Thad’s first toke

by BRK   

Thad’s grad school roommate relates the seminal moment when Thad first discovered just what his special strains of cannabis were capable of.

I gotta tell you about my grad school roommate. His name was Thad Loukanis, and he had me kind of staring at him every time I caught sight of him. He was stunning head to toe, tall and loose-limbed and naturally fit, with Mediterranean messy-haired pretty-boy looks and a smile that made your blood quicken; but what really caught your attention was how intense he was, always invested a hundred and ten percent in anything he was doing in a way made you think he just had more honest-to-god life-force than anyone else. I had a major crush on him even before his first real toke—the one that changed everything.

Not that it was Thad’s actual first time doing the ol’ mary jane. He’d been getting high since he was a skinny teenager—he’d told me that much. Heck, not only did he smoke weed, he bred the stuff. Thad had all sorts of projects going as part of his plant studies masters project, and with weed recently made legal in our state his profs were thrilled to be opening up areas of study that had previously been blocked off. He was taking weed to a whole new level—instant highs, smooth soaring, no anxiety or paranoia, lingering pleasure and relaxation.

Then there were all the experiments his profs didn’t know about, downstairs in the basement of the narrow little house we rented just off campus. I was sworn to secrecy, and in return I got to help him test these secret strains, the ones that weren’t just super-strong like his school stuff but had the potential to actually alter the user’s mind in ways ordinary pot never could.

The first few months we lived together he wasn’t making much progress, constantly either downstairs in his “pot lab” or sitting shirtless at the dining room table, scribbling out formulas and diagrams and crossing them out in frustration. He’d be laying on the sofa staring at the ceiling like he was trying to bore holes in it, then he’d jump up, pull on a shirt, and run out to the garden center or the pharmacy or the frickin’ woods looking for things to infuse into his soil or weird herbs and shrubs to graft onto his already mutant pot plants. Sometimes he’d drag me with him, if he was deep in his own weed (usually he smoked the normal stuff, not the special hybrid strains—pretty strong, but he said it helped him think unconventionally, like, latticeworks of irregular and unexpected ideas). Not that I was always much better, seeing as I got all I wanted of his everyday extra-strength cannabis myself. One time we went out in the middle of the night and broke into the chem lab like a couple of psychos. I have no idea what he took, but all that next week he was extra pleased with himself, walking around the house with a big grin and a rock-hard boner in his all-black Fruit of the Looms.

That was the other thing about Thad’s weed, even the everyday extra-strong non-mutant stuff. It made me, at least, horny as fuck, and I think it had the same effect on Thad. About a month in we were toking on the sofa, completely blissed, not even watching the TV even though it was frickin’ Die Hard, and then we were totally making out and feeling each other up. We giggled, but then kept doing it, ‘cause, yeah, it felt damn good and it seemed to flow with the high, you know? Like the pot wanted us to connect. We were way hard in our boxer-briefs, too, so I got his out and he got mine out and then we snuggled and casually jerked each other off while we toked our amped-up weed and watched Bruce Willis smash up Nakatomi Plaza like a boss.

After that we kept doing it. It was less often than I’d’ve liked owing to how I got kind of fixated on his cock and that lanky bod of his and that mouth and the little patch of chest hair he had… but especially that eight-inch tube-steak of his and how hard it got in my mouth. Only, he was busy, all driven to break whatever impasse he’d encountered with his secret blends and whatnot, and I was studying Jacobean literature and that shit could wait, man. But Thad’s breakthrough couldn’t, and I was blue-balling it a lot more than I’d ever been before I discovered I had a hot ‘n’ willing jerk-off buddy right there in my tiny little off-campus bungalow.

Then one day he burst into my room and held up a baggie. “Dude,” he said, “I think this is it. You up for testing it with me?”

We both were, going by our hard-ons—we only wore boxer-briefs around the house these days—but I just said, “Sure.”

He immediately plopped down in the middle of my rug and gestured for me to join him. “Socks off,” he said—unnecessarily, because, of course, being barefoot and smoking weed went together. Thad had nice feet, too, long and tan with really mobile toes. We sat in front of each other, already a little high just from the latent effects of smoking a lot and being in a house full of weed and maybe the excitement that something was about to happen, not that I had any idea exactly what. I knew what the regular stuff did, though, and this was the special stuff.

He had papers and a lighter, and soon he had a fat joint and was holding it out to me, ready to light me up. I took it, and he flicked the lighter, sparking the joint. Like the old hand I was I drew in the first, long toke and held it in, then handed the joint to him and watched him take his first pull from his new kind of pot.

Immediately I started to feel its effects. It was like smoke wasn’t just in my lungs, it was coiling through me, seeping into my belly and my limbs and infusing my very being. I barely had any smoke to let out when I finally released, and I was pretty sure it was denuded of potency—I had absorbed everything deep into me. Already I felt like Thad and I were separated from normality, wafting gently in a universe of our own, one made of strength and masculinity and the pleasure two men could have with each other.

