Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect the naughty.
I have three huge vices: vodka, men and shopping. Okay – maybe I have a few more than that – but I’ll save them for another column.
Unfortunately though, none of my vices seem to go together very well. I have never met a man who would go shopping with me – or at least not willingly – and I have yet to have an instance where a whole lot of vodka mixed with a whole lot of man made for a good night.
Vodka gives me that little extra boost of confidence and just enough imbalance to make me drop my phone, yet still hit on every tall, dark and handsome thing within 10 feet. A dose of SVEDKA or SKYY serves up some dirty dance moves and a mouth filthy enough to be confused with a phone sex operator.
Now I know what you’re thinking – booty dancing, booze and hot guys sounds like a great night – and that it certainly is. It is when the bar closes and the pants come off that the party is over. Although I know that sex and a few strong sips is never a good mixture for me, I always find myself optimistically giving the combo another try.
One of my drunken romps did get a jumpstart with alcohol but the jungle juice did not seem to get the job done. As I marched back to my residence hall that night I had set my sights on a guy I had just met while he was party hopping with my group of friends. We made our way to my room and as the rest of our group dissipated, I drunkenly decided to confess to “Mystery Meat” my lustful desires.
At first it was slurred and sentimental and slowly I morphed into an inebriated nympho, telling him things would make Jenna Jameson blush.
A few slurred comments later, Mystery Meat and I were tongue wrestling and groping when he told me to take him back to my room to so I could make good on my erotic innuendos.
As I violently tore off his shirt and scarcely missed branding Mystery Meat with a black eye, I began to feel like Austin Powers when he lost his mojo. My dear vodka vice was making me awfully accident-prone and I nearly fell on my butt trying to get my own pants off.
By the time we finally were unclothed and in full-blown foreplay I realized something felt different. I could not feel anything – not my face, not my legs – and certainly not my Mystery Meat.
As I woke up the next day horribly hung over I realized that my drunken horniness was hard pressed to decline a handsome man.
I also realized why some people might really prefer the drunken hook up. When we are drunk we can be crazy, or horny, or belligerent and not feel nervous because “we were drunk” when did that or said that.
But when we are sober, we have to be brave. We have to take a chance and risk rejection for our craziness, or our horniness. What is often lost in the drunken stupor though, is remembering that when you meet someone who will do some crazy sexy things to you – in a sober state – that is something pretty damn special.
