Alcohol is responsible for many memories. It’s the cause of torn coat sleeves, the reason I once fell through a fence and explains why I woke on a friend’s bed rambling about “rusty Volkswagen catalogues”.

It’s also added a lot of fun to sex. And a lot of obstacles.

Picture the scene – Cheryl (my new sexual experimenter and spunk analyst) had a night off and we were all going out. 8 students, crammed onto a table in a pub with suspiciously high ceilings and carpets which absorbed stains with unnatural ease.

Sat side by side, it didn’t take long before my leg brushed against Cheryl’s and felt her gently nudge back in response. Since we’d downplayed any involvement to the others we silently agreed to carry on drinking and enjoying ourselves, all the while secretly pressing and rubbing against one another. Above the table all was normal; below the table a friction began to build.

Between rounds of drinks my hand slipped beneath to stroke Cheryl’s thigh, peeking out so beautifully from the hem of her dark green dress. When we slid to the next bar I made sure to stand behind her, pushing her arse through the door with a firm grip and smirked at the cheeky grin she flashed me in return. Under dim lights and trashy music we snuck in further moments, sometimes simply letting our fingers touch while standing in close proximity, sometimes pretending to lean in to speak and instead softly brushing the other’s ear with our lips, and sometimes we’d lead ourselves to dark corners for covert kisses which tasted of sambuca and cigarette smoke.

By the time the night came to an end we were drunk and so fucking horny it was a miracle we didn’t shred each others clothes and simply fuck in the car park. I could feel my pants soaked in pre-come and knew by the look she was giving me that her own underwear was in a similar mess, but we still couldn’t do anything. It took 20 minutes for the group to catch a taxi and then another 20 of rocking in the back seat before we could start offloading people. The entire time I forced myself to look out the window and not at Cheryl’s legs which seemed to part each time I glanced her way.

Once the others were safely deposited I made up a weak lie about needing to go back to Cheryl’s to collect a folder (I was drunk, it was the best excuse I had!) and when we were finally – FINALLY – alone we let the cab turn the corner and threw ourselves at each other.

I’d never felt anything quite so desperate in my life. It was a 10 minute fumble of groping hands sliding up long legs, teeth biting, and lips sucking every inch of skin before the driver kicked us out. The second we stopped, I threw money at him and ran awkwardly with Cheryl to the front door, booze in my stomach and a massive erection in my pants.

This was it! We were going to get BUSY!

She grabbed her keys, stabbed them at the door and then I heard a jangle of metal and a whispered “FUCK!”

I scurried to join her.

“I’ve dropped the fucking keys,” she hissed and we promptly fell to our knees, both crawling along the path, hands outstretched, trying to find the damn fob in the dark using our phones as lights.

Cheryl found them, gave a cry of triumph, then, taking more care, unlocked the door. We pushed inside however, in my eagerness, I misjudged my footing. I felt the tip of one shoe catch the doorstep, a sickening lurch, and then the world fell away. Out of instinct I reached for support, felt my fingers wrap around the strap of her handbag and heard her squawk and laugh as I almost yanked her off her feet.

There were a couple of seconds silence while we composed ourselves. I hauled myself back up, knees burning from the carpet and waited to see whether we’d woken Cheryl’s housemate. Then, once the coast was clear, we navigated our way up stairs where we waited, once again, to find the right key to let us into Cheryl’s room.

It hadn’t been a great start but we’d made it to the bedroom and, once inside, it would all be worth it. Nothing else could go wrong, surely?

We grinned and giggled, pulling towards each other while the world slid around us like wet sand. The alcohol was starting to take full effect and there were fumbles, mistakes, buttons caught and laces which refused to untie, but at least the kissing and the touching were finally happening. I reached to help Cheryl out of her heels, felt her cling to me awkwardly, then stripped my underwear off and hit the bed – diving beneath the covers in a blur of bedsheets.

The streetlamp outside gave us just enough light to see by and we kissed as I slid into her, my cock straining. We fucked, but our normal rhythm was off kilter, the night’s worth of booze had fucked with our timing.

“Fuck me from behind,” she whispered, and without further encouragement I pulled from her, readjusted and, once bent over, found my way back inside. That warm sensation I’d been craving wrapped itself around me and we went at it again. This felt better, this felt good.

I could feel the bed shaking beneath us, half wondering whether Cheryl’s housemate in the room below would thump on the ceiling in annoyance, and found the thought strangely arousing. We’d waited all night for this fuck, we should make it worth our while.

I went harder, gripping her shoulder and pulling myself in, loving the way she ground her hips down on my cock. She gave a deep groan, lowered her head and I did it again, hitting harder this time, slapping my balls against her soaking cunt.

One more for luck, I thought, pulling back and giving her another, deeper, fuck. Her body lept forward and, like the incident with the doorstep earlier, I misjudged my thrust. There was a dull thud and a shocked “OW!” as her head hit the wall.

My heart lurched, I pulled back and reached to flip her over, then saw a blurry shape fly towards me. I tried to kneel back further, to get out of the way, but her hand shot out too fast, caught me across the nose and – SMACK –  twatted me in the face.

There was blood.

Quite a lot of blood.

But, as a seasoned nosebleed expert (I’ve had them ever since I was a kid, even during the middle of an exam) I knew exactly what needed to be done and climbed off the bed, pinching my nose as blood dripped down my chest. It was the final note to a rather disastrous session and we sat there in the dark, laughing about our misfortune until my erection finally faded away.

So yes, alcohol can provide a lot of fun during sex, but it can also provide a hell of a lot of obstacles…

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked