Our scientist opens the skirts of perception.
Some time back, our original erotic Jacques Cousteau, Grant Stoddard, wrote an I Did It For Science about drugs, testing how pot, shrooms, coke, ex, and Viagra each affected his sexual exploits. He left out the harder stuff: heroin, since normally sex on heroin means the unsavory giving of the former to get your fix of the latter; PCP, since a mid-orgasmic dive out the thirtieth-story window is counterproductive; and acid, since it's notorious both for killing erections and relationships. On acid, it's said, the stakes of everything are raised very high, and if you and your lover aren't on solid footing, things can go awry fast.
But sometimes science demands taking risks. So I'm going to augment his research by trying the last of those three, believing that even without an erection, sex (or at least sexuality) on acid has enormous potential. And I'm willing to put my relationship at risk to see if more happens than the non-reaction Grant had on shrooms.
Being with my girlfriend on acid will intensify all our everyday dynamics and bring out the reality of our relationship, for better or worse.
• my beloved
• liquid acid, one drop per person
One problem with Grant's mushroom experiment was that he did it outdoors and didn't keep an erotic focus from the get-go. By the time they made it back to his room — having had some fruitful conversations with a squirrel — Grant said that sex was the furthest thing from his mind. As a result, certain key hydraulic actions failed to take place — penis-wise.
It's true that hallucinogens are famously bad for erections, but we all know that stiff members aren't entirely necessary for quality romping. So I met up with S. at my place on a sunny weekend morning, and by noon we had each had a drop placed on our tongues (by a mysterious stranger whom we never saw again).
Our plan was to spend the day on my rooftop and in my bed. I had plenty of food and drinks, so we wouldn't have to have any outside contact, much less chance of things getting out of control. I turned off my phone and computer, and, not having a doorbell, knew we couldn't be intruded on. We were perfectly safe.
Not that I have any experience in this domain or anything, but I got the distinct impression that the particular acid we took was benevolently suited to the experiment: it was pretty mild and much more cerebral than visual. Instead of being overwhelmed with everything around us breathing or pulsating or melting (watch out for that!), we were both able to relax.
We started on the roof, but eventually made it back downstairs, and when things really kicked in, we found ourselves entwined and laughing on my duvet. Grant said that in his mushroom adventure, he and Erica ended up spooning. But what S. and my bodies were doing was more akin to assimilating one heated liquefying spoon into another. Though on the outside, we might have looked like that famous photo of Yoko and John, to me it felt more like kudzu growing over an elm, where each of us was both elm and kudzu.
I hadn't eaten much that morning, so I was feeling more wonky than S. While entwined, we were in pretty consistent hysterics (us wondering whether a passerby would be able to tell that we liked each other; me saying that trumpets are like assholes and I like the saxophone more because it's more like a pussy… yes, it was all much funnier while tripping). But then we started to just lie there quietly, on Willy Wonka's train to the farthest regions of the brain, where I began thinking about kinds of orgasms that aliens might have, and then about kinds of orgasms humans could have, if only we could figure out how.
NEXT: "I put a blindfold on her and began to intensify my attentions…"
Let's call these, provisionally, Mind-Blowing Orgasms of a slightly more literal variety. These are a few I imagined — and dutifully explained to S.:
• The atomic orgasm, where the nucleus of each cell is a clitoris that can be aroused by concentrated rhythmic movement of the electrons, and all the body's nuclei climax at once.
• Our perfect mathematical center orgasm, where the absolute non-spatial dot at the midway point of our x-, y-, and z-axes is teased and stroked to the point of release.
• The meniscus orgasm, where the liquid component of our entire bodies (two-thirds!) becomes aware that it has a controlling collective surface that holds us together, and that system-wide tautness of ours tenses, then unpools, then reforms, then unpools.
• The cosmic orgasm, where our entire universe is simply an atom within a larger universe (itself but an atom of one yet larger), and each of our atoms is itself also a universe, and each atom in that one is a complete universe as well, and so on and so on in both directions, and then the most infinitesimally small universe has a collective orgasm, causing an atom one universe up to come, then another, until the orgasms start tinging their way up the ontological ladder. Some part of us can feel the ultra distant echo of it coming, the incremental exponential subatomic build-up of arousal, until we and all our universe becomes an exploding orgasmic cell of the next universe up, and we're caught up in the wave, coming in higher and higher levels to infinity.
Oh, and did I mention we were on acid?
So, yes, I narrated these to S. in a slow, throaty voice, trying to get her to experience a little of how each of them would feel. The end result was that we were both turned-on, and asking ourselves, in that mid-trip way, why everybody doesn't spend an hour a day thinking of these.
From there, we moved on to what I thought of as The Sensuality Experiment. The sensuality experiment began with me doing some very intensive, very stoner-y kissing of S. — on the lips, neck, breasts, stomach, thighs, down her legs, around her ankles (avoiding her ticklish feet), and back up, pushing her knees apart with my hands, teasing her with kiss patterns vectoring toward her clit but redirecting, combining slow, suggestive, lingering smooches with perpetual gentle stroking. So far so good, though for the purposes of this part, we might as well just have shared a dimebag.
But then I put a blindfold on her and began to intensify my attentions. What I quickly realized — and I'm sad to say I hadn't known it before — is that any part of the body can be made love to. I found that by rubbing, kissing, and sucking first on the side of S.'s leg, just above the knee, and later her neck, I could create the most intense feelings, both for her and for me. In my mind, I really felt as if I was interacting with her genitally, and later, S. told me she felt like she had a second pussy!
Oh, and did I mention we were on acid?
Post-knee and neck pussification, I moved on to S.'s original, "real" pussy. My own johnson was having some outward arousal problems — my brain, mind you, was tumescent in the extreme, but there just wasn't that much lift down below. But S. was having no such problem.
Many of you will know that on acid you can get very into an activity, and to be honest, I lost myself completely in what felt — to me at least — like Bernstein orchestrating at Carnegie Hall. My tongue and fingers were the woodwinds; rhythm and pressure were the percussion; teasing and giving were the horns; there was circling, back-and-forthing, up-and-down and on-and-offing, and even a mischievous triangle player in the back with the occasional, unexpected "ting!"
As it was happening, I imagined how much Jimi Hendrix must have entered into "The Star-Spangled Banner" when he played it at Woodstock, and in a very real sense, I started to feel like I was entering Jimi, entering the anthem. S., meanwhile, describes her experience synaesthetically: "It felt like colors were coming in the window and landing on me rhythmically. Imagine a pinwheel looked at sideways, spinning slowly with points of color lapping on me the whole time. I felt like my pussy was the center of my thought and feeling instead of my head, and that it was wholly communicative with you, but through feelings, not words. I thought my pussy was actually talking to you."
By the way, we were on acid.
Now, truth be told, we did have sex for a few minutes near the beginning. But I wasn't fully erect, and it felt less refined and poetic than the rest of the sexuality experiment that followed.
In a way, our lack of successful penetration points to the real nature of sex on acid. If you're willing to make a distinction between the sexual and the sensual (though they often overlap), my sexual side was hard to access, and I was less entranced sensually while inside her than I was while dictating her experience with my lips and fingers.
So to that extent, for both of us it really was a prolonged orgasm of the mind (sometimes called the largest sexual organ). I know neither of us came in real life, but there's no question that it was one of the most stimulating days of our lives, in all senses. Granted, we do really adore each other, so it turned out our relationship wasn't at any risk, and we do have enormous understanding of what gives the other one pleasure. But under these ideal circumstances at least, sex on acid is pretty much as good as it gets.