I made the girls laugh with my stories, kept them amused with tales of England and soon had them eating out of the palm of my hand. Patrick and Susan brought a steady stream of drinks and the evening was flying by.As another drink was downed I asked: “Anyone feel like a smoke?”“You have pot?” Brooke replied quite surprised.“Of course I do, would you like some?"“Fuck, yes,” she gasped.We headed outside and sparked up a joint I’d rolled before the party. We laughed and joked as we passed it around, a small gaggle of nursing students hung on every word I said. Each was more eager than the next for a toke on the weed.As I was finishing a story and taking my turn on the joint I felt a hand on my shoulder. Before I could turn a dulcet voice with a light Texan drawl said: “Mind if I have some of that?”Brooke cried out: “Em, I’ so glad you’re here, you must meet Jon — you’re going to love him.”Suddenly I wished more than anything in the world that I hadn’t drunk or smoked so much. My heart. The tissue spread between his fingers, and he brought up a second hand, the damn thing would have been impossible to lift with just one. It was as heavy as a military rucksack, and her belly must be multiple times this weight. No wonder they had to drop to all fours to walk around when they were full to capacity.He had to shift his weight, trying to get comfortable. Her thigh was sheathed in a hard exoskeleton, and her belly was large enough that it was pushing him away from her. She held him close, pressing him against its elastic surface, his elbow sinking into it as the thick liquid beneath the transparent skin shifted and gurgled.Her boob pressed against his cheek, now reddening with embarrassment. It was the size of a damned exercise ball. He felt her nipple on his lips, Cherry had studied his mouth in detail, and she knew how it worked. Walker finally gave in and opened up, feeling the fleshy protrusion on his tongue. To his surprise he did not need to draw on it, her tissue.
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