Iwas gobbling a grande Guatemalan breakfast with six Narcotics Anonymous pals last Sunday, when the banter main-lined into sex and drugs nostalgia. My primo buds gave me the hardcore genital lowdown on under-the-influence wastoid eroticism: "I'll fuck anybody when I'm on Quaaludes," Tim beams, sheepishly. "It doesn't matter who they are. I'll fuck the house pet."

"Yeah," Agnes agrees. "Actually, on all drugs except opiates, I'll fuck anybody -- even a warthog. And condoms are not a priority. It's really hard to have safe sex, because it's so inconvenient."

"Ecstasy makes me the horniest," Harriet recalls. "On 'X', I feel like my entire spine is having an orgasm. I love everyone and I want to fuck them, and their mothers. I want to fold my skin into everyone else's skin. I remember once, I wanted to be 'on top' for hours, although usually I get bored after five minutes. Yeah..."

"Ecstasy makes me feel touchie-feelie, too," Bill interjects. "Everything feels sensual and intense, but if it's cut with speed, all I want to do is go out dancing."

"For me, speed is a great masturbation drug," Mark reminisces. "It's like putting Tabasco sauce on my dick. I used to stay awake on speed for four to six days at a time; I'd end it by jerking off to erotic hallucinations that I saw in the newspaper photos. The orgasms I had were just localized urethral 'squirts' -- they weren't perineum-twitching, back-breaking, ball-spurting sensations -- but an enormous quantity of come always exuded."

"You're so weird!" Harriet laughs. "I wasn't interested in sex at all when I was on speed. I just wanted to talk and stay awake for as long as possible. I didn't want the sun to come up, or your penis."

"I was impotent on speed," Tim shudders. "But when I came off it, I was really fucking horny."

"Crystal meth is great if you're a gay 'bottom,'" Bill informs us, using the queer slang for speed. "On crystal, you can take more of the rough stuff; you love getting fucked in the ass."

"Pot is lovely," Patricia smiles. "It heightens my desire and sensitivity, and it loosens up my inhibitions."

"Which ones?" I ask.

"The one I had about blowing donkeys," she cackles.

"I dunno," Harriet argues. "Pot made my pussy dry up like a desert, and it makes me drowsy. I fell asleep on pot once, during fellatio. Embarrassing."

"Psychedelics aren't arousing for me," Bill shrugs. "When I'm tripping on LSD or psilocybin, I'm distracted, I'm not interested in sex."

"When I was high on heroin," says ex-junkie Tim, "I could perform forever, but I couldn't come. It was enjoyable at first, but then I didn't want to do it. I was sharing my bedroom in the Tenderloin with foxy prostitutes, but I never touched them or even thought about it. Being high on heroin was already like having an orgasm, so sex was superfluous."

"I could come on heroin," Mark boasts. "But it was extremely difficult, it took forever, it was almost impossible. When I came, it was just a relief."

"Heroin and speed are better than sex," Patricia agrees. "Totally hot guys would ask me out, but I'd completely space, I'd forget about the date. My whole body felt like a big vibrator at the time. More stimulus was not a priority."

"When I smoked cocaine, the stimulus on the surface of my skin increased, but the connection to my brain was weakened," Agnes giggles. "I remember Memorial Day, 1995 -- I fucked all day, until I was raw. My labia were absolutely puffy and purple. Eight hours of humping went by and I didn't even realize it -- it was compulsive, not enjoyable, and the next day, I could hardly walk."

"I like putting coke on a guy's dick, and sucking it," chortles Harriet. "It makes me feel naughty, like a Bon Jovi groupie."

"Coke didn't work for me," mutters Tim. "I got real into snorting, smoking, and shooting, and I couldn't think about sex anymore."

"Yeah," Mark nods. "Just 'fixing up the works' became the sexiest thing I could imagine doing."

Everyone eagerly nods in agreement. I'm a "chemical virgin" myself, but after listening to these sordid escapades with my throbbing boner leaking under the table, I can't help thinking: Why did I miss all the fun?

Hank Hyena is a columnist for SfGate and a frequent contributor to Salon.