Driving a car in which two other fellows were riding, I pulled into the parking area of a woody park and stopped the car. After all of us stepped out of the car, my two companions walked to the front of the car while I headed to the rear and opened the trunk, where I intended to empty my pockets. As I pulled things from my right front pocket, I was surprised by what I found: a small cellophane baggie of marijuana. Underneath the small baggie was an even larger baggie of greener and finer marijuana, perhaps a quarter ounce. Only now did I recall that my old high school friend Buckner had given me the marijuana on the previous day; I had completely forgotten I had the marijuana. I was especially concerned because it seemed as if police were in the park; if a policeman had stopped me, I would have been in jeopardy. I quickly stuck the marijuana in the rear of the trunk, hiding it as well as I could.

I walked back to the front of the car (which seemed more like a pickup truck in front) where one of the fellows was showing the other fellow (who seemed to be the owner of the truck) how to hide marijuana in the front. The first fellow pulled off the front fender, then pulled off another part of the front panel to reveal an empty space where marijuana could be stashed.

The three of us finally turned and began walking through the park. I was surprised when I saw a policeman not far from us, smoking marijuana. I thought someone should turn him in; it was hypocritical for a policeman to smoke marijuana and then arrest other people for doing the same.

We continued walking toward a bearded fellow (probably in his late 30s) selling marijuana in the park. When we stepped up to him and told him we wanted to buy some, he pulled out a small tightly compressed brick of marijuana, about the size of two granola bars. He busily began tearing the brick apart above a concrete incline so the marijuana seeds rolled down the incline and separated from the leafy marijuana. In the process, some marijuana also rolled into the grass and became lost. He asked me if I knew what type of marijuana this was. I had no idea, but I commented that he was losing a lot of it. He explained that losing the marijuana was his way of expressing disdain for that particular marijuana. He said this marijuana was probably 10 times better than the marijuana I used to smoke years ago; but, he said he had smoked marijuana probably 100 times better than this. He began to describe the super-potent marijuana, which he said was more intense than LSD.

His description of the marijuana was so vivid, I actually began to experience the effects of the marijuana. I found myself flying – high in the air – over a field with rows of corn. The feeling and the sights were spectacular; splendid visions cascaded in front of my eyes. At one point I saw rows of pictures which I had taken of myself and of people whom I had known. Three or four pictures of myself reflected the effects of LSD on my appearance. The pictures seemed to express the way LSD had affected my mind. I examined the photos to see if I could detect any deleterious effects, but I saw nothing negative in them.

I also saw several pictures of my high school sweetheart Birdie in the nude. She looked about 20 years old; the photos were excellent. Especially erotic was one photo in which Birdie was lying on her stomach, with her legs spread apart, revealing her dark pubic area. She might have gained a little weight, but I couldn't tell for sure. I wondered what would happen if I were to post these pictures, or pictures of my making love with Birdie or my wife Carolina, on my website? I didn't intend to do so, but the idea intrigued me. Why should sex be so taboo?

When I came back to myself and regained consciousness of my surroundings, I found myself in a car which I was driving, at the bottom of the hill where the park was. My grandmother Mabel (probably in her mid 60s) was sitting in the car with me. I wanted to return to the park. The drug experience had been so pleasant, I wanted to go back for more; but I knew that I first needed to take my grandmother to the Gallia County Farm, about 60 kilometers away.

My grandmother pulled out some money – a note which looked like a $50 bill – except it was for $59. She also pulled out a doctor's prescription and asked me if I would later take the $59 and have the prescription filled for her. She said that I could keep the change and that I would be surprised by how much money would be left over. I decided to immediately get the prescription for her – not for the money – but because she needed the help. I pointed out a pharmacy right next to us; I would go in there.

Dream Epics Home Page

Copyright 2011 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com