I learned at a weed-themed sex party that marijuana and kinky sex don't mix

I learned at a weed-themed sex party that marijuana and kinky sex don't mix

SexJuly 31, 2018 By Olivia Lee

It was described to me as a “Pot Passion and Play” party.

“Play party,” of course, is kinkster-speak for “sex party.” Play parties often have themes — whether it’s a BDSM Christmas party or a Valentine’s Day foot fetish party — that attract horny people with strange sexual proclivities.

The focus of this sex party was marijuana. This theme has a mass appeal most niche sex parties never come close to. Everyone loves getting stoned and getting laid.

However, take that experience out of a private setting and bring it to a party setting, and things start to get weird. Being surrounded by strangers and their displays of debauchery starts to feel like being trapped in a terrifying fun-house mirror maze. You can’t stand to watch, yet can’t stand to look away. Social anxiety reaches an all-time high.

I learned that I was part of the problem — I was making other guests uncomfortable. I’m always the tamest member of any sex party, but here, I became the weirdest.

I passed by zooted zombies, eyes bloodshot and glazed over, cemented to couches. People passed by me, wide-eyed and petrified, and I watched them collapse on the floor. Some ended up vomiting.

Weed was supposed to enhance our erotic experience, but it’s simply not the social lubricant appropriate for kinky sex parties.

Naturally, the host of the pot play party would never admit this. Amy McBain, owner of Intentional Orgasm, was giddy with excitement while describing the party to me a week earlier as we sat chatting in her essential-oil scented solarium.

“Once a month, I host Pot Passion and Play parties, where you can explore sexuality and marijuana, because there’s not a lot of places where you can explore both of those openly,” McBain says. “You can have a play party, and maybe smoke pot outside ... but its never really a focus. Or, you can go to a pot party, because people are hosting those nowadays, but that’s not necessarily open sexuality. And it’s a shame, because smoking pot and having sex are two of my favorite things.”

I know she's not alone in adoring the combo of herbs and humping. Tons of potheads insist, and research confirms, that weed's an even better aphrodisiac than alcohol. After all, sex feels infinitely better on weed, and is far less likely to leave you waking up beside a bridge troll with a pounding headache.

“I’ll have all of my pot paraphernalia out, and all my sex toys out, and the idea is to explore sexually under marijuana in this group container,” McBain continues. “It has been wonderful to smoke pot, be naked, talk philosophically, and possibly play.”

She also promised a number of different “stations” would be set up at the party. A station full of musical instruments for a marijuana jam session. A station full of paints and canvases for guests to create artwork with their naked bodies. This convinced me to attend — I knew I had to try painting with my genitals.

My boyfriend and I arrived and chugged a beer to take the edge off. Amy gave us a tour, pointing out each station, and casually gesturing to guests who had collapsed onto couches because the reefer was just too much to handle.

We joined a group of people on the patio, who sat in a circle, surrounding a small table covered in empty Dunkin' Donuts boxes. There were 100 Munchkins, someone explains, but they already ate them all.

As we grab a chair, someone to my left offers me a bowl. Someone to my right extends a joint. Bongs and pipes and vapes swirl around the circle. Couples pass their hits from mouth to mouth. Soon enough, we’re stewing in a cloud of dank smoke.

My boyfriend and I escape to the art corner to paint a masterpiece with our nipples, lips, butts, vagina, penis and balls. As we stand butt-naked in the dining room, stoners start to surround us and watch us work. We felt strange and uncomfortable. We didn’t know that others felt the same until a woman collapsed in front us, staring wide-eyed in our direction while crying to her partner, “I CAN’T! IT’S TOO WEIRD!”

It was a wakeup call to realize I’d become the freakiest person at a sex party. At previous sex parties, I’d met women who prance around in pony-tail butt plugs and men who sexually identify as puppies. I was utterly vanilla in comparison.

Here, there was a high woman flailing on the carpet, desperate to escape the couple painting one another’s asscheeks. We knew we had to leave.

I thought I would embrace the mass appeal of a marijuana sex party. But I’m beginning to believe I’m more in my element surrounded by pony and puppy fetishists, blissfully free from pot paranoia and social anxiety.

Catch me at the BDSM Christmas party.