I never expected I’d be proud of myself for having a one-night stand. Before I quit drinking, I’d always say I “loved dating”. Truthfully, I loved drinking and drunk sex was often the logical conclusion of the evening. I’d convince myself that having four or five drinks on a Wednesday and going home with a guy I just met was an “investment” in trying to get into a relationship, because nothing screams girlfriend-material like abruptly leaving at 2am to avoid wetting the bed.

I was drunk every single time I had sex with someone new until I quit drinking entirely. I’d have sober sex with them later, once I got comfortable, but never the first time. Drinking felt critical to exposing myself – alcohol replaced clothing and physical distance as my security blanket.

I quit drinking last March. I’d been trying to moderate it for years, but it had slowly got worse – I desperately wanted it out of my life. Initially, I thought about sobriety in terms of what I’d never do again. In particular, I wondered if I’d ever again be able to date, much less sleep with someone I’d just met. The idea seemed impossible – I was struggling to make even five minutes of small talk, not because being newly sober made it hard to talk to people, but because alcohol had enabled me to pretend I was good at it.

I wanted to go easy on myself. I took a deliberate break from even thinking about sex or dating. I sublet an apartment with a twin bed, perhaps subconsciously because I believed I wouldn’t be having sex for a while. I ate marshmallow fluff and sprinkles for dinner every night for a week. I accepted that I was on a “break”. I just prayed it wasn’t permanent. I was afraid of something, but I didn’t know what.

Five months into my sobriety, I went to a wedding on a tiny island. Leaving LA was a nice reprieve from the deep pessimism that had set in – was I destined to be alone forever in my sober existence? When would I be free? When would I be laid? In the hours before the wedding, I sat on a dock with my close friend and told her tearfully I didn’t think I’d ever know intimacy again.

I recovered – the wedding was wonderful. Any time I get out of LA and meet people who don’t work in entertainment, I feel re-energised. I met a cute engineer. He was blond and skinny and very much my type. He’d later claim he didn’t “realise” I was flirting with him when I told him he looked like Jesse Eisenberg (what is wrong with people?).

I asked my friend if he was single and she said she’d find out. I told her not to bother – it was only 6pm and the long, sober night stretched out dauntingly before me. There was no way I’d be able to sustain flirting with him long enough to invite in anything sexual. I knew what it took for me to get comfortable enough with someone to sleep with them – at least four glasses of white wine.

I ate cake while everyone else was dancing. I smiled at the cute engineer. He came over to chat. He told me he’d never met a woman who brought up sex so quickly, but, in my defence, he asked what I did for work (I was a sex writer at the time). I could tell he was into me, but it still seemed unlikely that either of us would be able to “close”. Normally, I flirt by touching the other person. Sober, my physical movements were too stilted – even a quick shoulder graze was not an option. I could either keep my hands in my lap or pat down his shoulders like I was airport security. I chose the former.

He got a beer and offered me one. I declined. I hadn’t told him I didn’t drink – I worried it would arouse suspicion. He’d had maybe two beers and wasn’t remotely drunk, but I’d never been the more sober one before. Usually, I’d match a guy drink-for-drink, which meant I’d end up significantly drunker (I’m dainty, OK?). I was uncomfortable with an imbalance in the other direction. In fact, in later months, I’d decide to have sex only with someone who’s completely sober.

He mentioned he was staying on an air mattress in an AirBnB with eight other people. I was sharing a hotel room with just one person, and I knew she’d be out late. Even though I’d never been there sober, I recognised the juncture we’d arrived at. If I wanted to sleep with him, all I had to do was ask. My hotel was a five-minute walk away. In just four words and 10 minutes, I could finally lift the sexless-sobriety spell. I was too close.

“Want to come over?” I asked.

He smiled and said he did. He still had most of a beer, so he chugged some and then offered it to me. It was about half-full.

I paused. I paused for longer than I wish I’d paused. When I used to try to “moderate” my drinking, I’d consider anything less than a full drink to be “zero”, so I’d go about my night having slightly less than a glass of wine at four different bars. Half a beer was nothing. I could round it down. I could still be sober if I drank it, right? It would be just the tiniest bit of lubricant I needed to make sex an option.

I didn’t take it, but I definitely noted how close I got. Every time I think I’ve fully settled into sobriety, I realise how much further I have to go. Still, I didn’t give in then, and I haven’t given in yet, but I can’t assume I’m ever “fixed”.

We went back to my hotel. I’d never been naked in front of a new guy sober and I wanted to bite the bullet (I wish that phrase didn’t apply, but sadly, it does). I’d describe undressing myself as ripping off a Band-Aid – approximately the same speed, but no wincing on his part, thank God.

Once sex was underway, I was thrilled. It was not unlike throwing your hands up while riding a bicycle and realising you can still balance – I had taken away alcohol, one of the most basic tools I had, and I was completely fine. I hadn’t lost my footing. I was elated – I no longer had to feel limited by sobriety. The world was my bedroom again.

The actual sex didn’t feel much different from drunk sex, except that I asserted control for the first time. I didn’t have alcohol to make me feel good, so I required sexual satisfaction if it were to be a positive experience.

Deliberation is my favourite part of sobriety. I make active choices. I accommodate people less and prioritise myself more. I used to depend on wine to power through miserable evenings when I would rather have been home, but I can’t any more. When I want to be home, I’m usually home. I leave dates after 45 minutes if the guy pisses me off – I don’t get blackout enough to tolerate him, as I once did. And I wasn’t about to have sex I didn’t want to have, so I had to take responsibility for making it a good experience for myself. I didn’t ignore his sexual pleasure – if anything, my focus on the physical experience allowed me to be more in touch with what he wanted as well. I didn’t let sex happen to me, I made it happen for me.

I know now why I’d been afraid to have sex sober. I felt inexperienced. Sadly, though, I’m not. I can’t give specific numbers, but if my number of sexual partners were the age of a woman, you could legally have sex with her (but you probably shouldn’t). When I had sex drunk, I’d defer to the other person on all major decisions. My sober one-night stand was the first time I asked for what I wanted because I could no longer rely on alcohol to entertain me.

I had leaned on alcohol to do so many things, and I wanted to reclaim each of them again. I no longer needed alcohol to perform standup comedy, go to parties, sit through family dinners, or read the news. And I didn’t need it for sex. I was proud of myself for my first sober one-night stand.

My tips for sober dating

1. Don’t rush yourself It took me months to feel comfortable about the reality of sober sex with someone I didn’t know very well. If you’re used to dating and drinking, it can be a big adjustment.

2. Be communicative Without alcohol, you’re going to feel everything, so let them know what feels good.

3. Get to know someone In general, I now wait several more dates with a new date. It takes me longer to warm up without alcohol, but the benefit has been that once I do decide I’m attracted to someone, I’m really attracted.