This week, a woman who tries drugs and butt stuff for the first time out in the desert: 28, single, California.
11 a.m. My phone buzzes with a very NSFW photo. It’s from the man I’ve been referring to as “the doctor” to my friends. I began talking to him online last week, a day before my 28th birthday, and am meeting him IRL in a few days. He lives in SF too, but he’s now in Sante Fe, seeing some friends on a road trip back from seeing family back east. After letting me know his plans for the day (which my Virgo self loves), he sends, “T-minus 2 days till desert! Stoked.” We’ve made a plan to meet up at an Airbnb out in the desert.
12 p.m. I take my dog over to my friend’s house; her dog is my dog’s GF. It’s very cute. They have a much-needed play session.
2 p.m. I managed to get a sugaring appointment! In SF everything is still pretty much closed. The sugar/waxing salon technically opens tomorrow but they made an exception. This is my first Brazilian since March and I kid you not when I say I’ve never been more excited for this moment in my life.
5 p.m. I volunteered to be in charge of food for the trip. We’re not just having a first date, it’s a five-day / four-night-long first meeting affair. I realize I should ask if he can survive that long with no animal protein (I’ve been predominantly plant-based since the end of last year; I eat eggs and fish on occasion). Sigh of relief, he responds and says he’s cool without it. Trying to keep my expectations low, but they are increasingly creeping up there.
7 a.m. Wake up and shoot out of bed thinking about all the things that need to be done to prepare for my trip. I’ve never driven such a long time by myself. It’s not that far … only like eight hours, but driving is not my thing.
11 a.m. The doctor texts me about all the cuddles and massages he’s planning for when we see each other. My body hasn’t been touched in months, since my last love affair immediately ended when our beliefs on feminism didn’t align.
6 p.m. I finally started packing. Do I bring real clothing? It’s the desert. It’s really hot. I also haven’t worn real clothing in months. Do people wear real clothes anymore? I throw in a couple light sundresses and a swimsuit … and some lingerie just in case.
9 p.m. I finally get him to tell me his birth time, which I hinted at wanting on our very first FaceTime (all of like five days ago). I never followed up or harassed him for it. I’m trying to get better at not controlling everything. But I did appreciate the unprompted precise birth time update. I immediately look up his full natal chart and human design. The odds are SO in his favor. I tell him that. Expectations are now skyrocketing on both sides, I think.
9 a.m. The doctor has officially been COVID-swabbed (a requirement from me as he’s been on the move).
9:30 a.m. My car is packed and I hit the road. After a while my ass officially hurts and I’ve caught up on podcasts, blasted music, car-danced, etc.
6 p.m. I’ve arrived! With the dog. I let myself into the Airbnb, armed with Clorox wipes, and start cleaning like the neurotic, Virgo sun being that I am. He alerts me he’s shopping and will be at the Airbnb shortly. I start prepping dinner and open a bottle of wine I brought.
9 p.m. He arrives. I open the door and say, “Welcome home,” because what else does one say in this situation? He goes in for a kiss (which truth be told was quite bold). It’s good. Really good. He also doesn’t smell nor does he have bad breath, which are two of the big things you can’t tell from a video call. His energy also feels good. I’m enveloped in it.
10 p.m. Yes, I slept with him on the first date. So long as your intentions are for more than a hookup, I don’t think it matters when the sex happens. The chemistry was there.
8:30 a.m. I don’t sleep in because I love the morning time and the dog needs a potty walk. We went to bed a little bit past my bedtime. So when I come back in I put some coffee on and tiptoe into “his room” (we arranged for separate bedrooms here, just in case) for morning snuggles.
10:30 a.m. I take the dog out again and catch up on messages so everyone knows I’m still alive. He’s doing some journaling and morning-routine things and meets me on the walk when the dog and I are on our way back. Later I have a remote session with a client — I work as an energy healer — and then the doctor and I make some lunch.
4 p.m. We head out to go check out a national park, my dog in tow. My dog wasn’t loving the new species of animal he stumbled across — rabbits!
8 p.m. We arrive back at the Airbnb in time to whip up a late dinner. We talk about the day, our feelings, what’s on deck for tomorrow, and hallucinogens — he’s a psychiatrist with an interest in psychedelics. Despite the fact that everyone thinks I’ve tripped on all kinds of things, the truth is I’ve never done a drug besides weed. (I attribute this to the fact that I’m a triple Aquarius). It’s not that I’ve never been interested, it’s just that I’m a total over-analyzer, and never felt like I was in the right place in time with the right people. That said, this week felt like the most perfect, safe time I could possibly try anything. I was in nature with a doctor who is also a trained psychedelic guide. How could I say no?
