Soul137
Bluelighter
DISCLAIMER: The following is heavily laden with musings on my own sexuality and not just the awesomeness of mushrooms. Continue at your own risk.
Oh lord where to begin. I guess I should begin this the way most trip reports begin, with an account of dosing, and move forward from there. I should note that although I have done Mushrooms around 10 times and have around 100 psychedelic trips under my belt, I had never done more than 3.5g of mushrooms and had never used the Lemon Tek. So I'm both experienced, and yet in new waters.
In a coffee grinder, I ground up my 7g of some friendly mushroom, that I got from some friendly man at a festival. I can speculate that they were cubensis, but these are hardly the things I consider when I really just need a good hard trip to “clear some of the mental cobwebs” as it were. I threw the resulting fungal sawdust in a large tea mug and began labouriously maiming six defenseless lemons and using their innards as nature’s basic chemistry set. After 20 minutes of waiting, entertained momentarily by Avatar: The Last Airbender, I had my prized concoction, a slimy mess of citrus and fungus. I added two heaping spoons of sugar in hopes of neutralizing some of the nastiness.
It went down much easier than I anticipated. As someone who hates the taste of even the most delectable cuisine mushrooms, I was grateful that the taste was predominantly lemon based. I can only assume that the sugar did wonders as well. Within six or seven holding-in-every-possible-gag-reflex gulps I had the whole thing down and began to both work myself up and calm myself down for what was to come.
The come-up time was spent intermittently walking around my neighborhood in a childlike, exploratory prism of color and texture, and then waiting in my room for the effects to ramp up a level, only to become restless and go for walk once again. At one point I went up to the roof of my apartment building and had a delightful moment basking in the sun and peering into the distance out over New York harbour at some strange and 1800’s looking building with a steeply pitched roof. I also watched people below me, their clothes seeming to make them pop visibly from the uniform grey of the sidewalk. A wave of nausea hit me so I hastened downstairs, hoping to not vomit in the elevator on the way. Luckily, after several sour, fungal belches, I felt fine, and proceeded to go for yet another walk. I’m actually not sure when I went to the roof in relation to the first two walks, but I know it was before the last one: This time I came back with a case of whip-its, a bag of punch balloons and a whole lot more pep in my step. I found that I was smiling vibrantly, and any attempt to put on a more serious I-live-in-this-city–I-know-what-I’m-doing–and-I-am-not-on-lots-of-drugs face was only an invitation for a giggle fit, which incited a few strange looks but nothing much. I felt content, perhaps a bit more than content. Untouchable maybe.
I should note that this final walk took place roughly between T+1:20 and T+1:50. The Lemon Tek did not increase absorption rate as much as I expected, or perhaps the food I ate four hours prior had more of an effect than I had anticipated. Or the mushrooms could have just not been that potent. The guy had said that he had grown them himself. Not to disrespect the man, he was quite honest and reasonable with all his business dealings, as well as having a far more jovial character than I would expect from a man with so many tattoos and piercings.
I was worried that the whip-its might corrupt the tranquil balance I felt at that moment, but I knew that my inner drug fanatic would cave. I was content to let it be an experiment. Will the nitrous’ addictive cycle destroy the peace I felt from the mushrooms alone?
When I got back home I was sweating profusely and released my body from it’s clothes. I was patient in the way a person is when they know they are in for a treat, not getting excited about the prospect up front, but letting it drape casually across the foot of my bed as I went and took a lingering and sensual piss, and danced around my apartment in the nude, filled with a vigor for life. I came back hungry. I knew that doing a whip-it, sweaty and and naked under and air conditioner was a good fucking plan.
I turned my music back on and set about cracking my first balloon. I thought about how fitting it was that the song was called Plan B (by The Disco Biscuits) considering I was using nitrous as a kind of Plan-B for when a trip isn’t clearly going anywhere from the outset. Though perhaps my trip was going somewhere, I was wonderfully at peace and connected with nature, which is hard being in the city. Perhaps I instead felt connected with the nature of humanity, or life in general. I would say “the essence of life” if I had beliefs in anything cosmic. I was watching tiny bits of the universe through the lense of my meager eyes, but glimpsing something past it all. Though at the time I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about how I was hoping the get some kind of borderline ++++ experience, if not the full deal, and instead I was left hanging at roaring, but still measly +++.
So I took my first full breath of nitrous, with just a tiny bit of oxygen on top. I quickly felt an electric bubble filly body. Euphoria expanding like a pool toy inflating inside my body. My head was a balloon of gas too, as is typical of nitrous. I strapped myself in for the rest of my balloon.
