Dear Mrs. Clean,

Ah, a woman after our own livers. Welcome to the century club! Most people are members at some point: Pulitzer Prize winner and Times science writer Natalie Angier admits in her book Woman that she wasn't able to have her first orgasm until she tried under the influence of pot; the drug-addled sex scenes of novelist-slash-lush Bret Easton Ellis are undeniably sexy; and Jimmy Buffet's "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" isn't a hit because of its complex chord changes. Using drugs as a sexual lubricant is totally normal — way more normal than asking your boyfriend, in bed and stone-cold sober, "Who's your mommy?"

The people who say they're high on life, who go to orgies hopped up on nothing but adrenaline and anticipation, they're usually the same people who have banished the jealousy gene and participated in a few open relationships (or at least been through a rigorous 12 step program). They are a higher breed of sexual being, which makes us slightly suspicious. Like Stepford Wives, they seem too perfect, too good to be true. And we wonder, How do they do it? Have they tapped into some hidden, inner resource of sexual confidence, a part of the brain that 99 percent of the population is unable to access? Or are they simply deluded by their own narcissism, unaware of what other people around them think? Maybe they don't care what people think. Or maybe they were just drama majors.

Sadly, we mere mortals are burdened by inhibitions, shyness, and a debilitating fear of being judged: Will we look funny to them, will they laugh, will they tell all their friends at work the next day? Sex, like karaoke, is a powerful thing: There are lot of heavy emotions and risks involved. No matter how courageous or confident we are, sometimes we suffer from performance anxiety. We're none too eager to expose ourselves or risk being crushed. We may even worry that our partners only "approve" of us being dirty when we're smashed, that they'd think we were too "slutty" if we behaved in such a debauched way when of sound mind. And so we do a shot, snort a line, swallow a pill to resolve all these issues — at least temporarily (besides, karaoke and Singha beer were just made for each other, kind of like Sundays and the New York Times). The Dutch courage gives us license to take chances, misbehave, and honor any primal animal urges we may feel are not becoming of polite ladies and gentlemen in a civilized society. After all, we can always blame it on the Maker's.

This is why sex with near strangers can be so wrong it's right: There's a built-in excuse for not being yourself. Since they don't know you, they don't know what's out of character for you. You can reinvent yourself as a dirty talker, a dominatrix, a butt man, a freak with a milk fetish, whatever — and your date's none the wiser. Neither are you: For all you know, this person who seems like such an old "hand" at spanking may in fact be using you as a guinea pig. (Sucker.) Add alcohol to the mix, and it can be twice as liberating.

So how do we reach that higher level of sexual performance without the aid of alcohol or anonymity? Don't go cold turkey. Use your soused sessions as inspiration. An armchair philosopher once told us that being on Ecstasy was, for him, like being on top of the mountain: For a few hours, you can see the big picture. Then, when you come down, you're at the bottom of the mountain but you don't mind because you know what you've got to look forward to — so you start climbing. At least, we think that's what he said — we were kinda out of it at the time. Anyway, that's kind of like drunken debauchery: You know you're capable of a heightened state of being (in your case, of being sexual), it's just a matter of figuring out what, besides substance abuse, enables it.

Next time you get really saucy while sauced, ask your boyfriend (later, when the hangover's receded) what he thought of the whole affair. Nothing deep like, "How does that make you feel about your mother?" More like, "That was pretty hot, huh?" If it's out there in the sober light of day that you both think it's a sexy thing, then it might be easier to do in the sober light of day (or at least in the almost-sober twilight).

Of course, you won't want to test-drive every sexual act under the influence, lest you wind up in rehab. So you're just going to have to prepare for those rainy, horny Sundays — when you've run out of merlot and all the liquor stores are closed — with some good old-fashioned communication. (Feel free to supplement the intial chat with some good old-fashioned moonshine.) You need to give each other permission to try anything in bed, with the promise you won't laugh — at least, not right in the moment. You need to tell him everything you're afraid will happen if you break out the whips and chains on a quiet night in (he'll crack up, he'll think you're weird, you'll look stupid, whatever) so he can assuage your fears. If he knows what's good for him (and what's good in bed), he will. It's all about getting into that uninhibited head space. Sure, it's a little awkward to have this conversation, but if it saves you countless awkward moments in the sack, isn't it worth it? And it wouldn't hurt to give your boyfriend the same reassurances. Hey, maybe if we stopped being so judgmental of others, we'd be more open to making asses of ourselves.

Another reason why booze is the great sexual enabler is that the lowered inhibitions help you stay in the mood. You're less distracted by things that might take you out of your "I'm a feral sex animal" state of mind and remind you that you're actually a temp in midtown: Your mom's voice on the answering machine, your neighbors banging on the wall telling you to keep it down, your boyfriend leaving the room to get the condoms, etc. And if something does make either of you crack up, you just keep on barreling through. You've got a one-track mind when you're trashed. But remember, you're probably not actually any better in bed when you're wasted — in fact, you probably knock shit over and frequently jab your partner in the eye with your elbow. You don't look any hotter, either. You just think you do (another one to grow on).

Cultivate a one-track mind every time you have sex by setting a scene. Turn off your cellphones before doing it, even if you've been doing it for a year. Keep your props — condoms and lube — within arm's reach. Make your bedroom a sex lair, not by lighting candles and playing Enya (though, if that's your bag, baby...), but by slipping home during your lunch breaks so you both know you're only in that room for one sole purpose: To get fucked. Or sneak home for a quickie during a night out with friends, then rejoin them an hour later at the next bar. Or rent a sleazy motel room down the road if you've got $29.95 to spare. It's all about doing something a little of character so that something a lot out of character (like, say, tossing the salad, or wearing a gimp mask) will feel almost normal.

If you can manage all that, then you can look forward to a sex life free from chemical dependency and all its attendant downsides. No limp dick. No puking in your date's hair (or worse). No cotton-mouth kissing. No morning-after sex that temporarily relieves the hangover but brings it back tenfold once it's over. And best of all, no blacking out and forgetting the best sesh of your life.

This column's for you,
Em & Lo