Stoner Cam

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She was the one who suggested we "cam" -- or go on webcam.

I agreed, and saw her for the first time, and how she smoked. It was beautiful, her technique. She would sit tantalizing close to the camera and take in gobs of smoke, crossing her eyes sexily in the process as she looked down the barrel, cheeks bulged, wiping her chin afterward. We had to meet.

She had me prove by holding my baggie up to the camera that I didn't have too many seeds and stems in my life, and we arranged for her to take the next train to my place.

I tidied up the place as best I could by throwing out my refrigerator and buying a new one. I have a pet cockatiel that I let hop around on the floor and he eats all my stray seeds. He calls me "Jason," which isn't my name.

I bought an expensive butane bottle and put a big red bow on it. For her, I bought a hemp candle.

I greeted her at the door in my robe and my favorite pipe in my mouth. It's the one with the little red dragons on it.

She took my pipe and held it briefly in her lips. Then she reinserted it in my mouth and that way we exchanged saliva. It's the new kiss.

We reminisced about being on cam together and I told her I fell in love with her the moment she unabashedly ate a watermelon in front of me. It was in the middle of a munchies tour-de-force that also saw her eat a large bowl of marshmallows.

"I switched from eating grapes to eating marshmallows, overnight," I told her.

But she wasn't listening. She was smiling coyly and holding her cam in her hand.

"Remember this?" she said.

"Yes," I said. "Your cam."

"I brought it along. Where's yours?"

I pointed to my computer desk.

She walked over and placed her cam gently next to mine. They seemed to stare at each other.

"They finally meet," I uttered.