I don't remember much of the first two balloons (two whip-its in each), but suffice it to say they were incredible. After each burst of dissociation had passed, I writhed in my bed sensually. I felt like a innocent virgin girl whose cherry had just been popped. I relished the feeling of the sheets against my skin, and craved another body to press me into them. I wanted skin against my skin. Skin and weight and warmth. I thought how mushrooms are a drug of peace and nitrous is a drug of lust. Of course this is a gross over-simplification, but the dichotomy remains, as an interesting comparison at least. The words popping a cherry actually came to my mind because of the initial mental pop of a fat nitrous hit, and the strange sweet flavor it has at first, before the metallic taste sets in. Coupled with the giggling girl that was in those moments made the words “cherry pop(ers/ed/ing)” keep coming back.
On the third balloon, I found myself digging my fingernails into my legs. Tighter, tighter. Then scrape up my abdomen, leaving bright pink trails behind. I basked in the corporeality of the experience. I was reminded of a girl I had a one night stand with who had had a kink for pain. She dug her nails in my back and I dug mine in hers. At the time I had thought it intriguing but also off-putting. Now I lusted after that type of contact. I remembered her biting my lip until it bled. I bit my pillow in an animal expression sexual desire. I felt like a jungle cat, biting the ear of my mate, in an act of violent courting.
I thought back on a phase I went through of cutting myself. It was partly out of self-hatred, but also partly out of something else. There was something I liked about it. It was only then, on 7g of mushrooms and about 8 whip-its into the case, clawing deep into my inner thigh, that I realized that the something else was sexiness. The pain was sexy. It turned me on.
Wow am I that fucked up? I cut myself because it was hot? Fuck man. Well best not to dwell on it and do another whip-it. Each balloon was an explosion of sexual desire and my nails dug ever deeper. I knew it was going to happen. I finished the last three whip-its of the case in one balloon, for preparation.
Before I had cut in anguish, now I cut with pleasure. It was a sexual act. My jaw opened reflexively and let out a muffled moan. Again. Again. Across my thigh in ragged stripes. The anaesthetic effects of the nitrous made the pain even more enjoyable. It was so visceral, pulling me down from my gaseous headspace.
This story does not have an ending. The evening went on and more trip happened. But that was the peak. I was a writhing virgin girl savoring the claws in her flesh. As a prior trip helped me deal with my bisexuality, so this trip has helped me get to know a kink I am just a little ashamed to have. But I guess I’ll just have to get comfortable with the fact that pain is a major turn on for me, and obviously keep away from cutting, because I know from experience that cutting leads nowhere but down. I guess the lesson from today’s trip is “we are still animals.” No matter how sophisticated and civilized we pretend to be, at the end of the day all we really want is to dig our claws into someone else back and fuck.
Oh lord where to begin. I guess I should begin this the way most trip reports begin, with an account of dosing, and move forward from there. I should note that although I have done Mushrooms around 10 times and have around 100 psychedelic trips under my belt, I had never done more than 3.5g of mushrooms and had never used the Lemon Tek. So I'm both experienced, and yet in new waters.
In a coffee grinder, I ground up my 7g of some friendly mushroom, that I got from some friendly man at a festival. I can speculate that they were cubensis, but these are hardly the things I consider when I really just need a good hard trip to “clear some of the mental cobwebs” as it were. I threw the resulting fungal sawdust in a large tea mug and began labouriously maiming six defenseless lemons and using their innards as nature’s basic chemistry set. After 20 minutes of waiting, entertained momentarily by Avatar: The Last Airbender, I had my prized concoction, a slimy mess of citrus and fungus. I added two heaping spoons of sugar in hopes of neutralizing some of the nastiness.
It went down much easier than I anticipated. As someone who hates the taste of even the most delectable cuisine mushrooms, I was grateful that the taste was predominantly lemon based. I can only assume that the sugar did wonders as well. Within six or seven holding-in-every-possible-gag-reflex gulps I had the whole thing down and began to both work myself up and calm myself down for what was to come.
The come-up time was spent intermittently walking around my neighborhood in a childlike, exploratory prism of color and texture, and then waiting in my room for the effects to ramp up a level, only to become restless and go for walk once again. At one point I went up to the roof of my apartment building and had a delightful moment basking in the sun and peering into the distance out over New York harbour at some strange and 1800’s looking building with a steeply pitched roof. I also watched people below me, their clothes seeming to make them pop visibly from the uniform grey of the sidewalk. A wave of nausea hit me so I hastened downstairs, hoping to not vomit in the elevator on the way. Luckily, after several sour, fungal belches, I felt fine, and proceeded to go for yet another walk. I’m actually not sure when I went to the roof in relation to the first two walks, but I know it was before the last one: This time I came back with a case of whip-its, a bag of punch balloons and a whole lot more pep in my step. I found that I was smiling vibrantly, and any attempt to put on a more serious I-live-in-this-city–I-know-what-I’m-doing–and-I-am-not-on-lots-of-drugs face was only an invitation for a giggle fit, which incited a few strange looks but nothing much. I felt content, perhaps a bit more than content. Untouchable maybe.
