Pineapple Sexpress

By Alana Church

It's a sexy brand of Reefer Madness! When Todd develops a new strain of marijuana, all the women want a hit off the sexy bud! First it's the Bible-thumping woman next door. Then it's his uptight boss. But can he keep them all happy? All aboard the "Pineapple Express!"

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

A whiff of smoke tugged at her nostrils, and she frowned. Not a cigarette, or even a cigar. The scent didn’t have the harsh smell of tobacco. No, this was milder, more...herbal.

Charlotte sat bolt upright in her chair. Pot! Todd was smoking pot, not ten feet above her!

She tilted her head back, intending to let loose a stream of invective fit to burn his ears, then slowly let the indrawn breath ease out again. Over the past year she had discovered, to her chagrin, exactly how little the powers that be cared about her views about what should be allowed at Shady Thicket Condominiums. Calling the homeowners association or, worse, the police, would result in nothing more than a stern lecture about wasting people’s time. She didn’t have enough friends as it was. Was she really so eager to make another enemy?

Besides, the smell of the marijuana, slowly sifting down between the holes in the balcony floor above, was strangely...good. She inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent, then took another sip of wine, the rich red liquid stirring a fire in her veins. A quick, glancing look up showed her Todd’s legs, thrust out in front of his chair, the ankles crossed. Good legs, she decided. Not too hairy, either. Her nose wrinkled at the memory of her brother-in-law Frank at the Memorial Day picnic last year. His legs had been so covered in patchy brown hair that he resembled a bear with a bad case of mange. But Todd’s had only the lightest dusting of golden-blond hair that seemed to glow in the last light of the sun, leaving the rest of his skin smooth.

How would they feel? She swallowed, feeling her skin flush. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. But she was a free woman now, wasn’t she? Marriage had been one long disappointment. Surely God wouldn’t judge her for wondering what it would be like to be with a man who wasn’t a closeted homosexual. He wouldn’t be that cruel. He was love, after all.

Love. The word blazed through her mind, and she breathed deep, the subtle scent of pot tickling her nostrils, seeping deep into her lungs, her blood, her body. Yes, she needed love. Needed someone to love her. Not as a dutiful daughter. Not as a sister. Or niece. Or grand-daughter. Or aunt. But as her herself.

As a woman.

God. She fought back a giggle. I’m horny. Real horny. Almost unaware of what she was doing, she loosened the top button of her blouse. She frowned down at her breasts, caught in the plain cotton cups of her functional bra.

She slid a cup down, exposing the curve of her breast. Still firm, still not as big as she might have wished. Despite her twenty-six years, there would always be a small part of her that was forever fifteen, glaring at the bathroom mirror and arching her back, trying to make her boobs look bigger than they were, and resentful as hell that she would never be a d-cup, or even a c.

Todd likes them, though. The thought slithered through her head, as subtle as the serpent in the Garden. He doesn’t stare at my chest like some other guys do. But he takes a look when he can. And I let him. I bet if I made a scene, he’d stop. But I don’t want him to.

She leaned back, breathing in deep, the smell of pot a rich, heady aroma, sending tendrils though her mind and body. I want...him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: May 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463872482

Alana Church

Born and raised in Illinois, Alana attended the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, graduating with a degree in Education in 1994. She soon found out that the teaching life was not for her, and after a series of adventures has settled down in the Chicago suburbs, where she works for a telecommunications company.Alana lives alone, surrounded by books, pictures, a pile of story ideas, and a turtle named Pedro.

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Pineapple Sexpress

Pineapple Sexpress inner

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2019 Alana Church

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~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

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Good morning, everyone, Todd Foster sang out, as he entered the lab. "What a wonderful day!

Man, he said into the ensuing silence, with a cheeky grin. Did someone die? Look outside, guys! Isn’t it gorgeous? God, I love Colorado in spring.

It was true. Outside the windows of Cannabest Research and Development, the Rocky Mountains gleamed in the distance, still tipped with unmelted snow. But the sky was a deep, turquoise blue, the breeze was a gentle touch on the cheeks, and the temperature was already in the low sixties. Around the well-manicured lawn of the industrial park where the lab was located, the grass was green, and day lilies, tulips and daffodils sprang from the ground in exuberant bunches. By the afternoon, people all over the city would be finding excuses to leave work early and get a head start on the weekend. Grills would be lit, bottles of beer would be opened, and the entire city would give vent to a vast sigh of relief that they had survived another winter.

