I had drunk myself into a case of penile Asperger’s Syndrome. I couldn’t stop thinking about how long I’d been aroused for. I was positive I’d come everywhere as soon as I saw her naked.

So I popped into the bathroom and threw a shitfaced beat.

Assuming that I’d now be able to last like John Holmes, I hopped into bed with her and got sloppy. I quickly realized – we both did – that my dick had already passed out. She consoled me by saying that it was no big deal and we could do it in the morning, but I felt like a jackass.

Now, I’ve often said that sex is just foreplay for spooning, and here I was in a nice, quiet apartment with a pretty girl sleeping next to me in one hell of a comfortable bed. Living the life. Yet I couldn’t get the whiskey dick out of my mind. It had never happened to me before, and I was ashamed. I was convinced my cock would never work again. This thought wound through my skull so much that I spent much of the night going to the bathroom to try and get a boner, just to prove that I still could. The results were mixed.

Finally, the damn sun came up. She woke up and climbed on top of me with that just-awake look that I’m not sure if I’m creepy for finding so sexy. Things got frisky again and suddenly BAM, my fucking junk decides to finally join the party. We go through the search for a condom, which I’m sure I’ll always be awkward at, and it was game time.

One. Two. Three.

“Oh. Shit.” After warming up my Tim Salmon all night, the goddamn guy hit a home run on the first fucking pitch.

She just stared at me incredulously. That was the last time we ever hung out.

You can bet I never spent another sober night at work again.