Thursday night started out as a fairly normal night; I met him at the restaurant, and he'd had some champagne sent to the table. I never get bored of that! I could tell straight away that he was in high spirits; he had Friday off work, which was very rare for him. All the more reason to drink! As I expected, we headed to a pub after dinner. It wasn't Irish, but still had St Patrick's celebrations in full swing (I'd worn my green Mawi earrings in preparation). I don't drink Guinness, but I certainly held my own in the alcohol stakes; I can drink as much as most of my clients and remain upright and ladylike! After a few Jaeger bombs and some dancing to 80s pop, it's fair to say that we were both pretty tipsy by the time we stumbled back to the hotel.
I wondered if he would be up for performing; it wouldn't have surprised me if he couldn't get it up or if he fell asleep. Impressively, he stayed wide awake and had every intention of getting his money's worth. Things were a little bit clumsy, but we had the giggles so it kind of worked. I pushed him against the wardrobe and unbuttoned his shirt, then he turned me against the wall and unzipped my dress. He was inside me before we made it to the bed - as soon as my lace knickers were down, he eased himself into me. A little precarious, considering his trousers were still round his ankles and my knickers were draped around a 5 inch heel. Somehow, we did make it onto the bed, and it seemed so much more exciting than missionary usually is. He rammed himself into me with such force that I shifted up the bed with each thrust! I didn't even need to touch myself to climax, because he pressed against my clit every time he pushed into me. It gave me the kind of thrill that you get at a fairground: exciting, reckless, exhilarating fun. See, sometimes drunken sex can be good!
I've had a busy few days away since then, but back to work tonight for drinks.