The Morning After the Shag Before

Music: In the Morning - Razorlight

The morning after our first date sex-a-thon, Craig’s alarm goes off at 8:00am.  Sadly, he has to get up and check on his team of painters and decorators in the absence of his holidaying Dad. I always wake up early when I’ve been drinking and partly because of this and partly because of the strange location I’d already been awake since 7:00am.

Craig stretches, then rolls over and turns to face me.

“Good morning,” he says, half-heartedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning,” I reply.

I can tell that things are slightly different now. Of course they are bound to be, as we are both now sober(ish) and are lying in bed together with the cold light of day streaming in through the curtains.

In the harsh morning light there is no attempt to cuddle and I feel a bit awkward. Craig starts to mess with his phone as he has a few missed calls from the blokes on site. This doesn’t bother me too much at first, but after his phone rings for the fifth time I politely ask him if he wouldn’t mind putting it on silent mode. I understand that he has to go to work, but manners are manners and he still has a naked woman in his bed to deal with first.

I am conscious of my morning breath, and I’m sure that the Alsatians downstairs had sweeter breath than me after a night out. Therefore, before Craig had woken up I nipped into the en-suite and rubbed toothpaste on my teeth with my finger to try and freshen it up. I don’t think it really worked as my mouth still tasted like I’d been sucking on a turd, but this didn’t seem to matter to Craig as we kiss for the first time when sober.

The kiss is nice, slightly awkward, but nice. Our bodies move closer together and as Craig pulls me towards him I let myself relax. We start to touch each other again, and after a few minutes of kissing and groping we start to have sex. Without alcohol coursing around our veins, it isn’t quite up to the levels of passion from the night before. I know I am not looking as good as before we went to bed (despite my best efforts to freshen up with the bits of makeup I’d stashed in my bag), and we end up having face over the shoulder sex:

In the missionary position, with my face over his right shoulder and his over mine.

We don’t look each other in the eye.

He comes.

He climbs off.

He gets up to make me a cup of tea.

Now that was the first time experience I'd been expecting.

Samantha Jones eat your heart out.
I did it. Or more accurately, we did it.

The first time it was drunk and great. The second time it was sober and a bit shit. But I don’t care, as I had a brilliant night, some pretty good sex and all with a younger, good looking man who I wouldn’t mind seeing again for an action replay.

I am proud of myself that I didn’t freak out when it came to being naked and I must be OK at sex still as I made him come twice.  Hurrah for me.

As I lie in bed pondering this, I can hear Craig talking to his brother downstairs and banging around in the kitchen. I pull the duvet up around my chin and am about to doze off to sleep again when my phone starts to ring.

That’s odd. Who on earth is calling me this early on a Sunday morning?

I reach out to the bedside table and pull my phone out of my bag. I check the caller display.

It’s my Dad.

Oh shit.

This can’t be good.

To be continued... (sadly)