There’s a lot of urban myths and legends on how to spice up your love life. Weed, acid, alcohol – you’ve heard it all. But on a hazy, beery Saturday evening, I was able to sit down with two black magic dabblers myself. They had a lot of information to share about sex and drugs, and not all of it was magic and rainbows. For privacy purposes, these anonymous sources will be referred to as Middle Earth wizards.
It was really, really warm and fuzzy, man.
It was a boisterous night near the misty poolside where I was accompanied by Finklepop Greybeard, a young wizard who took one too many tokes from his E-Cig. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the fruitiness of his smoke, and told me the tale of his sexual experience on weed. “It was really, really warm and fuzzy, man. For me, whenever I’m really stoned I feel really fuzzy, and it’s like super distortion. It felt a little bit longer than usual,” said Greybeard.
Greybeard described the high like distortion from a fuzz pedal for guitar. He took in several more tokes before leaning forward to tell me that it’s not always peaches and cream while dabbling in forbidden magic.
“If you’re going to do something like that, or psychedelics, then set and setting are by far the most important thing. Make sure you are in an OK place because you never know what is going to give you a weird vibe. You want to know the people you are around, and know them really well because you might also get really weird,” said Greybeard.
After Greybeard disappeared into the drunken foray, another young wizard stepped forward, but this one preferred drink over green. He introduced himself as Fizzlebottom Whitebeard, a young adept of Greenery. Unfortunately, he had some grave news to share.
“I’m going to be real with you, [sex] wasn’t a very good experience while I was smoking weed. I thought that it might have been spiked with something, but it might have been spice, but I didn’t realize it at the time, or maybe I just got way too high,” said Whitebeard.
I kind of felt lifeless, I guess.
During our poolside chat, the party’s host interrupted, stumbling forward, rambling about a fat juicy blunt for Whitebeard after his interview. We shoo’d him away as if he were some hellspawn, but I saw a burning desire, like a fire in young Whitebeard’s eyes, tempted by the blunt. “It’s interesting because people talk about how drugs make sex so much better, but the only thing I ever had didn’t make it much better,” he states.
His eyes were wandering, lost, as he described how he wasn’t feelin’ himself at that specific time during sex. “I kind of felt lifeless, I guess.”
Whitebeard then turned back to the drunken foray, perhaps searching for the dark lord who promised him magic beyond comprehension, and then I bid him farewell. Now I was a lone, sitting near the foggy poolside, my back turned against a starry midnight sky, contemplating what I had heard from Greybeard and Whitebeard.
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