Punch Drunk Sex

“How did last night happen?” I thought out loud as I laid staring up at the popcorn ceiling littered with cobwebs. Memories from the last 12 hours blurred in and out, creating a sketchy time line of events. Everything is crystal clear until we closed out the tab at the bar. From that point it was either the shots or the weed that had planned out the conclusion of the evening.

But the parts I couldn’t remember, I could feel. Some internal bliss that still radiated and glowed. Not a cheap happiness but a feeling of complete satisfaction. As I rolled onto my side, a dull pain warmed itself on my arm, an instant flash to the night’s escapades, feeling that same dull pain along with liquid joy as bodies were crashed into each other. I fight back a moan that would repeat itself if I didn’t control it.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to put together the fuzzy puzzle pieces. Driving, parking and then a kiss. Although no actual memory of the initial lip lock, a very vivid recall of climbing out of the driver’s seat and onto his lap strengthens a desire to feel skin. Causally I stretch my fingertips over his abdomen as I had straddled him hours before. This was madness. Fabulous madness.

A walk to the house? Missing. The feeling of him inside of me? Perfect consciousness.

Replaying every part of last night I could remember sent a collective surge through my body. Kissing against a wall, his lips moist with the taste of whiskey, the back of my head dulls with bruise. The initial feeling of him entering me, fumbling around, both of out hands on his dick directing it into me. Our clumsy fondling, humping, scratching, biting, pulling, and falling. Each thrust feeling better than the previous. We both climaxed twice and then I had asked for more, practically begged. My question shouldn’t have been ‘How did last night happened,” it should have been, “Why aren’t we continuing?”

“I don’t know,” he responded to my first question, moving closer to me.

I know the answer, of course. Thank god for substances to break down the barriers that stop people from engaging in wonderful debauchery. This had little to do with timid flirtations or subtle touches when engaged in conversation. The alcohol, the pot, and the moment had all led up to this. It was in that moment, with the relief of inhibitions that moved passion from theory to practice.

“Last night was fantastic.”

“So fantastic,” he counters. Perfect answer.

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