I grinned, and Thad grinned back at me, his handsome face opening up with real joy as he felt the effects he’d been looking for. We were connected, sharing this experience completely, like our senses were overlapping with each other. He passed me back the joint, and we each took a second hit. As it took hold I was aware of nothing but how hot Thad was—no, how hot we both were. I was pretty ordinary, nice enough looking, shorter than Thad and barely what you’d call fit; but in this moment I felt as tall and hot and sexy as Thad, and it felt right and natural, like our minds were curling around each other and our bodies reflected the intrinsic awesomeness of pure, human male beauty.

And it didn’t stop there. As we took our third hits, beauty became potential and possibility. There was so much more we could be.

We were still sitting in our underwear in the middle of the room on my rug, barefoot and legs folded, but in our enhanced dream-state high we were wrapped around each other, warm and aroused and wanting to expand our beauty. We were standing, legs, entwined, and yet still sitting cross-legged, too, I guess, because I looked down at my legs folded in front of me and saw that my toes were multiplying… I had six toes on my feet. No—seven! Fuck yeah!

I grinned up at Thad, my cock swelling and growing with excitement. I couldn’t imagine anything hotter than seven toes on each foot. Then I saw that Thad was staring down at his feet in full stoner’s awe, and I was shocked to see that he had six toes on his feet, except it was twelve toes ‘cause it was two rows of ‘em, one on top of the other.

The dream-state versions of us, the ones that were wrapped around each other like satyrs, thought this was the hottest thing ever, and we were kissing and kissing as we felt each other up. Of course it was a good idea to have more strong arms to hold each other and grope each other, and so that was what happened, and Thad and I amped ourselves up to crazy levels of arousal from having four or six or eight or I don’t know how many arms. Our chests kept stacking so we could have more arms, and that just felt more and more amazing.

We were rutting against each other, too, of course, and I could feel his dick getting bigger and harder, and as we kissed and groped each other I felt like I had to measure up to hot sexy his big ten-inch dick was. So I grew myself a second ten-inch dick, and Thad moaned in my mouth and he thrust a second dick into my groin to as we humped each other face to face. Our legs seemed to be stretching out longer to to match our torsos as we drifted in this warm, masculine nether-space, and then I was enjoying humping him so much I added a second pair of legs just so I could rut against myself as well as Thad. Thad thought was insanely hot and started adding legs of his own. And then he was cumming, and I was cumming, and we kept cumming like that was our natural state as we grew taller and expanded the number of arms and legs and cocks and everything until we’d cum all the spunk there was to cum.

I felt it when Thad’s sense of awareness started to return, eons later. We were still wrapped up in each other, sated and drifting many-limbed in the comfortable sea of manhood. I was coasting in utter euphoria, but I sensed the edge of Thad’s slightly more lucid concern as he tried to guide us back into a more normal state. It started to dawn on me that this wasn’t the dream—that the universe of masculine beauty was my bedroom, and we were intertwined and many limbed for real on the bed near where we’d started smoking the breakthrough mutant pot, covered with cum and still spurting the dregs of what had felt like unlimited spunk.

I thought this was… kind of awesome, what we were. I wasn’t afraid at all, but I let Thad guide us back toward reality limb by limb and inch by inch, kissing half-consciously all the way through. I have to admit I kind of blacked out toward the end, and as I did so and awareness filtered back to me my only thoughts were to revel in the true meaning of gratitude that I’d been able to experience what we’d shared in the never-world of eternal multilimbed, multicocked orgasm.

I woke up late the next day and Thad was gone, along with all his stuff. Even the stuff in the “secret lab” downstairs was gone. All that was left was a major stash of the extra-strong nonmutant weed, ten big double-gallon Ziplocs of it, along with a simple two-word note: “Sorry… thanks.” I checked with the plant sciences department and they said he’d dropped out to return home and focus on perfecting his strains 24/7.

If you ask me, Thad got a little spooked. It was too much change, and however amazing it was he wasn’t ready for it. I loved the experience, pure and simple, but Thad didn’t know how to control it. My guess was he’d be going a lot slower the next few years, fine-tuning, carefully testing, making sure that absolutely everything was meticulously understood and mapped out and completely predictable through his charts and diagrams… and maybe some very cautious long-term experimentation.

He got scared, but even then I had no doubt he would come back around to this place. Because he knew. He knew what was possible, and he knew that this—what his mutant pot could do—was who he was. Or at least, it was who he would be, someday.

And me? Well, I teach early-modern English literature at a nice midwestern school. I smoke weed occasionally, not all the time but recreationally, and you know who I buy it from. I date. Guys tend to like me. I charted a pretty ordinary life after Thad vanished out of it, but that night left its mark on me. Not only am I still taller and hotter than I was before, I still got the extra toes… and I still have that big, beautiful second cock.

All these years later I can’t get enough of how amazing they feel all fat and secretly snuggled together in my briefs as I stand there in front of class like a perfectly normal dude, or later as they’re sliding and bumping against each other when I’m all desperately hard and slick with pre in the cozy privacy of my own bed. If my only regret is that I haven’t yet found a boyfriend who can suck down both my steel-hard ten-inch tools at once, all told I think I can count myself pretty darn lucky to have been there at the beginning with my old grad school roomie and his basement full of mutant, mind-bonding, body-changin’ weed.

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