Sometimes I wake up in the night to find my fingers rubbing hard at my clit. Sometimes I wake up and realise I’m licking them. Sucking post-wank moisture from the tips at the end of a half-remembered dream. Sometimes I fuck in my sleep.

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This post discusses sleep sex (and sleep ‘other things’). Everything that happens here is 100% consensual, with a guy I trust a lot, and with whom I have had numerous conversations about sleep shagging. It is not an endorsement to go ahead and do this with people who you haven’t had similar conversations with, obviously. 

Apparently on Saturday night I kept a guy awake for hours by repeatedly wrapping my arms round him and begging him to touch my tits.

Yeah, that’s weird, isn’t it?

I was also either 100% asleep for the entire thing, or I have suffered selective amnesia. When he explained to me, very patiently, on Sunday morning that he was a bit knackered ‘because of your weird midnight nipple demands’ you could have knocked me down with a feather. You could also have knocked him down with a feather, because – thinking I was awake – he kindly acquiesced, until eventually he fell asleep on me for a while before I woke him up for more.

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We’re grown-ups now: it’s not the done thing. You can’t fuck in a crowded room at a sleepover and expect to get away with it. We have more fun, don’t we? Those group sex parties and swingers’ clubs and all the places we can legitimately fuck in the open? Except we don’t, not always. And sometimes the delight of having secret sex in the dark is overlooked in favour of open sex with an audience.

I used to do this a lot. When I was young, I mean – not now. Now we have money for hotels, and big houses, and far far fewer friends. And – what’s that other thing? – oh yeah, restraint. There’s little need now to pack horny couples into a living room and hope their sex doesn’t jog the couple shagging on the pillows next to them.

That’s either a shame or a blessing. If you think it’s the latter, then please don’t read on.

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