a poodle for a maxi pad or something, and then I blacked out.

Hours later I awakened to find that the restraints had been removed, the sky had grown dark with the passage of day into night, and a note on the dresser addressed to “The Stranger”. Puzzled, bewildered, and trying to figure out if I should even attempt to find a cop to file charges I picked up the note, and began to read. It read:
“Thanks for the wonderful time. Sorry I drugged you, but you liberal men tend to run away once you find out who I am, and who my family is, and sometimes a girl just wants a good fucking you know? I needed a man, and sugar, you certainly fit the bill. Come see me next time you are in town, and if you ever make your way up to Wasilla, AK be sure to look me up.”
It was signed “BP”.

Man, I’m never getting stoned in Arizona again….