The Girl (C '18)

I might not be an avid smoker, but I do know that when I get high, all I want to do is eat, sleep, watch Animal Planet or—if I’m feeling ambitious—ramble about some high thought that does not actually make sense.

So when my freshman year hook up invited me over to “hang” and pulled out a bong within the first ten minutes, I knew I was screwed. Cue me asking how the fuck a bong works for the tenth time. We smoked, turned on the TV and even as I curled up as little spoon and my eyelids fell to half–mast, I had a horrible, horrible feeling this was only the beginning of the night. 

The next hour was a blur and a half. And when I say "a blur and a half," I mean a god–forsaken nightmare.

We hadn’t had sex yet, this gentleman and me. And supposedly—don't ask me how or why—I initiated it that night. I felt like I was moving my lips like a fish, up and down to a creepy rhythm I was making up in my head. To make matters worse, both of our mouths were as dry as cotton balls. Occasionally, I had to open my eyes to reacquaint myself with my surroundings (read: Try to remind myself where the fuck I was), and I distinctly remember him doing the same, at the exact same time. We locked eyes and I wanted to die. Despite my attempts to stay focused, every so often I would open my eyes to find myself in a completely different position. And when I say different position, I mean I was suddenly on top and our heads were facing the foot of the bed. All of this happened without my knowledge. And I don’t like when things happen without my knowledge.

I also don’t like when I have to choose between food and sex, and high sex is that decision in a nutshell. All you’re thinking about is doughnuts, and all the situation allows you to think about is faking an orgasm. This is an impossible multitask. I’m all for killing two birds with one stone while high, but those birds need to be eating Zesto's pizza and watching The Office.

At the end of the day, I love sex and I don’t mind getting high, but both activities together are a recipe for disaster. Not only are you way too hyper aware of yourself—something NOBODY wants during sex—but you are also not experiencing each activity the way it was meant to be experienced. Smoking and sex have a lot of overlap. Both can involve being in a horizontal position with whipped cream all over your body. Both can involve boys. And both can involve taking your pants off in an unhealthily excited manner. However, preserve the beauty behind each activity and don’t mix them. I promise you should fear this mixture more than you probably fear sober sex. 


The Guy (C'17)

The first time I ever got high was my senior year of high school. I ate an edible (rookie mistake!) and was absolutely fried. The worse mistake though, was that I ate it right before trying to have sex. It took around five minutes to get the condom on because I was too busy staring into my own bloodshot eyes, butt–naked in the bathroom mirror, holding my dick and laughing. My then–girlfriend, who wasn’t high at all, didn’t think it was quite as funny. When we finally started fucking, I was nowhere near my A–game and fell asleep after she got on top. I tried to walk her home and somehow ended up passed out in the snow, so she had to take me back home. Bad reviews all around. It took me a while to get out of the doghouse after that one.

Don’t get me wrong—I love both of these things dearly. I just think mixing the two brings out the worst in each. Weed is great for a whole laundry list of activities like listening to music, talking shit with friends, inspiring 2 a.m. Wishbone runs and generally making mundane activities fun as hell, but to me it just gets in the way during sex. It’s not that high sex is bad sex (everything feels good when you’re stoned) but it doesn’t make things better for me.

Weed, to me, is more for thinking than doing. I’m not as spontaneous when I’m high and I spend a lot of time thinking about small details, which clearly isn’t a bomb strategy for sex. Being in your own head too much can make things awkward, and nobody wants that. Even when I’m just a little bit high—and not the Cheech & Chong zombie I was in the first story—I feel like my performance takes a hit. Even if it’s not true and it’s all in my head, worrying so much makes the experience less fun. It feels like a job, which it never should, especially when you’re a college kid and not an unhappily married forty–something.

If you need to spice things up, there are better options. Alcohol can sometimes make you stupid or give you (the opposite of) a hard time, but at least it gets you loose and uninhibited, which can be fun in the bedroom. I’m more likely to try something new when drunk—or sober—than when high. I’d rather save the joint for the post–fuck cuddle if we’re being real here.

At the end of the day, you do you. But remember you’re also doing someone else, and if your highs are anything like mine, you’re not setting your partner—or yourself—up for the best time.