Niagara Falls. Yep, we're here. And we can't check into the hotel for another three hours. That's both the advantage and the disadvantage of being old with no kids in tow--you only have yourself and your wife to worry about. Simple things like leaving the car fully loaded and going wandering about could not happen when we had two boys under 10. But now our boys--now in their late teens--are holding down the fort at home, while the wife and I have escaped for a little spring break of our own. Teachers of a certain age do spring break differently. Instead of heading south to party with the masses, we go north. That's how we ended up in Canada, gawking at the falls, staying in a hotel two blocks from a cannabis store.
Now, it's not that we're prudes or anything. It's just... both of us grew up working fast food in the '90s alongside burnout druggies who swore weed was their god. I personally watched three coworkers completely tank their lives smoking the wacky weed. One got pregnant, two dropped out of high school, and three just kind of... faded away. That doesn't even cover the ones who showed up half-baked every shift. Sure, they were amazing at scrubbing the floors and grills during closing, but still. Half the time you were making sure they did not zone out and stay scrubbing the same spot for 15 minutes because they could not figure out how to get out of the lobby.
And then there's my wife. She had at least one bad experience involving weed and a male coworker--a story so bizarre she still won't share all the details with me. All I know is that it involved a milkshake and the guy apparently took her up on a threat to hang it on his dick to prove the machine was making it hard enough. (Yeah, I'm guessing he was on more than just weed that day.) Whatever happened, his dick didn't fare well, he got fired, and she quit on the spot.
Anyway, after years of watching lives unravel around the unregulated wacky weed, you can imagine my shock when my wife grabbed my hand, pulled me into the cannabis store, and said, "Just this once."
"Wait, what?" I said, trying to resist. "We're THC virgins! I don't even know where to start."
She looked me square in the eye, all determination. "I know what I want."
"Oh, really? What's that?" I asked.
She smirked. "After the last few times, we need a change. K told me about these edibles that might jump-start things and mellow you out."
I raised an eyebrow. "Honey, everyone after 40 slows down. You either finish too soon or can't finish at all. It's a timing thing! My doctor told me so. Besides, I'm going on that one-a-day stuff when we get back, remember?"
She rolled her eyes. "Face it. Until you lose 20 pounds and hit the gym like you said you would back in January, you're not going to perform like you did 20 years ago. My toys only go so far."
"Yes, dear," I muttered, the universal husbandly response to being outmatched.
Before I knew it, I was being dragged through the door into a tiny hallway with a pull string bell. A young Asian woman popped out from around the corner. "Come in! Need anything?"
The room was small, lined with display cases full of bottles, jars, and who-knows-what, with four touchscreen ordering stations set up along one wall. I stood there like a deer in headlights while my wife confidently stepped up to one of the screens.
"Um, what are the ones that make you horny?" she asked, her voice calm as if she were ordering off a dinner menu.
From somewhere in the store, three voices responded in perfect unison: "Pineapple Blast gummies."
And just like that, my wife bought $8 worth--four gummies. We were advised, quite seriously, to take no more than one each. Maybe two at most, but only if we were feeling brave. Apparently, the dose was slightly above the recommended beginner's level of 2.5-something-or-other.
"The full effects kick in within 30 minutes to an hour," the clerk added cheerfully, "so... enjoy!"
And with that, we left, me holding a little paper bag that somehow felt heavier than it should. Once we got back to the hotel, my wife was all business. She grabbed the gummy packet, popped one in her mouth, and set her phone timer like she was preparing to launch a space shuttle.
"It says about 30 minutes for the full effect. It's been... 27. No, wait--28. Should we just start screwing now?" she asked.
Before I could answer, she dropped her pants and panties, then turned over and pushed her butt right into my half-hard, half-confused penis as I was only about half-baked yet.
"Uh... okay?" I mumbled.
"Lefty loosey," she said, wiggling her hips dramatically. "And I'm not Lucy, so you'd better do it righty, 'cause I'm tighty!"
