See? Good thing I made that list so I’d remember what to tell you about.
I almost never drink. Oh, back in the day (read: college) whenever I was trying to impress some guy (who was probably totally douchey) I’d throw a few Fuzzy Navels back. And there was that one St. Patrick’s Day when, over the course of about 18 hours, I had a fifth of peach schnapps (mixed with orange juice swiped from my university’s cafeteria – Klassy), seven green beers, and several jello shots. Ugh. I’m not proud of that.
Anyway, over the past 8 years or so, I’ve been pregnant, trying (very hard) to get pregnant, breastfeeding, poor, not interested, and other assorted reasons why I didn’t consume alcohol. As a result, my tolerance is thistiny and it doesn’t take much to get me tipsy, and only a little bit more to throw me over the edge into being drunk. We’d bought a 12-pack of beer, ostensibly for M, and a bottle of wine, which in recent history is the only thing I’ve even indulged in a glass of. After returning from our very interesting day at the nude beach (you still have to wait for that post), we were already kind of heady with the awesomeness of the day spent mostly naked but not touching each other. We opened the wine as we got dinner ready, and before I knew it, I’d killed most of the bottle on my own. It was delicious.
I stood up from the picnic table on the screened in porch and had to grip the edge to steady myself. “Woah.”
“A little drunk there, honey?”
“Yes. Holy shit, I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”
It felt wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that if I didn’t have some safeguards in place in my life, I’d probably be an alcoholic. I know drinking isn’t necessary to have a good time. I know it’s not the healthiest thing to over-indulge in anything, especially alcohol. But on this trip, this night, it felt so good to be loose, unwound, flexible, boneless, carefree. I had no inhibitions (everyone together now: DUH).
We finished dinner, played a couple of games of cards, and then I went in to use the bathroom. After that, I splayed out on the bed. M found me there, stripped me naked (not that I’d had much on). What followed was a very intense and intimate fuck that still blows my mind. We were everywhere. It’s almost like we were showing off for each other, proud that we could be so hot together. I lost track of my orgasms after 6. I kept falling off the side of the bed, he’d haul me back up and fuck me off it again. He would alternate between eating my pussy and fucking me SO hard and deep in every possible place. I was screaming. He was groaning. After he’d cum in my ass, I insisted on getting one more orgasm, and so he laid beside me while I used my vibrator. I don’t know what happened exactly. To the outside observer, I probably looked like I was having a seizure. I convulsed for about 3-4 minutes, lying in the fetal position.
Later, M said he’d called my name a couple of times there afterwards, and I didn’t respond. Apparently, the combination of the alcohol and the sex caused me to shut down for a few minutes. I would love to experience this again, that intensity. But I have a feeling if I drank like I’d need to to make it happen it would be pretty self-destructive. Nah, I’ll just savor the memories.