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.

Conclusions

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.

Want to meet a companion for a journey to the center of the mind? Meet them on Nerve.