RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT
by Captain Dunsel
3.
THE OLD AGE… OLD… DEBATE
Bridget pushed open the ladies room door and found herself enveloped in a cloud of smoke. The door swung shut behind her and she giggled. Someone was obviously using the restroom to secretly smoke a little weed. The smell, of course, was unmistakable. It was like high school all over again.
She coughed, looking around, trying to find the smoker. Bridget wasn’t a stoner herself, not by a longshot, but back in high school she had dated a guy who was and he had insisted she try it a few times. But it had been years since she had gotten high. Bridget waved her arms trying dissipate the cloud. She giggled. A girl could get high just breathing the second-hand fumes around here.
“Heyyyyyyy,” a voice said. Bridget turned and saw a girl leaning on the sink counter. She was Asian and adorably cute, with short black hair and a slender gymnast’s body. She was wearing a very tight, very short minidress covered in red sequins… beautiful, but another unusual choice for office attire. And, not surprisingly, she had a smoldering joint in her hand. There was also a steel thermos and a cocktail sitting on the counter next to her. The cocktail was bright red, matching her dress. Everyone here drinks, Bridget thought. But apparently some of them smoke too.
Bridget smiled at the pretty Asian girl.
“Hello there. Having a little toke?” The girl grinned. Her eyes, by nature not very wide, were nothing but red slits. She was obviously very stoned. First a drunk employee, now a stoned employee. Ordinarily that sort of unprofessionalism would have annoyed Bridget, but for some reason it excited her. She didn’t know why.
“Yeahhhhhhhh,” the girl said. “Listen… don’t squeal on me, huh? I use this bathroom cuz… cuz nobody ever comes in here.”
“Don’t worry, your safe is… your… secret is safe with me,” Bridget said with a little wave. I guess I shouldn’t be too critical of being wasted on the job, she thought with a grin, since I’m a little wasted myself. Though technically, I’m not on the job.
“Thanks. I’m Ying.”
“Bridget.”
“Pleased to… to meet you,” Ying said. “What’re you drinking?”
“It’s called Midnight Lace,” Bridget said. She knocked back the last of it and put the empty glass down. It hit the counter a second or two before she expected it to. “And it’s really delish… delicious. Ann I think I’m drunk.” She giggled.
“Yeahhhhh, I drew a first gen version of that one, like… I dunno… six months ago,” Ying said. “Intense. And I picked out this, like… like… slutty negligee thing to wear. It was, like… blue and pink and… slutty. God. Everyone wanted to do me that day. They told me that… that, like… even after I was passed out on Mr. Chamberlain’s desk the guys were… were, like… still lined up out into the hall waiting to fuck my comatose bod. It was pretty fucking great, y’know?”
“Yeah,” Bridget said. She didn’t really understand what the girl was talking about, but she felt so relaxed she was happy to just lean on the counter and stare at her adorable face and cute little body while she talked. Oh god, I am drunk, Bridget thought, and she giggled. They really knew how to make a killer cocktail at BoozeMart R&D.
Ying gestured at the redhead’s blouse and skirt. “So, you wore… like… that? How is that… y’know… Midnight Lace?”
“No, I don’t wear… I don’t… work here,” Bridget explained once again, trying to make her tongue work right. “I’m here for a job. An innnerview. For a job. Innerview.”
“Ohhh, cool. Very, very cool,” Ying said, nodding sagely. “Awesome.”
“So, what’re you drinking?” Bridget asked, nodding at the red cocktail, unable to resist licking her lips. She wasn’t surprised that she wanted to drink more, the Midnight lace had been so delicious, but she was a little surprised at how much she wanted to drink more.
“Red Sambas,” Ying replied, lifting the glass. “I’m supposed to… y’know… empty the thermos by two o’clock, but like… I wanted to get high first.”
“You don’t like your cocktail?” Bridget asked. She had the enthusiasm of the recently converted and was surprised that someone wouldn’t like a cocktail. Cocktails were fucking fantastic. Maybe adorable Ying just didn’t like getting drunk. But that was silly. Getting drunk was also fucking fantastic. Of course, maybe there were reasons. Bridget had to admit she was still in the dark on how this whole drinking-on-the-job thing worked exactly. Was it voluntary? Mandatory? Encouraged but extra-curricular? Officially forbidden but tolerated?
“Nahhh, Red Sambas are okay.” She grinned and raised the joint with her other hand. “But this is better.” Bridget giggled.
“The old age… old… debate,” she said. “Weed or booze?”
Ying grinned and held out the glass.
“Here, try this one for… for yourself, see what you think.”
