Let me first preface this by making it clear that I never judge anyone by appearance, am sensitive, by proxy, to what other humans beings struggle with, and mean no harm by shit that spews un-filtered from my feeble brain. That being said… well “that being said” hopefully shelters me from the karmic consequences of the telling of this tale of an experience in my adolescent prehistorica.
Background
Jacqui’s mom was rich. Filthy rich. Jacqui’s mom was filthy rich, unmarried and traveled to Europe often with male friends of Jacqui’s mom. These extended trips left ample lots of time for adolescent friends of Jacqui’s to commandeer Jacqui’s house and turn it into, for weeks at a time…a Disneyland of teenage debauchery, drugs, sex, and angst.
During the day, a “nanny”…fully capable of handling the ordinary sun-lit teen, was present. The nanny would exit at sundown. That’s when the real show for the daughter of Jacqui’s mom and the friends of the daughter of Jacqui’s mom began.
We would converge on Jacqui’s house at sundown…waiting at the bottom of the hill for the exit stage left of the nanny. The nanny, being otherwise of sound mind and sharp eye, was known to be fully aware of any infringements on her territory during her term as guardian, with the exception of activities carried on in….
A. The Garage
B. The Library at the Bottom of the Stairs Adjacent To The Den (which she thought was haunted by Jacqui’s mom’s deceased husband, and would never set foot in there)
C. The Secret Room Beyond The Hole In The Ceiling of The Bedroom Closet
Story
Jacqui, Shawn, Wally, Chris, Joi, Mark, Jennifer, and I were embracing the departure of the nanny one summer night. 50% of us were in our 16th year of life, 50% of us were 15 years old. We had culled our resources and had acquired an ounce of Columbian. The going rate for an ounce of good shit at that time was $35. Home-grown or Mexican was going for $20 an ounce. The economics of this may or may not give you a time frame reference.
Anyway….we always observed the rule of smoking weed in the de-militarized zones described above. We decided to hit some bowls in the safe space of the room above the hole in the closet. Seven of us were adept and experienced at this practice. A practice that involved placing a chair in the closet, grasping the edges of the hole, and pushing ourselves up into the hidden room. Easy enough for skinny-ass kids…no big deal.
Jennifer was in our company this go-round though. We never actually thought about her weight and girth before. Slinking up through the hole presented a problem for her. Even when we deducted that a mere “push” was all it was going to take, we grossly miscalculated.
Jacqui, Chris, Shawn, and I went through the hole first. We were perched on the rafters, bowl in hand, ready to hit some fat sweet bud. With the aid of the other three below, Jennifer was hoisted up into the hole, only to get stuck post-titty/pre-stomach.
An exhaustive effort on the part of Wally, Mark, and Joi only resulted in this poor girl becoming wedged securely in the hole above the closet in Jacquis’s rich mom’s closet.
The four of us were eye to eye with the head and breast portion of Jennifer and could not say a word. The moment lasted an eternity. The only salvation was that her body blackened any light that was coming from the room below and hid any evidence of horror that may have been on our pubescent faces. The three below the hind quarters and legs of Jennifer and were audibly but not visibly agasp, trembling with laughter and weed deprivation.
Any efforts to pull her upwards yielded nothing. The episode was relieved only through an eventual concession on our part to tuck her fully developed breasts, inch by inch….back through the hole and into the light of the closet below.
Finis
We all have our Honeypot. We all know what it is and what it takes to get it. We know this innately. We will get it all in good time. Not at the same time that the posse gets it necessarily. Some of us are late bloomers and take a while. Some of us have to approach it at different angles and at a different pace. If you can see your Honeypot, you will get it when the time is right for it.. We are all the fat kid really.
