The View From My Knees

Once again, I have let alcohol impede my sex life. Well, to be more accurate, the alcohol didn’t actually prevent me from having a good time. But, sadly, it prevented me from remembering it. Let me tell you about the parts I do remember:

A swanky local night club was having a bright affair. They were bringing in a big name DJ and the flyer promised Playboy Playmate appearances throughout the night. I was able to get myself on the guest list, so I rounded up a handful of friends and got dolled up for a fun night.

Among my usual band of miscreants was the ultra sexy Marnie. Marnie and I had met online a few months prior and had been instantly attracted to each other. The first night we’d met in person – a bowling date with just the two of us and a few too many drinks – we’d ended the night making out against her car in the parking lot. “I really want to fuck you,” she’d said, sliding her hand into the waistline of my pants. Alas, it had been the middle of the week, and we both had to get up early the next day for work.

But this was a Friday night. We could party as hard and as late as we wanted. So we drank, and we danced, and we drank. Soon, we were making out on the dance floor, much to the delight of the men all around us. I’m pretty sure we were drawing all the attention away from the scantily clad models that had been paid to liven up the event, and we loved it. Eventually, though, we decided that this particular club just wasn’t our style, so we rounded up our group and hailed a cab.

By Marnie’s instructions, the cab dropped us off at another club near my apartment. We piled into the small venue and continued our drinking, dancing, and of course, making out. At 2 am, when the club closed, we stumbled outside and made our way to my place. By this time, our group had dwindled to just four of us: Lucky, Fingers, Marnie, and me. But the two boys might as well have not been there, as Marnie and I only had eyes (and mouths and hands) for each other.

From the moment we set foot in my apartment, we girls were all over each other. We made our way to the couch and began to peel each other’s clothes off. Realizing they weren’t invited to join us, Lucky and Fingers enjoyed the view over the railing from the loft bedroom above us, cheering us on.

And here, unfortunately, is where my memory gets hazy. I remember only bits and pieces of what happened next. I remember hovering over her on the couch with my fingers sliding in and out of her. I remember having my head between her legs, lapping at her delicious pussy. In my mind, I can see flashes of lying on my back on the couch, Marnie positioned between my legs, telling me how hard she was going to fuck my wet little pussy.

And the next thing I remember is waking up to the sun shining in at me from the living room window. Marnie had gone home. Fingers had gone home. Lucky was asleep in the bedroom. Despite my fuzzy memory of the night’s events, I knew it had been amazing and hot. I cursed myself for getting so drunk that I couldn’t savor it the way I’d have liked. I hoped I hadn’t passed out in the middle of it all.

So there you have it, my sad little tale of the clash between alcohol and my sex life. Sure, I had amazing sex with one of the hottest women I’ve ever met, but I barely remember any of it. And believe me, when you get the chance to fuck a girl that hot and that sexual, you really want to remember every last juicy, sweaty detail.

Marnie and I have had some good times since then, although I haven’t seen her in a while and we have a lot of catching up to do (both in and out of the bedroom). Maybe I’ll give her a call soon so we can make up for lost time…and memories.