Bridget knew she probably shouldn’t. After all, she had already been feeling a little bit light-headed, and that was before she drank the Midnight Lace, which had definitely gotten her a little sloshed. But she really, really wanted to drink another cocktail. Now that she realized how yummy they were and how effortlessly they got her sloshed and how sexy that made her feel, she would like nothing better than to drink cocktails all day long like her friend April. She would also like to fuck Dr. Patel, whoever the fuck he was, like her friend April.
She giggled. Fuck it, she thought, and she took the glass, sampling the Red Samba. She held the liquid on her tongue for a moment or two, then swallowed and smacked her lips. It wasn’t quite as yummy as the Midnight Lace, but it was pretty damned yummy.
“Mmmm. Good,” she said. “A little tart for my tits… taste.” She closed her eyes and giggled. “But very good. Very good. I like it.” She took another sip.
“Ahh, but now, like… compare it to this,” Ying said, offering her the joint.
Bridget was going to decline the offer. Another cocktail or two was one thing, but smoking weed would be going too far. She wanted to be sharp as a tack for her job interview and she knew from experience she had a very low tolerance for marijuana. Back in high school just a few tokes would get her totally baked. There was this one time she had smoked just a little marijuana at a party and started giggling at… something… whatever… and the next thing she knew she was lying in the bed of a pickup trucking fucking two boys she didn’t even know. She had zero tolerance.
On the other hand, it did relax her, no question. She remembered liking that relaxing, in-the-zone feeling, though she had been too much of a prig back then to admit it. Bridget blinked, considering. She did want to be as relaxed as possible and totally in the zone for her job interview. Maybe smoking a little weed wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. Not enough to get her high, of course, just enough to take the edge off. Nothing wrong with being relaxed and in the zone. Besides, it might be fun to end up lying in the bed of a pickup truck fucking those two security guards. Or Mr. Turtleneck. Or all three. At least she knew them.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the joint. She put it to her lips and drew in the pungent smoke. She coughed a little. It had been a long time.
“De nada,” Ying said, staring cross-eyed at Bridget’s cleavage. Bridget held the smoke in for as long as she could, then exhaled, coughing. She decided she’d better try that again. Another toke, another exhalation, this time with much less coughing. The third time she didn’t cough at all, back in the groove. “So… which is better?”
“Hmmm?” Bridget asked. She had almost forgotten that the pretty Asian girl was there. “Oh. Well. I’m short… I’m… not sure. I haven’t time… I haven’t high time… I… haven’t had... time to get high. Yet.” She giggled, feeling pretty damned high considering she hadn’t had time to get high yet. This was some super-duper powerful shit. She giggled again, feeling herself drifting away. Pickup truck, here I come, she thought.
“Well… y’know… try them each… again,” Ying suggested, her voice echoing pleasantly. That seemed like a sensible suggestion to Bridget, so she took another swig of Red Samba and another toke of weed. And then, at Ying’s sensible suggestion, another sample of each. And another. And another.
By her seventh sample Bridget realized she was both very stoned and very drunk, but by then of course it was too late. She could no longer conjure up any reason not to be very stoned and very drunk. After all, it felt totally amazing. She grinned and giggled. It felt like the universe was cracking really funny jokes while it slid its firm, masculine hand up her thigh.
“Well?” Ying was asking her from somewhere far away. “What’s the… what’s the… verdict?”
Bridget turned slowly to her new sexy friend and grinned. Ying looked all warpy and fuzzy and double-exposed, but she was even more beautiful.
“I like ’em… both,” she declared with a wasted giggle. And that was the truth. She knew now that getting stoned and drunk had been exactly the right thing to do. Mr. Langford up in HR didn’t stand a chance now. He would take one look at her relaxed, in-the-zone, inebriated tits and offer her the job on the spot. And then he would offer to fuck her on the sofa in his office. Maybe he would even invite the two security guards up to his office. Bridget giggled, very pleased with herself. She glanced down at her irresistible tits, proud that she was-
Then she noticed that darned stain and remembered why she was there in the ladies room. Her sloppy grin faded. There was work to do.
“Wait… look,” she said, passing the joint back to Ying and putting down the Red Samba. “I need to stain a… get a… blouse stain… out of my tits.” She tried to unbutton her two remaining buttons but her fingers were unexpectedly clumsy and she was having trouble.
“Here,” Ying said, handing Bridget back the joint and the drink. “Let me do that. You smoke and drink some more.” That sounded like a great idea to Bridget. The more she smoked and drank, the more stoned and drunk she would become, which was just what Mr. Langford expected. She wondered if there would be a line out the door after she passed out on his desk. She hoped so. Not that she was trying to one-up her friend Ying, but the idea of being fucked by dozens of guys while she didn’t even know they were fucking her was incredibly hot.
