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Cock-a-Doodle-Don't

November 6, 2012, 10:00 pm
By Caroline Morgan

Fact: I do not like to wake up unless it is for sex. Morning sex is ethereal.

I am asleep. I am aroused. There is nothing but me and my desire. It starts slow.

Someone is playing.

Someone is playing with me.

Someone is playing with my body.

And suddenly I’m awake. I’m fully aroused and fully focused. I want that body. I’m going to pounce like he’s hors d’oeuvres at a wedding. 

But not everyone loves hors d’oeuvres as much as I do. A reader recently said,

“Since you are a bona fide sex columnist I feel it is my duty to report to you that I got laid earlier this week and it was terrible. You should write a column on morning after drinking waaaaaay too much sex aka hangover sex.  Your last piece of advice in said column should be avoid it at all costs.” 

Usually, I would disagree. Morning sex is the new coffee. It’s better than bacon and a bloody Mary (even a bacon bloody Mary).

Everything’s bad the morning after a night of drinking, except sex.

But I recently had one of those mornings where I needed to clutch my head and wallow in a sunless hole of self-pity and Advil. It took all my strength to lift a glass of water from my bedside table to my mouth. I did not need to, essentially, exercise for 30 minutes.

But there was a boy in my bed, and I’m not one to squander an opportunity. So I went under the covers and started moving south. I shouldn’t have.

My entire body was shaking and clammy in a feverish sort of way. My contacts were out, I couldn’t see shit, and I was flailing around like a drunk hobo in a sensory deprivation chamber.

My mind knew what it wanted to do, but my body couldn’t seem to actually do anything. My mouth tasted like a cigarette that had been smoked, put in an ashtray, and then picked up by a legless homeless man who smoked the filter, then died.

The whole time, I was holding back vomit. It was terrible.

My reader had an equally horrific experience. 

Having stumbled home after shots and sweaty dancing, she smelled horrible. Her partner had his glasses off and couldn’t see the eyeliner smeared all over her face, or where he was putting things. Thanks to a morning breath-hangover mouth desert syndrome combo, they had Pretty Woman sex.  

Heed her warning, readers. Learn from my cautionary tale.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, the worst part about a morning mount is usually that your day goes pretty much all downhill from there. I don’t know how they conducted that study, but it’s science fact.

That other 1 percent of the time, repeat only one mantra: “I am a torpid corpse. I am a torpid corpse.” If you wake up after a night of hard drinking with a mysterious and overwhelming urge for sex, don’t.

Avoid it at all costs.

 

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