I had a lot of fun on Picnic Day – or so my friends tell me.
Aside from working in the morning, the last concrete thing I remember about Saturday is getting picked up by my boyfriend and roommates. As I got in the car, my roommate Belle shoved a UC Davis water bottle in my face and said, “It’s booze. Drink.”
It would be torture for me to try to remember specifics. Sure, I might’ve taken a shot or two. I may or may not have roamed campus high out of my mind, tripping out on all the little kids and wiener dogs. And although I can’t promise I didn’t do anything illegal, I can wholeheartedly say that I enjoyed myself.
But after a long day of general substance-induced debauchery, the greatest gift one could treat him or herself to is sex. That’s right, honeybees – drunk sex.
Now, before I go on, here’s a disclaimer: Be smart. Fellas, that means using a condom. Ladies (or other fellas), that means telling him to use one. Condition yourselves to strap one on before you get started, no matter how much of a mess you are. If you’re conscious enough to get some, you’re conscious enough to stay safe. Use a rubber. (Trust me, the morning after will be a tad less remorseful when you realize you were at least well armored.)
That being said, drunk sex is amazing. I tend to feel a completely different sense of liberation. Usually, my boyfriend Arthur and I have to keep quiet while we’re going at it – we’re considerate of our roommates. But when we’re drunk, there’s no censor. No self-restraint. Drunk sex is all lust and no fear.
I’m not the only one who feels this way. Belle admits that before she and her boyfriend have sex, she sometimes wishes she could help herself to a shot or three.
“It just loosens me up,” she said. “I’m usually not the one to initiate things, but after a few drinks, I’m like, ‘Hey daddy, let’s play!'”
I, too, get a little ballsy when I’m drunk. Normally, I like being a tease. I like letting my guy enjoy a small sneak peek before the main event. But after a few Cosmos, I just go for it – and leave nothing to the imagination.
I also find drunk sex to be rather progressive. You’re more willing to try new things, you’re more receptive to the sensations and you don’t hold shit back. Just as a precaution, though: This could heighten the morning-after awkwardness. I’d hate to wake up to something like, “Oh, hey … do you remember slapping my face and calling me a ‘kinky binky boo’ last night? That was hot.”
But really, you’d be surprised as to how creative you can get when you’re drunkenly fornicating – or maybe you just think you’re being creative. Alcohol tends to mess with our judgment. In any case, your previously undiscovered flexibility or newfound gymnast-like agility will astonish you. I still amaze myself when I think about this one time in particular. How the hell did I get my leg to bend like that?
Drunk sex on Picnic Day was especially memorable for me – the proverbial cherry on top of a hot mess sundae, if you will.
I couldn’t have asked for a steamiery, more passionate night. Although my memory of the experience is still a bit hazy, I think it’s safe to say it was intense. I bet I put the moves of any top-notch porn star to shame that night. I was hot.
Then again, I’m not too reliable a source – I was drunk, for Gaga’s sake! If Arthur and I were in front of an audience, I wouldn’t deny a resemblance to two horny trout flopping around on each other.
MARIO LUGO is just glad he survived Picnic Day. If you see him today, be aware that he’s still recovering. So don’t talk too loud or move too fast around him – you’ll hurt his head. Share your survival stories with him at email@example.com.