I should note that this final walk took place roughly between T+1:20 and T+1:50. The Lemon Tek did not increase absorption rate as much as I expected, or perhaps the food I ate four hours prior had more of an effect than I had anticipated. Or the mushrooms could have just not been that potent. The guy had said that he had grown them himself. Not to disrespect the man, he was quite honest and reasonable with all his business dealings, as well as having a far more jovial character than I would expect from a man with so many tattoos and piercings.
I was worried that the whip-its might corrupt the tranquil balance I felt at that moment, but I knew that my inner drug fanatic would cave. I was content to let it be an experiment. Will the nitrous’ addictive cycle destroy the peace I felt from the mushrooms alone?
When I got back home I was sweating profusely and released my body from it’s clothes. I was patient in the way a person is when they know they are in for a treat, not getting excited about the prospect up front, but letting it drape casually across the foot of my bed as I went and took a lingering and sensual piss, and danced around my apartment in the nude, filled with a vigor for life. I came back hungry. I knew that doing a whip-it, sweaty and and naked under and air conditioner was a good fucking plan.
I turned my music back on and set about cracking my first balloon. I thought about how fitting it was that the song was called Plan B (by The Disco Biscuits) considering I was using nitrous as a kind of Plan-B for when a trip isn’t clearly going anywhere from the outset. Though perhaps my trip was going somewhere, I was wonderfully at peace and connected with nature, which is hard being in the city. Perhaps I instead felt connected with the nature of humanity, or life in general. I would say “the essence of life” if I had beliefs in anything cosmic. I was watching tiny bits of the universe through the lense of my meager eyes, but glimpsing something past it all. Though at the time I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about how I was hoping the get some kind of borderline ++++ experience, if not the full deal, and instead I was left hanging at roaring, but still measly +++.
So I took my first full breath of nitrous, with just a tiny bit of oxygen on top. I quickly felt an electric bubble filly body. Euphoria expanding like a pool toy inflating inside my body. My head was a balloon of gas too, as is typical of nitrous. I strapped myself in for the rest of my balloon.
I don't remember much of the first two balloons (two whip-its in each), but suffice it to say they were incredible. After each burst of dissociation had passed, I writhed in my bed sensually. I felt like a innocent virgin girl whose cherry had just been popped. I relished the feeling of the sheets against my skin, and craved another body to press me into them. I wanted skin against my skin. Skin and weight and warmth. I thought how mushrooms are a drug of peace and nitrous is a drug of lust. Of course this is a gross over-simplification, but the dichotomy remains, as an interesting comparison at least. The words popping a cherry actually came to my mind because of the initial mental pop of a fat nitrous hit, and the strange sweet flavor it has at first, before the metallic taste sets in. Coupled with the giggling girl that was in those moments made the words “cherry pop(ers/ed/ing)” keep coming back.
On the third balloon, I found myself digging my fingernails into my legs. Tighter, tighter. Then scrape up my abdomen, leaving bright pink trails behind. I basked in the corporeality of the experience. I was reminded of a girl I had a one night stand with who had had a kink for pain. She dug her nails in my back and I dug mine in hers. At the time I had thought it intriguing but also off-putting. Now I lusted after that type of contact. I remembered her biting my lip until it bled. I bit my pillow in an animal expression sexual desire. I felt like a jungle cat, biting the ear of my mate, in an act of violent courting.
I thought back on a phase I went through of cutting myself. It was partly out of self-hatred, but also partly out of something else. There was something I liked about it. It was only then, on 7g of mushrooms and about 8 whip-its into the case, clawing deep into my inner thigh, that I realized that the something else was sexiness. The pain was sexy. It turned me on.
Wow am I that fucked up? I cut myself because it was hot? Fuck man. Well best not to dwell on it and do another whip-it. Each balloon was an explosion of sexual desire and my nails dug ever deeper. I knew it was going to happen. I finished the last three whip-its of the case in one balloon, for preparation.
Before I had cut in anguish, now I cut with pleasure. It was a sexual act. My jaw opened reflexively and let out a muffled moan. Again. Again. Across my thigh in ragged stripes. The anaesthetic effects of the nitrous made the pain even more enjoyable. It was so visceral, pulling me down from my gaseous headspace.
This story does not have an ending. The evening went on and more trip happened. But that was the peak. I was a writhing virgin girl savoring the claws in her flesh. As a prior trip helped me deal with my bisexuality, so this trip has helped me get to know a kink I am just a little ashamed to have. But I guess I’ll just have to get comfortable with the fact that pain is a major turn on for me, and obviously keep away from cutting, because I know from experience that cutting leads nowhere but down. I guess the lesson from today’s trip is “we are still animals.” No matter how sophisticated and civilized we pretend to be, at the end of the day all we really want is to dig our claws into someone else back and fuck.
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