“Thanks, hon,” Bridget said. Ying worked on the blouse while Bridget happily alternated between joint and cocktail, momentarily surrendering each as Ying tugged the blouse off one arm and then the other. Within a few minutes the joint was a roach and the glass was empty and Bridget was standing there in just her skirt and baby blue lace brassiere.
“You have got… like… great tits,” Ying said as she took the roach and empty glass from Bridget’s limp hands. Bridget giggled, pleased by the compliment, all the more so because she knew it was true. She did have great tits. Just ask Mr. Langford in HR. He loved to suck on them. Or he would, anyway, once he got a taste. Bridget watched, bleary-eyed, as Ying examined the blouse. “Where’s the… the… stain?”
“We needa stab… dab… th’stain with a… with a… thing,” Bridget instructed. It was hard to think and form words and stuff like that, but she didn’t mind. The universe was perfect just the way it was.
“Hey,” Ying suggested, “why don’t we… why don’t we… like… just soak it in the… the sink. That’s what I do… like… at home.”
“Nnnnnn, good idea,” Bridget said dreamily. She was so lucky to have a smart friend like Ying to handle things when she was too stoned and drunk to think thoughts and form words and stuff. She watched, bleary-eyed, while her friend ran some water and soaked her blouse in the sink.
“There. Now we just haffta… like… like, wait, y’know?” Ying declared proudly.
Bridget smiled. Some time passed.
“For what?” she asked.
Ying smiled. Some time passed.
“Hmmm?” she asked. She was staring at Bridget’s tits again. Bridget couldn’t blame her. She really did have great tits, and her bra really was too small for her, which meant her great tits were overspilling its edges. No wonder everyone always stared at them. Still, she didn’t want her friend Ying to feel inferior just because her tits weren’t as big as Bridget’s tits. After all, hardly anybody’s were.
“You are… are… so hot with that… that cute little… body,” Bridget said with a loose-limbed wave, and she wasn’t just being polite. Ying really was hot with her adorable face and her short hair and her slender body and her cute little boobies peeking above the neckline of her very tight minidress. If I liked girls, Bridget decided, her thoughts pleasantly mushy, I would so fuck her. And I don’t even like girls.
“You think I’m… I’m hot?” Ying asked, grinning happily.
“Mmmmmmm-hm,” Bridget confirmed, nodding. “And I don’t… I don’t… I don’t even like girls.” Ying blinked, considering that.
“Well… maybe you do like girls but, like… like… you just don’t know you like girls,” she suggested hopefully, sliding closer.
Bridget shook her head back and forth, which made the ladies room spin and a lock of red hair fall across her face. “I don’t so… think so, cuz… cuz like… cuz I fuck to like… I… I like to fuck men,” Bridget explained. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t realized until today just how much she liked to fuck men. She wished now that she had fucked those two security guards. And that cute guy in the turtleneck in the hallway. That would’ve been the polite thing to do. Ying shrugged.
“Me too,” she said. Bridget blinked.
“You too?” she asked.
“It’s like… weed or booze,” Ying explained. “I like both of ’em.”
Bridget giggled.
“I like… I like booze better’nn… than… weed,” she said. “Ann I like… I like… fucking men better’nn fucking girls.” She wasn’t absolutely sure that was true, but it was probably true since, after all, she had never fucked a girl. She hadn’t really fucked all that many men, truth to tell, though she couldn’t fathom why. She loved fucking men. She definitely needed to try and fuck more men in the future. Maybe it would help if she got drunk more often. She had always been ridiculously reluctant to get shitfaced drunk and fuck random men in the past for some stupid reason. That had to change.
“Well if you… if… you like booze…” Ying began.
“Mmmmm?” Bridget asked. If she had been seeing straight she would have seen Ying’s dreamy smile become a wicked grin.
“…you should drink some… some more booze,” Ying concluded.
“I should… drink… more booze?” Bridget asked. She wasn’t exactly sure who was suggesting it, but it seemed like a sensible idea. She had been thinking lately that she needed to get drunk more often. And if she got drunk enough, all the turtleneck security guards would line up out the door to fuck her on Mr. Langford’s pickup truck sofa, she was sure of that. And maybe April and Ying would let her suck on their nipples. That would be fun too, even though she didn’t like weed as much as booze.
Ying picked up the thermos and put it to Bridget’s lips.
“Yyyyyyup,” she said, still grinning that wicked grin. “Open your mouth, baby doll.”
Bridget did, and Ying started pouring.