Wednesday night and the whole of Thursday, Swithin rested in and around the guesthouse.  He slept, watched television, swam in the pool and lounged in the sun.  Friday afternoon, he called Amy.

“Are you free tonight?”  Swithin asked.

“I could spare a night,” Amy replied playfully.  “What have you got in mind?”

“Dinner, drinks, conversation…”

“Then what?” Amy asked.

“Whatever,” Swithin replied nonchalantly.

“Then, how about I cook you dinner at my place, we drop a-c-i-d and spend the night together?”

Swithin smiled.  “You’d cook me dinner?”

“Would you drop acid with me?”

Swithin took in a breath.  “Sure.”

“Then I’ll cook you dinner.”

Swithin cleared his throat.  “What time do you want me to swing by?”

“Seven o’clock,” Amy replied decisively.  “Bring along a bottle of wine and some comfortable pajamas to change into.”

“Anything else?”

“Don’t forget the acid.”

Swithin paused for a moment.  “I won’t.”

Swithin arrived at Amy’s apartment building at seven o’clock sharp.  After being buzzed in, he made his way up the stairs to her apartment—familiar music echoed from behind the closed door.  He knocked.  There was long pause, followed by the sound of someone turning down the music and bare feet pattering on a wooden floor.

“Hey Baby,” Amy said in a soft voice as she opened the door.  She was wearing red Chinese silk pajamas embroidered with tiny golden dragonflies.  “Come in.  I’ve already started dinner.  It’ll be ready soon.”

Swithin walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand and a black cotton tote in the other.  “Where should I set the wine?”

Amy shut the door behind Swithin.  “In the kitchen. Next to the sink.”

Swithin waked down the hall, through the living room—a couch facing a modest entertainment center—and set his bottle of wine down near the sink in the attached kitchen. “What were you listening to before I came in?” He asked Amy as he walked over and sat down on the living room couch.

Amy walked into the living room smiling.  “Turn up the stereo and find out for yourself,” she said, pointing at the entertainment center.  She shuffled past Swithin into the kitchen.

Swithin walked over to the stereo and turned up the volume. 

The living room filled with the music of the Durutti Column. 

Swithin smiled.  “I love this band!”

“I know,” Amy said and she stirred a pot of boiling spaghetti.

Swithin raised an eyebrow.  “How could you know?”

“Paul told me.  We hung out last Wednesday night.”

“That’s right...  How did that go?”

“Great…” Amy sighed.  “I’m gonna miss him.”

Swithin pursed his lips and nodded.

“He left us a gift,” Amy said as she shifted her attentions to a pot of marinara sauce.  “It’s on my bedroom dresser if you want some.”

Swithin turned the music down and walked back over to the couch and sat down.  “What kind of gift?”

“An eight ball of cocaine,” Amy replied matter-of-factly.  “He couldn’t take it with him on the plane so he gave it to us.  I had a little bit earlier.  You’re welcome to some if you’d like.  There’s a straw in my top dresser drawer.”

Swithin took a breath.  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

Amy stopped stirring, turned around and faced Swithin.  “You’re always fine.”

“I just don’t feel like coke, right now.” Swithin replied in a slightly defensive tone.

Amy walked over to Swithin and sat on the couch beside him. “It’s more than that…  I get the feeling you don’t do drugs. ”

“I do drugs,” Swithin said dismissingly as he looked away from Amy.  “I just don’t like doing them all the time.”

“You can’t even look at me when you say that,” Amy said as she rested her head on the back of the couch.  “Look at me,” she continued in a soft voice.

Swithin turned and looked at Amy. 

Amy tucked her feet underneath her and sat on her heels.  “When was the last time you did drugs?”

“I drink all the time.”

“Illicit drugs,” Amy clarified.

Swithin dropped his eyes. “I smoked dope when I was a senior in high school.”

Amy sat up and smiled.

“What?” Swithin questioned insecurely.

Amy’s smiled widened.  “You’re the first drug dealer I’ve met that doesn’t do drugs.”

Swithin’s face stiffened.  “I’m not a drug dealer.”

Amy looked at Swithin sideways.  “Are you kidding me?”

“Okay,” Swithin through a sigh.  “But I’m new at it.”

Amy patted Swithin’s lap condescendingly. “New and never are two completely different things.”

“I suppose,” Swithin replied, sounding depressed.

Amy stepped off the couch, starting toward the kitchen, but stopped short and faced Swithin. “You are going to do acid with me tonight?”

