Why Couples Who Have Stoned Sex Have Hotter, Better Sex

by Sheena Sharma
Studio Firma

I love wine. There's nothing like sipping red wine and getting into the sexual ~groove~. Wine is liquid foreplay magic. It creeps up on you slowly but steadily; it turns you into the lustful vixen you never imagined you could be.

But drunk sex is worlds different from stoned sex.

Drunk sex is wild and rowdy and uninhibited. Don't get me wrong -- it's amazing. But you can't deny that there's a time and place for it.

Stoned sex, as I found out during my first time having it, is more sensual than sexual. All of your senses are on fire. Your arms and legs are loose like jelly. Your tongue feels like it could fold in any direction (and if it can't, you're going to try to make it anyway).

Stoned sex, much like a joint, is LIT AF. So I'm going to tell you about the first time I did it.

Disclaimer: I used to smoke a lot in college, and this piece is low-key going to sound like I'm trying to get you all to convert to "Marijuana-ism," my tried-and-true religion. But that isn't what I'm trying to do. This was my personal experience, and you are welcome to take from it what you want. It's safe to say I'm a proponent of smoking weed in safe quantities and trying pretty much anything and everything there is to try.

To have high sex the right way, I needed to get in the zone. Unlike drunk sex, high sex requires a bit of preparation, including candle-lighting and music-playing. It's a ritual. I opted for the "Chilled R&B" Spotify station for my weed-propelled sex sesh.

The day of my adventure, my friend had rolled me a spliff (a combination of tobacco and weed). I knew it'd be easier on my body and mind, so I decided to go with that.

That night, my bang buddy and I sat on my bed by the window, puffing away. He had never had sex high before either, so we were both giddy as elementary school kids. Seeing as I was the senior stoner in the room, I guided him.

"You know how we just sort of have this rhythm?" I said, making what I thought to be appropriate hand gestures. (And we do -- we've got a great rhythm). "Let's do that, but slow it down by, like, 75 percent."

He nodded his head in a daze. He was high.

Straddling him, I began to kiss him. This part -- the foreplay -- often quickly turns into a contest to see who can rip whose clothes off first without actually ripping them in half, but this time there was no contest. This time, each kiss felt like a mini-lifetime. It felt good.

I slipped my hands under the sleeves of his T-shirt and ran them up and down his arms. I'd never noticed before how nice his arms felt. Sure, I'd seen his biceps poking out of his shirt and I could appreciate the aesthetic, but I'd never really appreciated what each one of those perfectly sculpted lumps felt like. His sharp, strong muscles sunk into the squishiness of my palms. Instead of fooling around with his body as if it were one entity, I attended to each limb and muscle, the way I would attend to a puzzle.

No detail went unnoticed. I was immediately hooked. Every inch of him was worth exploring. His skin on my skin felt like being wrapped in a hug that I never wanted to end.

Eventually, after spending a solid 30 minutes as the stoned, female Christopher Columbus, we got into the good stuff. I'll let your imagination take it from here.

Regular sex -- given that there's a healthy level of sexual attraction -- can start and end pretty quickly. (Hey, I get it. We're only human). But stoned sex is all about living in the now. It lasts and lasts.

By the end, he wasn't dead. His eyes were full of life. He looked like he had just tasted chocolate for the very first time, and this smile crept up on his face and stretched from one ear all the way to the other. He kissed me what seemed like a thousand times in a row, and I could hear each kiss saying, "Thank you!" (In my mind, I said, "You're welcome!") My body felt like it was floating on air.

Ladies and gents, that's the mysterious power of really, really good pot: It doesn't distort reality. It brings you even closer to the good parts of life. I had just seduced a man with my body AND marijuana. I felt pretty damn accomplished.

I will say that both our mouths got pretty dry from all that cotton-mouthed kissing. If you decide to embark on a marijuana love-making journey of your own, you will fall victim to desert-mouth. But that's OK. It's one of the small pitfalls of smoking a plant before doing the dirty, and it isn't enough to make the whole experience unworthy of trying.

Stoned sex has completely spoiled me, and I'll tell you why. Life is so fast-paced. There's always way too much going on at once and not enough time to soak it all up. I never get a moment to just stop and appreciate all that's happening around me, whether it's smiles from strangers, the style inspo in crowds of people or the way the sun feels on my back as I stroll down the sidewalk to work.

Sex is one of those things where each moment and milli-moment should count. So from here on out, I'm definitely going to slow down my sexy time to live it up.