We have a winner in Gawker's search for dirty blackout stories. A very special reader writes in with this little gem:

"Emboldened by blackout booze and the quickly fading rush of having been stuck on the roof earlier in the evening, my boyfriend and I climbed the stairs of a church near his apartment on the Upper West Side and boffed against the dungeon-like rectory door. Alas, we used protection, so there will be no blackout-baby Satan-spawn for us next May."

That's sweet. We'd like to double-date with the happy couple.