Fire and Desire.
So word around town is “high sex” is amazing. Although two people have already sworn by it, I’m still not excited to find out for myself.
For one, I rarely smoke to begin with. Second, when I do I either want to talk about spaceships and eat Flaming Hot Cheetos with cream cheese all night or do absolutely nothing at all. And neither are things I want to do in bed with someone naked that has a boner.
However, I know a girl who swears she came 50 times during a single sex session on some Incredible Hulk. Yes, 50. As in one more after 49. I mean WHAT. THE. FUCK? While I’m convinced she has some sort of magical vagina (or he has some sort of magical penis), she promises it was the weed and strongly suggests I take a blunt to the face … before I take a dick to the vagina.
I’m sure it’s all hot and sexy for most people, with wisps of smoke in the room and the Weeknd playing in the background. Air smelling like Black Domino with a hint of nag-champa, and a cool breeze coming through the window. But in my high sex reality all I see is me starfishing on the bed with a Hostess cupcake in my hand too stuck to even put my Ralph Wiggum pajamas back on.
While it’s not on top of my sex bucket-list, I’m sure I’ll eventually have a threesome with Mary-Jane (and of course tell you all about it). In the mean time, I’ll let it burn.