I usually avoid all forms of THC because it makes me turn too far inward. I’m never lucid enough to form a coherent thought, but I’m definitely lucid enough to know that I’m not making sense. I also become less alert and more passive when I’m high. I stare at inanimate objects. I’m impressed by moronic ideas. But however much I hate what THC does to my mind, it does amazing things to my body. Some of my senses are heightened. I revel in foreplay. My cunt ignites easily, which makes me first lustful and then nymphomaniacal. I become a drowsy, languid, super-sexual creature, attentive to sensation and oblivious to the person bringing me off. I’d forgotten how a little hash can work like an raging aphrodisiac.

We smoked a little, and immediately I leaned back and spread my legs. He was at my thighs, licking, biting, hiking my skirt up to expose my pussy. I think I kept him there for a long time, caught between my inner thighs, his mouth pressed against my cunt. This is unusual for me because I love penetration – I love hands and fingers and cock – but my cunt was throbbing. I was reluctant to let him up.

The only trouble was that no matter how much I came, I still needed to fuck. Badly. They were orgasms of frustration, the kind that peak but never quite die down. I wanted to keep going, and I’m pretty sure I thoroughly exhausted my friend’s generosity. He eventually came up and fucked me beautifully and whispered nice, dirty things, and it was amazing and intense and delicious. But fucking fuck, I needed more. Even when I knew there was nothing left in him, I really, really wanted more.

We never got around to talking about use, or mutual use, or mutal enjoyment. There’s a lot I like about him – for example, he seems to be completely devoid of ego. And I love how he touches me. We talked briefly about our respective situations, the people we’re dating and whether it’s serious, and I knew I wanted to get together again. Regularly. Urgently. But then, I was feeling sexually insatiable. And I was way too high.