Stoned Birthday Sex

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It was my second time smoking with my partner. The first time was over a year and a half ago. Why the time gap? Cannabis affects me disproportionately. Two hits and I’m practically useless, immobilized, and terrified that I’ll spontaneously have an orgasm if I’m in public… or terrified of everything, really.

So I tried to be prudent this time: just two tiny half-assed hits from a glass pipe. My partner insisted I take another hit because he didn’t think I inhaled anything.

“No. I’ll wait 20 minutes and see how I feel before I take another hit.”

“Okay.” He took a huge hit himself, gave my lips a peck, and spooned me.

Sure enough, I could hear all the sounds around me starting to pulse and echo. I knew I was coming up, so I turned around, snuggled on top of him, and closed my eyes so my senses wouldn’t get overwhelmed.

My body wanted to be in constant flux and motion, while my senses perceived everything to be endless repetitions of itself, like I was absorbed in every millimeter and millisecond I dragged my tongue up the side of his neck. Every millimeter my nails dug into his shoulder and down his chest and up his hips. Shoving my hips against his. Again. And again.

Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out. Just breathe. I stopped moving and rested my head. Breathe. I started to feel that familiar pressure building, and knowing what it was just turned me on more and made it more inevitable. Breathe. Whimper. I grabbed on to him and pressed the side of my face against his, so that my mouth would be right next to his ear.

And came. Spastically. Probably the hottest thing about being on top is that there’s nothing to grab but him and the sheets, and either way, my arms have nowhere to go but around him, my body pressing against his even harder when I grab on to him more tightly. Just him.

Thankfully, he knew what was going on. The first time I ever had a spontaneous orgasm with him, we were both freaked out: me because I was resentful towards the idea of him owning me to that extent. He thought I was having a panic attack from getting too high… which is totally understandable. Seeing a girl convulsing and screaming out of nowhere, without an apparent sexual context, after consuming psychoactives, would be quite alarming lol.

The second time I ever had a spontaneous orgasm with him was when I was sober and in a better state of mind to explain to him that it’s just a thing my mind does. The third time, he was initially confused but then had the realization out loud: “…do you feel that? Something’s making the bed shake. Is that you? You’re shaking… OH! You’re coming… You’re coming. Hah. You’re totally coming! Haaah! Hahahaha!”

Every time he said, “You’re coming,” the orgasm got more intense and I got more annoyed, more uncomfortable, and more turned on at the same time. I liked it. I was scared because I liked it. I liked it because I was scared of how closely linked we were.

No. Don’t freak out about it again. That was then and this is now.

“Baby?” I cooed and gave him a peck on the lips. “Hi, there.”

“Hiiii.” He gave me a peck back and turned me to the side to spoon me again.

His hand on my thigh. Grabbed my ass and smacked it. Hand under my panties’ waistband, pulling them to the side. Sucked on my top lip, switched to my bottom lip. Switch. Switch. Repeat. He pressed his dick against my bare vulva.

“Is this a good place to put it?”


He slid it back and forth between my labia and against my clit, spreading the wetness.

“Do you hear that? Your pussy’s getting even wetter.” His dick slowly worked its way in and he grabbed my hips while he thrusted. I relished it for a minute but pulled away.

“Baby, no. We can’t keep doing that. Go get a condom … Thank you, sweetie.”

Once the condom was on and lubed up, I got on top of him again. He tried to insert, but I was having too much fun clenching my pussy and watching him struggle to fit in me.

“I guess you’ll have to force it in there!” I laughed.

He inserted two of his fingers all the way in me, behind my cervix, and made small “come hither” motions to press into it. That shut me up really quickly, albeit briefly until I was moaning again.

“What was that?” he taunted, continuing his fingers were doing, and added wrist rotations back and forth to make sure all 180 degrees behind my cervix received pressure.

I came and tried to wrap my arms around him more tightly. He shook his head and grabbed me by the neck to push me away a little.

“Look at me.”