7 a.m. I wake up to a man next to me and my dog looking up at me from the floor begging to be taken out. It’s always an adjustment sleeping with someone new. How many times they pee, how much they move, if they snore or talk in their sleep, and most importantly what their stance on sleep-cuddling is — hard no for me. We were on the same page there. I take the dog to relieve himself, put the French press on, hop back in bed, and wait for the coffee to be ready.
11 a.m. The three of us (me, the doctor, and the dog) head out for a walk. It’s hot. The humans of the group are dripping and the dog is panting. I shower the moment we get in, throw my swimsuit on, and head outside for my weekly therapy call.
2 p.m. The time has come. He is taking my psychedelic virginity and I’m more than a little excited about it. We do a cleansing ritual, which I love (let’s be real, I love any kind of ritual) and intention-setting for our journey. Then we pop precisely dosed caplets of mushrooms that are just slightly more intense than a micro-dose. We spend some time doing our own things. He likes to meditate. Fast-forward 30-60 minutes and we’re outside together on the day bed just being. He turned to me and asked how I felt. I say to be honest not that different than normal, if anything more present. We also have some deep conversations, about him being a total avoidant, about hurting others, about the feelings he gets in relationships and how his default mood is just wanting to run away. I drink it in.
5 p.m. Another cherry of sorts is popped — I receive my first rim job. We’d talked about our kinks before meeting. Sex talk is kind of my world, so it wasn’t that weird that it came up naturally. The doctor discussed his interest in eating ass. I immediately clenched. I wouldn’t consider myself a butt-stuff kind of girl. That said, excitement from a partner is contagious and I’m usually down to try anything once, if it’s a harmless experience.
7 a.m. The second bedroom is only being used by my dog now.
8:30 a.m. I’m outside with my coffee, and my dog is inside with the doctor doing who knows what. We’ve established that our alone time is sacred and that is special. Not everyone honors alone time. It’s easy to get wrapped up in wanting to be with someone every moment of every day when things are new, fresh, and exciting.
11 a.m. We have some late-breakfast fruit, then we both work on things on our computers together but separately.
4 p.m. We head back to the park for a sunset hike. We stop to take it all in as he holds me. The warmth and weight of his body holding mine is intoxicating. Humans weren’t meant to go so long without touch.
9 p.m. The doctor still owes me a massage. He says, “You know what goes really well with messages? Ketamine.” My face lights up — let’s do it. Again, I don’t do drugs but feel weirdly safe in this moment with him. I’m just trying to live a little and experience things in different ways.
9:30 p.m. We do a little ritual — shorter than the pre-mushroom ritual — and snort the magic powder. I’ve never snorted anything in my life. I do most things in my life with grace; this I very much did not. I light some candles, pull out my favorite body oil (I travel with way more skin-care products than I need to), and strip. He comes in, sits on the bed, and I rest my head in his lap on a pillow so we can chat while he massages me. We talk mostly about feelings, about childhood traumas, things that are coming up in my body as he unknots them.
7 a.m. I wake up and move closer to his body for morning snuggles and feel him harden against me. I’m not a usually a big morning-sex person, but I feel very sexually attracted to his being and we’re parting ways today, so I want some extra connection and touch time before that happens.
8 a.m. I feel a pang of sadness that this time is coming to a close and I’m going back to my “new normal” quarantine life in SF. I remind myself that these experiences are so special because they are moments in time that I get to reflect on fondly and that they wouldn’t be as magical if they lasted longer.
11 a.m. The car is mostly packed. The doctor comes out and asks me on a second date when he’s back in SF. I giggle over our 90-hour first date, and say yes to the second. He’ll be back in SF in another week or so.
11:30 a.m. We kiss good-bye. I hop in the car to take off. I’m on the road for 30 minutes going through my checklist in my head to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I realize I forgot my small tube of retinol on the bathroom shelf. I call him. He answers. He’s just taking off down the driveway and turns around to go look for the retinol. He finds it and says he’ll give it to me next week. Saint of a human — he understands the importance of a skin-care routine.
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