At 53, I realised I’d never had sex while sober

It was day three of rehab when I was handed the leaflet. 

I was sitting in a group session, exhausted, anxious, and still emotionally raw from a medically supervised detox and days of intense therapy and AA meetings, when I glanced down and read the title on the front: Sober Sex.  

I blinked. ‘Sober sex?’ I thought, confused. 

And then it hit me. I had never had sober sex. Not once. At 53 years of age, I realised – with horror – that I had always needed a drink in order to be intimate.  

It floored me. I felt both embarrassed and upset. I suddenly saw myself clearly. The supposedly confident, flirty, empowered woman I believed I was… had always needed alcohol to take her clothes off. Without it, I didn’t feel relaxed enough to be vulnerable, to connect, or to let go. 

It was a sobering truth in every sense of the word.  

Until going to rehab, the last time I’d been sober for more than 24 hours was 17 years earlier, when I was pregnant with my longed-for son.  

I discovered alcohol at 15, like so many teens in the 80s. Those drunken encounters went hand in hand with my first romance. I lost my virginity drunk and awkward, and from then on, alcohol and sex were a package deal.  

In my 20s, I was loud, extroverted and magnetic – or so I thought. 

In reality, booze gave me a mask to hide behind. It gave me courage. It gave me permission.  

I spent years dating and having sex with men who drank like I did. I didn’t even understand people who stayed sober. All my romances were fuelled by large glasses of wine and poor judgment.  

But finally, in 2002, I met ‘the one’ – my wonderful husband Andy – while drunk in a beer garden. We bonded over red wine and quickly fell in love. We had a beautiful 15-year marriage, but even then, we were never sober during sex. 

Alcohol was part of our relationship, part of our way to relax.

At first, it was just a shared bottle over dinner. Then it became a large glass the moment I walked through the door after work. Sundays meant a roast lunch and the bottle opened by midday. If I’m honest, two or even three bottles a day became the norm. 

In 2017, tragedy struck. Andy suffered a heart attack that caused a catastrophic brain injury. He needed 24/7 care, and for three long years, I grieved the man I’d loved, knowing he wasn’t coming back. 

When Covid took him in 2020, I turned entirely to the bottle. I couldn’t cope or function without it. 

Alcohol was the only effective tool to deal with my loss. By that point, I was drinking three bottles of red wine a day. When I couldn’t be seen drinking, like in the office, I’d resort to vodka hidden in Diet Coke bottles. 

It wasn’t about enjoyment anymore. It was about survival. Or at least, what I thought was the only way I could survive.

Post-lockdown, desperate for connection, I started dating again. I was nervous about the idea of new relationships as a widow, so I drank before every date to steady my nerves, to feel sexy, and to get through the night. 

Unsurprisingly, none of those relationships lasted – my drinking scared them off. 

One man called me out on my habits and raised his concerns with my family, so I ended things before he could get too close. 

By 2023, my body was beginning to give out. 

One morning, after a particularly heavy day and night of drinking at a corporate event, I suffered a fall in a supermarket car park. I was shaky, unsteady on my feet, and went down hard, smashing my face and injuring my leg. I needed weeks of physiotherapy just to walk properly again. 

Not long after, I ended up in A&E following a failed attempt to detox alone. 

That night made it painfully clear: I couldn’t do it on my own and on November 6, 2024, I checked into The Priory in Altrincham for a 28-day rehab stay. 

It was, without doubt, the best decision I’ve ever made.

But when I saw the words ‘sober sex’, I was paralysed by fear. How on earth was I ever going to date, or even think about sex, without a drink?

Then, while on my first ever sober holiday – a treat to myself to celebrate 90 days sober – a silver-haired man caught my eye.

He was handsome, charming, and clearly interested. I sneakily manoeuvred myself next to him at the theatre show and he introduced himself as Troy. 

When Troy asked why I was drinking alcohol-free lager, I told him the truth – that I was in recovery. He was kind and understanding. So, the next evening, I invited Troy to a fancy steakhouse onboard using a free loyalty perk. He said yes.  

That night, as we said goodbye, he leaned in for a kiss – my first sober kiss. I told him as much. He smiled and gave me a huge hug, and we agreed to meet the next day.  

At dinner the following night, we laughed and flirted a lot more. I noticed he wasn’t drinking, opting for iced tea over the margaritas he’d been drinking the night before.

When I asked why, he said, ‘If this is going to be your first sober sex, I want to be present and in the moment, too.’ I was stunned by his thoughtfulness, it made me feel relaxed and at ease.  

Later that night, and into the morning, I experienced something I never had before: Fully present, connected, vulnerable, joyful, sober sex. No fog. No regrets. No forgetting. Just me, him, and the moment. 

And the best part? Waking up hangover-free, remembering everything in vivid detail.  

We spent the rest of the cruise together, and although we live continents apart and a long-term relationship isn’t feasible, we’ve met up since and even cruised together again last month. 

It may not be a forever romance, but it gave me something priceless: The confidence that I can connect without alcohol. It also taught me that intimacy without booze is far superior.  

I’m now 230 days sober. My health has improved, as has my outlook.

I’ve had other romantic encounters since Troy and I can attest that sex is much better sober.

It’s more thoughtful, more generous, more present. I’m more athletic, more connected, and crucially, I remember it all. I make better decisions. I only do what I truly want to do.  

Looking back, I mourn the years lost to drunken fumbling and forgettable nights. But I’m also proud. I’ve taken back control of my life and my body.  

My only regret? Not doing it sooner. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk. 

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