“I’m still good for that.”

Amy crossed her arms and paused for a moment.  “Have you dropped before?”

“No,” Swithin replied sheepishly.

“You’re a trip,” Amy said, as she started toward the kitchen, stopped short and faced Swithin again.  “Do you mind if I do some coke alone?”

Swithin looked up.  “Go right ahead.”

“Good,” Amy said as she started trotting down the hall.  “’Cuz I’m gonna.”

Swithin took in a breath and wiped a hand over his forehead.

“Put your pajamas on,” Amy called back before walking into her bedroom.  “I’ll be out in a second.”

By the time Swithin changed into pajamas—long sleeved, black, silk and purchased earlier that day—the spaghetti water was starting to boil over.  After stuffing his pants, shirt, socks and shoes into his tote he walked over and reduced the water to a less hostile boil.  Amy walked in a short time later.

“Scoot,” Amy said playfully to Swithin as she stood beside him and shot her hip out to the side, striking his. 

Amy’s hip pushed Swithin a short, but surprising, distance, nearly careening him into a garbage can.  “Whoa there!”  He exclaimed as he stopped himself form falling over.

Amy turned to Swithin, smiled a stony smile and shooed him away with a flutter of her fingers.  “Out of my kitchen…  I’m cooking for you!”

Swithin smiled.  “Just ask next time.  Save those weapons you call hips for issues of national security.”  Swithin took in a breath through his nose and his smile faded.  “Did you just smoke weed?”

Amy sniffled as she took the pot of boiling spaghetti by the handle and carefully poured it into a plastic sieve resting in the sink.  “I did too much coke, so I took a hit off my pipe to take the edge off.”

“And you still want to drop acid?”

Amy turned, looked at Swithin and smiled.  “I’ll be fine…  Relax and open your bottle of wine.”  She set down the pot, reached over and picked up a waiter’s bottle opener off the countertop and offered it to Swithin.  “Glasses are in the cupboard above the sink.”  

Swithin took a hold of the opener.  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Amy huffed.  “You’re so funny…  Yes.  I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

Swithin smiled, closed his eyes and shook his head.  “Sorry.”

Amy sighed.  “Don’t worry about it.”  

After opening the bottle, Swithin poured Amy a glass and left it on the countertop beside her.  Then he poured himself a glass, walked over to the couch and sat back down. 

Amy took a sip of her wine.  “Good wine.”

“It’s a Rombauer Zinfandel, 1997,” Swithin proudly said.

Amy took another sip.  “You know wines?”

“I do,” Swithin replied confidently.

“How did you learn?” Amy asked as she set her glass down on the countertop and squatted down in front of the oven.

“In a past life I was a concierge at a resort.”

“Don’t say?” Amy replied in a flat tone.  “In a past life I was an innocent girl from San Luis Obispo.”

Swithin raised an eyebrow.

“You like your bread lightly or heavily toasted?”

“Lightly…  Did you grow up in San Luis Obispo?

Amy turned back, looked at Swithin and smiled an awkward smile.  “I’m sorry, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Not a problem,“ Swithin replied, and then took a sip of his wine.

Amy adjusted the oven temp and stood up.  “The bread ‘ill be ready in a bit.  If you would, turn the oven off in about five minutes.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

Amy picked up a kitchen towel and started wiping her hands.  “Yes, nosey,” she said with a smile.  “The bathroom.”

Swithin smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be back in a sec.  The spaghetti and the sauce are ready to go.  Plates and utensils are on the counter.  Feel free to start digging in if you’d like.”  

“I can wait,” Swithin said as he glanced down at his wristwatch.

“Either way,” Amy commented as she shuffled past Swithin and into the bathroom.

While Amy was away, Swithin leaned over and set his glass of wine on the floor.  Looking down, he noticed the dog-eared edge of a book peeking out from underneath the middle of the couch.  He pulled it out.  It was The Orwell Reader, a college book he’d once owned himself, but long ago misplaced.  As he leaned back, putting his full weight down again, the middle of the couch sank, and he heard a *crack*.  He leaned over and looked down at the front of the couch.  “Fuck it,” he said under his breath, then sat back, opened the book and started to read a random passage from George Orwell’s essay Shooting an Elephant:

“I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the natives, and so in every crisis he has got to do what the natives expect of him. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it.”

After reading the passage Swithin closed the book, set it down at his side and looked off into the space before him.

