A Pot Brownie

Angelica Blaze reached beneath the wall of the stall and removed a large black purse that looked like it had been stitched together from about fifty baby alligators. From its depths she removed a massive brown square, wrapped in clearly, clingy plastic film. It was easily half a pound.

"Pot brownie," the dickgirl said with a smiling, handing it to Lois. "I want to watch you eat it."

Lois hefted the brown brick before her, with the light flaky uppercrust and the fudge-dark moist body. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't had dinner.

It's only weed, she told herself as she maneuvered over by the sink to unwrap it. Sure, they say that's a gateway ****, but it's legal in a bunch of states now. I'll probably just get the munchies, maybe the giggles. If it even effects me at all.

The smell of dense chocolate and something else wafted up to her nostrils. Lois swallowed the saliva suddenly flooding her mouth. Her body wanted this brownie, at least.

Her lips opened. Teeth sank into the soft dessert, the reporter's diet suddenly shot to hell in a blaze of calories. Bite, chew, swallow. Chocolate-flavored juices ran down her throat, deep and rich. Not as sweet as she had expected, almost bitter, and with a strange, unfamiliar aftertaste, slightly oily. But not unpleasant.

In fact, as brownies went, this was really good. All it needed was maybe a bit of frosting...and nuts...

The reporter shook her head, not sure where that craving had come from. Still, it was a lot of brownie. Lois didn't wolf it down either, but took her time on it, working around the chewy edges, leaving the softer, moister center for last. She wondered how much weed was actually in it—the reporter hadn't found any leaves so far as she could tell. Then again, it was possible that Blaze had used cannabis oil, or maybe kif...

Lois found herself drifting through what she knew about cannabis and its effects as she ate the brownie. Blaze, who had settled onto a nearby sink, dick safely tucked away, watched her with wry amusement. The reporter wasn't sure what the dickgirl was expecting, but Lois was determined to at least try not to embarrass herself.

At last, Lois Lane held the empty plastic wrapper, which she dropped into the overflowing trash receptacle. Wiped her face.

"C'mon to the bar," Blaze said. "We'll get you something to wash it down with. And then we can go meet one of the women you're looking for."