I lost my munchie virginity to an apricot.
I liked food, I enjoyed tasting food but it wasn’t until I was stoned and wrapped my lips around half an apricot that I really, really tasted food. I was twenty, apricots were in season and I had an endless source of weed that was naturally and locally grown in my dad’s backyard.
The sprinkler’s droplets watered my searing skin. My eyes were shut. The apricot, as luscious as my bottom lip, was musky with a whispering tartiness. A whole new realm of blissful, sensory encounters opened up after one innocent bite. A deep yearning for more of those encounters continued and I wanted it all, in every season, in every mood, in every way possible.
Food can be one of those confusing erotic equations. Food fucks with us. Sometimes it is forbidden, which makes us yearn for it, desire it, want to taste it all. It fills us with conflicting messages of guilt and gratefulness. And sometimes we just can’t help but go back for more, captivated by desire — like a gorgeous lover we can’t have.
Until that golden afternoon, never had I ever experienced a relationship with a fruit quite like that one. It was innocent and sweet and in my state of haziness, I believed that every part of me deserved the goodness of that golden fruit. It was nourishment. I tasted the apricot slowly as I lay in the sun.
I was gone.
Marijuana is seen as the gateway drug. That is a controversial statement, one with which I can assuredly agree with. It is a gateway drug to natural highs and appreciations of the meekest. This herby-sometimes-spicy smoked plant is a portal into enjoying the earth’s goodness innocently, to laugh uncontrollably, to dream in gentle colours and to be amazed by the most humble things.
Marijuana and its consequent munchies have taught me when to stop; to sometimes linger on the edge, to pause just before insertion, to tease desire and to tiptoe along the contour of the rabbit hole. It taught me how to live on the verge; how to truly taste.