Amy suddenly burst out of the bathroom, the sound of a freshly flushed toilet echoing behind her.  “Did you turn off the oven?”  She asked.

“Shit!” Swithin exclaimed.  He jumped up and checked the oven.  “We’re still good.”

“Then, lets eat!”

Swithin and Amy filled their plates with spaghetti and bread, and refilled their glasses, then sat down next to one another on the couch. 

As Swithin started to eat, Amy set her food down on the floor, walked over to her stereo and squatted down in front of it. “Mind if play something else?”

“Not at all,” Swithin commented in between bites of his bread.

“I’m in the mood for comfort music,” Amy said as she pulled out the Durruti Column CD, picked up another CD from a stack atop her stereo, slid it into her player and pressed play.

“Björk,” Swithin said knowingly as the opening to Come to Me began.

Amy sat onto the floor, spun around on her butt and faced Swithin, nearly falling over as she did.  “Debut’s my favorite album,” she said as she righted herself.

“Are you okay?”  Swithin asked in a concerned tone as he stopped eating for a moment.

“I’m fine!” Amy said sternly.  “Stop asking me that!”

Swithin sheepishly picked up his fork and started poking at his food.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.   I was only…”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Amy interrupted as she slid across the floor to Swithin, hugged his legs and rested her head on his lap.  “I’m just feeling funky right now.”

Swithin leaned forward and set his plate of food down on the floor near his feet and his glass of wine.  “Do you feel sick?”

“No,” Amy replied still holding onto to Swithin’s legs, “I just want to sit here and listen to this song.”

“Okay,” Swithin replied as he gently placed his hand on Amy’s head.

A few seconds later, Amy started to slide one of her hands between Swithin’s thighs and up to his cock.  “You’re excited,” she whispered as she continued to hug Swithin’s legs with her other arm and look off at the ground.

Swithin shrugged his shoulders.  “I’m attracted to you.”

Amy looked up at Swithin and smiled.  “You think I’m pretty?”

Swithin lowered his eyes.  “You’re the hottest women I’ve ever been with.”

Amy let go of Swithin’s legs and started pulling off his pajama bottoms.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m pulling off your pants,” Amy replied as she tossed Swithin’s bottoms aside.  She reached up and opened her hand flat in front of Swithin’s face.  “Lick my palm.”

Swithin gathered saliva into his mouth, leaned forward and licked Amy’s palm.

Amy took her moistened hand and slid it down the shaft of Swithin’s erect cock. Then she stood up and pulled off her pajama bottoms, revealing a clean, perfectly shaven pussy.  “Lick me,” she said as she stepped onto the couch and brought her pussy up to Swithin’s mouth, pulling herself open with her fingertips.

Swithin slipped his tongue over Amy pussy, each stroke deliberate, slow and steady.

Once her pussy was moistened, Amy slid herself down onto Swithin’s cock.  Then she ripped open Swithin’s top, exposing his chest.

In turn, Swithin ripped open Amy top, exposing her breasts.

Amy took a breath.  “Okay,” she said.  “In a moment, I’m going to rise up and press back down onto you.  Got that?”

“Yes,” Swithin replied through a quivering breath.

“When I do,” Amy continued, “I want you to inhale and press yourself back into me.”

“Got it,” Swithin replied, completely unable to conceal his turn on.

“One, two…” Amy rose up the shaft of Swithin’s cock and paused at the tip.  “Three.”  She slowly slid herself down.

Swithin inhaled and pressed himself deeper.

Amy’s face suddenly stretched into a distorted yawn and her pussy synched down tight on Swithin cock.

“Feel it,” Swithin said as he supported Amy’s back with his hands and pressed himself even deeper.

Amy’s arms rose up as if she was lifting an invisible weight and her distorted yawn morphed into what looked like the twisted branches of a wire tree.  Her fingers were snarled and he muscles in her arms were flexed, as were the muscles of her chest, belly and thighs.  Her pussy clamped down even tighter onto Swithin’s cock.

“Ah!  Not so tight!” Swithin exclaimed.   

Urine started to spout out of Amy’s urethra and onto Swithin’s chest.  She began to convulse violently and thrash about.  Her teeth snapped shut and her eyes rolled back into her head. 

A cold flash of sweat washed across Swithin’s face as he started to realize what was happening.  “Dear god,” he whimpered under his breath, “you’re having a seizure!”

Chapter 29>>