Rosie Green: The night our sex life lost its fizz

The boyfriend and I had planned a night away to celebrate his birthday.

It had been inked in the diary for months, so excitement had mounted. Freedom beckoned. Sexual tension built. I looked at the hotel website more often than is seemly.

The prospect of a whole 24 hours of togetherness, along with an escape from the domestic drudgery, meant that I was more overexcited than a fashionista at a Gucci sample sale.

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And so when we were finally in the hotel room, lying on the 300-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, and the boyfriend produced a bottle of fizz (contraband ‒ to evade mini-bar prices), I was in the mood to cut loose and imbibe my entire week’s units in one night.

I had one glass, then another and then one more.

Now, surely, one of the primary purposes of a romantic hotel getaway is sex. But, as I discovered, a lot of booze and sex are not necessarily good bedfellows. Well, not for me anyway.

Of course, the first few tipples can fan the flames of desire. In my case, and I suspect many of yours too, alcohol ignites the libido, fires up the ardour and generally gives self-confidence a big boost. A couple of glasses of wine can make me feel like a sex goddess ‒ Beyoncé, Penélope Cruz and Cindy Crawford all rolled into one.

Plus, not only do they make me feel hotter, they make my partner seem even more desirable, too.

If that isn’t enough, booze always decreases my inhibitions. Which means tipsy me is more adventurous – less prissy and more fun.

In our hotel room I was feeling all those champagne-induced feels when we suddenly realised we needed to head straight down for dinner.

Whereupon I opted for a glass of rosé. Error. Too much alcohol ‒ and I’m talking anything more than three drinks ‒ means I’m all chat and no action. So there I was, flirting outrageously and whispering sweet nothings in the ear of my beloved at 8pm. By 10pm? Passed out on top of those fancy Egyptian cotton sheets. (Disclaimer: apparently, women’s increased fat-to-muscle ratio means we’re more easily affected by booze, so I can’t be held entirely responsible.) I woke fully clothed at 3am with a mouth that felt like the bottom of a birdcage. Hot it was not.

In the morning I had a monumental hangover and a hefty dose of self-loathing. Had I messed up our long-planned treat by getting too sozzled for sexy time? Would he consider his birthday outing a damp squib? Would he be mad that the promised night of passion had dissolved in a vat of ethanol?

I offered to make him a coffee from the fancy machine in the room. (More as a gesture, if I’m honest ‒ I mean, who can actually work those things?)

He could barely open his eyelids and it quickly became apparent (mainly because he could hardly form words) that we’d both gone overboard on the booze.

My guilt assuaged, we headed for a carb-heavy breakfast and decided that next time we will keep our quaffing to sensible levels. We’ll be a bit more tactical and schedule in bedroom activity before drinking commences.

We’ll stick to our booze sweet spots rather than overdo it. All good learnings.

After that blowout, the ensuing period of alcohol abstinence (and I needed a good few weeks) also taught me something else. It made me appreciate the benefits of sober sex: higher energy levels, more intimacy, less bravado.

Plus, I reckon if we fancy each other without rosé-tinted glasses then we are definitely on to a winner.

Make mine a sparkling water please, waiter.


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