B. and I spent so much time hanging around, waiting for the LSD to lock onto our neural receptors, we forgot to fuck. But not completely. We kind of sailed off the edge of the universe, dropped down into Wonderland and then started to kiss. That felt good. It felt like a dream kiss, like instead of something prefatory, we were in the thing itself -- the kissing. That was all we had to do, forever. This mouth, I had never tasted anything so good. So amazing. If the Grand Canyon were made of wet rock candy, it wouldn't be this good. So we kissed, for what seemed like years. My arms and legs were foreign countries. Colors. Trails. Anything more specific than "I am in a room, on a bed, kissing" was an impossible thought.

But then she must have touched me. Or we got the amazing idea: "Let's take our clothes off!" What an exciting, revolutionary concept! So we did that. Now skin was touching skin. If kissing was like sailing on a silken sea, this was like burning rubber in the Indy 500. Sparkles and sparks ran over every trippy square inch of dermic geography. And even though I had no idea where my prick was, where she was, where my mind was, I was/am consumed in this nuclear bomb of color and orgasm. Yes, orgasm, every stroke is an orgasm. And now I'm coming. Overhead the fireworks are blossoming and beside me rides the entire regiment. We're on horses charging down into the valley. GERONIMO!!!

Read on to No. 9

Private Life Romance, relationships, and the personal side of Table Talk