That was the first time I ever looked into his eyes while coming, really. The idea was historically uncomfortable to me because it felt like overexposing how strongly I felt about him, like I was caving in to the admission that, in that moment, he was my sole source of pleasure, and furthermore that my orgasm wasn’t just about me. It was about him. It was about us and how we felt about each other.

It was about the hundreds of thousands of years of evolution and chaotic coincidences that brought us together in that moment to share our genetic information. All of that history condensed into a relatively tiny twinkle in time. Mind you, I was still stoned and coming up at this point, trying not to freak out about fighting the vulnerability, or losing contact with reality, or the terrible places my mind could go.

No, no, no, no. Focus on everything that’s good in this moment. Focus on how good you feel. Focus on him. Just him. Just him. Use his body as an anchor in reality. I grabbed his face and slowly kissed him while he inserted his dick in my pussy. Gasped in his mouth. Started riding his dick. Hands still on his face. Just focus on him. And everything that’s good in the world. And the orgasmic. The good in the world. The orgasmic. Him. The orgasmic. God. Him. God. God. God? Him. God. God. It’s all the same.

Screaming. Clench. Come. Repeat. I sat with his dick all the way in me until the orgasm plateau subsided. I was at the point in the come-up where I could hardly move anymore, so he took over and started thrusting. Clench. Come. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

“Doggy?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t feel like talking about it.” I could barely string that sentence together, let alone tell him what I was really thinking: that I couldn’t move. That he was welcome to turn me around on my knees to doggy-style and make me his bitch.

He grabbed my hips to bounce me up and down on his dick. Clench. Come. Repeat.

I think that, besides me feeling good, he didn’t understand what was going on in my head. When I’m stoned especially, an orgasm is like a timeless fractal, where every second folds and zooms in on itself and it’s nothing but whatever I’m feeling getting amplified over and over again.

“Baby, can we take a break?” I asked.


We spooned again. I took a sip from my water bottle and handed it to him. I grinded on his hips, my legs wrapped around one his top leg, bumping my pussy up against his dick.

“Hey. Baby, I can’t get hard again right now. I’m just really high and tired. Are you really high?”

“Mmhm. You can’t tell?”

“No, but with your lack of tolerance, you probably feel so good right now.”

“Eh, it’s… different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t feel like describing it.”

I sat up and kissed his neck. His hip bone. Licked his inner thigh, bit his hip bone and watched him squirm. More kisses, alternating between his left and right hip. Nails in his thigh. Kissing his balls. Sucking them, one by one. Took the condom off, drooled on the tip of his dick and spread the spit around the coronal ridge. Tongue pressing and flicking against his frenulum. His non-erection wasn’t budging, so I started gently using my hands to stroke it, pulling skin over his glans.

“Mmmm.” He was clearly enjoying it, but still wasn’t getting hard, so I gave the tip of his dick one big, juicy kiss, and laid back down to snuggle with him.

“Are you planning on staying?” he asked.

“Staying?” Huh? We were in my apartment!

“Like, are you going to move out of state after you graduate?”

“I don’t have plans either way. We’ll see where this next year takes me.” Peck.

We fell asleep and woke up at 6AM.

The rest of the night/morning was a blur, but I remember we fucked missionary and then doggy-style. I don’t think my neighbor was exactly happy about how much I was screaming. Normally I can keep the noise down even when I come hard, but the weed just made me not give a fuck. In fact, I contemplated downloading Yik Yak to see if there were any complaints made about me.

So was smoking worth it? Yes. Was it a good birthday celebration? Yes. Would I do it again? My first thought was no, but to be real, I changed my mind within a week. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a good time.


27 thoughts on “Stoned Birthday Sex

  1. […] To Make Love Everyday The 20 Minute Orgasm More on cunt, corridors & Schroedinger’s cock Stoned Birthday Sex Room with a View I’m Not Done With Your Throat Yet It’s a strange path to […]


  2. Weed can feel like too much for me sometimes! I’ve had a bunch of bad experiences, but when I have just the right amount it feels as if I’m melting into my partner everywhere we touch and its beautiful and time goes so slowly. I’m wary using it but it can have great consequences. I loved reading this 🙂


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