The male orgasm. It isn't exactly the most mysterious thing in the world, is it? I've always thought of the humble penis as the rudimentary wooden club to the vagina's Swiss Army Knife. With its various pleasure-points and seemingly endless variety of peripheral add-ons (read: sex toys), I've often found myself envious.

You can imagine my surprise when I stumbled across a report of the 'male multiple-orgasm.' Yes, guys - you can cum (and keep cumming) with no cool-down period. Sure, this takes some practice; the strengthening of muscles and a deft control of self-restraint...but it's possible. I know what you're thinking, and yes, I tried it...did it work? Unfortunately no. Does that mean it won't work for you? Not at all. I chalk my failure up to the fact that my girlfriend is incredibly attentive, and when alone my self-control is...lacking. I didn't so much give up on the idea as forget about it altogether. Months later, I receive a seemingly unrelated text.

"LSD back in, wnt b here long."

I've dabbled for years, and as anyone who dabbles knows: supply is often short. I wasn't about to pass up this opportunity. A short walk and £6 well-spent, I waited patiently for a chance to indulge in a night of lysergic exploration. What was to follow would be a simple, well trodden path: lock myself away, ingest the acid, and bliss-out to some music. Acid taken care of, I made sure my housemates knew of my activities for the evening. Better safe than sorry. Placing the tab on my tongue I settled into my room, eager for what was to come.

I'm a big music fan. I work in a record store. I live with musicians. It goes without saying that my main focus during a solo-trip is music. The soundtrack had to be perfect. Luckily this evening, it wasn't difficult to make a decision. Coil's Time Machines had just been re-issued on vinyl. Previously out of press and rather expensive, it was an informed impulse buy. For those who don't know anything about the album (and I'm not judging - I hadn't heard of it until a friend shoved it under my nose) it's very special. Time Machines consists of four tracks - each one sharing the chemical name of a psychedelic compound. To confine a record of this ilk to a genre pigeon-hole is often reductive, but most listeners can agree on the label of 'drone.' If you have no idea what that means, just imagine the sound of 10,000 mechanical bees humming in unison to create a continuous, synthesised choir. It's an album that aims to bend the listener's temporal senses, and it achieves this through an awful, beautiful kind of hypnotic beauty - tinged with dread and interlaced with savant-level masterstrokes. Sweeping, throbbing synths, trembling, shuddering lower frequencies, and piercing white noise. This is the kind of stuff that I consider blacklisted whilst tripping. Tonight, however, curiosity had grasped me. I had to try it.

Headphones on, I let the first track play out. The familiar waves of excitement and anticipation slowly lap over me. Taking a deep breath, I make a conscious decision to 'let go.' Two tracks pass in relative comfort. "Maybe Time Machines just isn't as crazy as I had anticipated." Eyes closed, I watched the familiar spiraling cacophony of lights twist and melt in inky blackness. I allow myself to sink into the chemical grasp. Then something strange happens. Ever had 'pins and needles' in your legs? Imagine that sensation but around your genitals. A warm, tickling sensation. As though a thousand hands had begun fanning their palms against my thighs, pushing and probing towards my cock. I wanted to open my eyes. The sensation was unbelievably tangible. The palms began kneading, groping. The droning synths seeming to throb through my entire body, each sonic wave lapped against me. The vibrations seemingly traveling directly from the headphones, downward - This went on for (what I estimate to be) ten minutes. It felt good.

Throughout the experience my mind began to operate in a strange duality: "Is this happening?" contested with, "Shut up and let it happen!" However, it soon became evident that there wasn't going to be any 'fighting it.' My hips had begun to involuntarily rise, thrusting slowly upward and pressing against the hot, inviting glow of the music. The glow became hotter, its increase in temperature bringing an ache - I could feel every cotton molecule of my underwear imprisoning me. I began to bite my lip. I must've appeared mad - an exorcist-esque picture of obscene pleasure, pulled groin-first towards the ceiling. As though an invisible psychedelic sex-demon was playing puppeteer with my crotch. It was an unbearable ecstasy soundtracked by the infinite chorus of the universe. Time Machines was ushering me towards the edge, beckoning me to jump. Both hands grasping against the bedsheets I stifle a moan, feeling the familiar throb, push and struggle against my boxer-shorts. Did I just...? Slowly coming to, I begin to realise what has just happened. I just came without a single touch. Not only that - not a single sexual thought crossed my mind for the entire duration. Not surprising, really. Acid has never made me feel particularly sexed-up. The fact I was able to maintain an erection under its influence was remarkable in its own right. I'm almost inclined to refer to the experience as an encounter. It really felt as though I was receiving the orgasm rather than inducing it of my own accord. It felt like sex. The idea was absurd, but it was the closest comparison my limited human experience had to offer. The first exclamation I could muster reflected these thoughts: "Did I just have sex with the universe?"

Needless to say, the cleanup operation was somewhat strained. A darkened room, head full of acid and the relentless groan of synthetic noise doesn't tend to lead one into a succinct post-orgasm cleanse. A small price to pay for such an indescribably intense sexual experience. I've since scanned the net for any similar reports... I'm still yet to find anything similar. Never one to encourage drug use, I will say this: if you ever find yourself inexplicably poisoned with a manageable dose of lysergic acid diethylamide, I'd recommend dashing home and finding some headphones...there are worse ways to experience Coil's Time Machines... just don't forget to keep some tissues handy.