You didn’t check your e-mail this morning, did you? Terry Henderson asked, looking up form his own workstation. Or your phone. We tried to warn you.

Why should I? he replied. Is there an emergency? I mean, we’re talking about marijuana research and development here, gang. We’re not Seal Team Six. He looked around the brightly-lit lab, filled with computers, analyzers, and small samples of Cannabis sativa.

Otherwise known as marijuana. Bane of right-thinking people everywhere, who were convinced that society must be protected from its nefarious clutches, lest everyone fall into a pot-smoking haze and turn into drooling blobs of lard who could barely operate a remote control or open a bag of Doritos.

But the times, they were a-changing. Not everyone believed that grass was the devil’s weed, and one by one, states were passing laws that decriminalized its use, at least for medical and recreational purposes. Fresh out of college with nothing more than a double major in botany and organic chemistry, a modest bank loan, and way more knowledge about marijuana than his parents would have ever approved of, Todd had seen the incredible potential of marijuana once Colorado legalized weed. But he didn’t want to be just another guy running a head shop, filled with bongs, Grateful Dead memorabilia, bumper stickers, and second-rate pot.

No. The real money was in R&D. Anyone could sell ditch-weed, culled from the sides of the road, or grown in basements or spare rooms under lamps. But the true connoisseur, he had explained one night to a group of friends, waving around a joint as if he were lecturing to a class, would always be looking for something different, something better.

"And that’s where I’ll come in. For years, people have been so scared of the feds busting down the door and hauling them off to pound-town that they haven’t been able to properly develop marijuana as a commercial product. Look at booze. How many different types of wine are there? Or whiskey? Or beer? You can’t throw a rock in this damn town without hitting a microbrewery. Everyone is in their basement, mixing up barley and hops and trying to come up with the perfect IPA.

All I’m going to do, he had continued, is bring science into it. People have been doing it for centuries. Longer. Cows, sheep, chickens. Flowers. Fuck, man, he said, taking a drag on the joint, we’ve been dicking around with corn and soybeans and wheat so much that if you put them into the wild they wouldn’t even be able to survive. They’re not cross-fertile with the natural plants they’re descended from anymore.

So? You’re going to be a genetic engineer for marijuana? a girl laughed, stealing the joint and taking a hit.

Sandy, he had replied, That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

But he hadn’t expected to hit it so big, so soon. Once pot had become legal, the demand for good, clean strains of weed had been insatiable, with every bored housewife or curious student looking for something different, something new. They didn’t have to hide anymore, and all of them wanted to try everything, like a college student who had just turned eighteen working his way through a liquor store. Todd and his crew of genetic pirates had been some of the first to realize the new world they were living in, where knowledge about marijuana wasn’t a sign of degeneracy, or even a bad joke, but a useful commodity.

Their first big success was Rocky Mountain Green, a strain that had enviable potency, but could also thrive under numerous different growing conditions. A strain that didn’t have to be nursed like a colicky baby was a godsend to lots of growers, who were more interested in quantity than in quality. And then there was Sweet Dreams, which had been marketed to people who used the drug not out of a need to get high, but to alleviate pain from chronic medical conditions. The same could be said for Crunchy Munchy, which worked as an appetite stimulator for those going through chemo treatments.

And of course, there was Zombie Kush, a cross between the indica and sativa breeds which, through a lucky viral video and the endorsement of two or three insanely popular musical artists who swore by its ability to help them relax after their concerts, had exploded in popularity virtually overnight. The patents he and his fellow researchers had filed, almost as afterthoughts, as they developed the various strains had made many of them, including Todd, independently wealthy, and a few had retired to leave off the proceeds.

Todd, to his immense surprise, had found Cannabest the center of a bidding war between three or four medical conglomerates, eager to cash in on their knowledge and popularity. More than aware that his star could fall as rapidly as it had risen, he had let his creation be folded into TerraMed, a multinational company based in Great Britain, in return for a shit-ton of money and a fistful of stock options for him and everyone at Cannabest. But he had driven a shrewd bargain, allowing him and his