Mind Of Man: What He’s Thinking During Sex (An Internal Monologue)

Oh yeah, I’m about to have sex. What time is it? Big hand is on “LAID,” little hand is on “ME.” This is going to be awesome. Breath: minty! Pits: spicy! Boxers: fresh! Give her the Han Solo smirk. Squint, seductively. Remember that the eyes are like the mouths of the pants. Tell her what she needs to know just by looking at her: I’m about to let the dawgs of freaky push it, pu-push it real good. Buckle up, lucky lady, you’ve got a first class ticket on the rocket of love.

Now say something. Something dirty, something hot, something that will make her coo and scream and tear me apart. Say something! Did I just say “Ya bebe, thass goo!”? ARGH!

And … exhale.

Don’t act desperate. Wipe palm sweat on pants. Subtly! That’s right. Act like this happens all the time. Wait. Don’t do that. She’s a special, precious flower made out of butterfly wings. Just don’t act like this hasn’t happened in six months. Be cool. A Zen pimp with root beer float in his veins. This is all whatever. Yawn. I don’t care. I do care!

I can’t believe a chick this hot … get a grip! She’s about to kiss you. Lean, don’t lurch. Don’t drool, slurp, or mouth breathe. Lips are not bubble gum. Oh, hot Jehosophat, this is the jam! Touch her face. Follow her lead. Lapping is not kissing. That’s right, champ! Now … slowly … hand on boob. Hand on mother-spelunking boob. Her tongue is making me drunk, like I just chugged a pint of cough syrup.

Now is the time to make eye contact. Do it. Wow, she really is beauti — she’s taking her shirt off! Next time, need to wear “fat” jeans, roomier, more erection-friendly. Maintain eye contact. More kissing. Mix it up; she likes her ears lightly nibbled, and I know this because she has told me this. Now, kiss neck. How is it possible for human sweat to smell this good? Women must have different glands. About to unfasten bra clasps. Concentrate! Keep kissing. Why is this so complicated? Crack knuckles like safe cracker. Big stupid man fingers. Tiny stupid elf hooks. These things should come with a rip cord or explosive bolts. Laugh. Roll eyes. Say something!

Why did I say “I think your bra is broken!”? Idiot. Moron. But she’s laughing. Crinkling her nose. Man, I have got to be seen in public with her, because no one is going to belie — did she just unhook her bra with her mind? Seriously, she’s part hummingbird; how the hell did she do that? Nipples! I wonder if she’ll let me motorboat … focus, tiger. Take a break. Eye contact. Set the scene. Ladies love a romantic scene with low light, potpourri, and romantic crapola like that. I read that once in that issue of Glamopolitan magazine I jerked off to at my ex’s house that one time because she never kept porn around. If only my ex could see me now. A blue ribbon for balling.

Grab her hand and lead her to your bedroom. Move quickly, Delta Force speed. Recently laundered 199 and a 1/2 thread count sheets? Check. Lit “Vanilla Meadow Mist” candle? Check. Music? Arcade Fire is too depressing. Justin Timberlake makes me angry. Sigur Ros? Sounds like Europeans dying in the woods. You have got to impress her with a causal, yet genius, taste in tunes. Beyonce? Sure. Yes. Fine. How did that even get in my iTunes? Dude, she’s naked. Waiting. Does she have the cutest little trimmed triangle? High-five. Now is the time — unleash the boner. Unbutton, don’t rip. Take pants off without falling over. Hop! Hop! Don’t forget the socks. Suck in the gut. If you can’t look like a Spartan, act like a Spartan. Will those abs, bro!

Behold, maiden, Excaliber!

Crawl into bed and kiss her everywhere but the places she is expecting you to zero in on and kiss. Shoulder, neck, smooth creamy belly. Oh, she’s aggressive! She’s going down on me. Squealing is neither sexy nor appropriate. Sweet merciful non-denominational higher power, she’s good at that. How did she get so good? Blot that out, doesn’t matter. Not at this exact moment. Yes. Yesss. Don’t put your hand on her head. Where is that blue stress ball? I need to do something with my hands. Mental note: invent a sex toy that gives men something to do with their hands whilst getting blown. Yes, excellent sucking technique. Nice balance of stroking and licking, and equal attention to das shaft unt bawlz. Is that a finger going to my unmentionable no-fly zone? Please-oh-please no … no … oh that’s nice. A happy compromise. Alrighty! Too good! Stop her, thank her. But not profusely, as that is creepy.

Where are the condoms? Why, not strategically positioned under my pillow, because I would never expect you to have actually come home with me after the fourth date. So allow me to briefly look around … oh, here they are! Open condom, pinch reciprocal end, slide on to Atlas Thunderbeef. I hate condoms, wearing them is like trying to eat a meal with a mouthful of trash bag. But at least we are now protected from that dreadful STD, babyitis. Get ready, hot sauce, because — did she just push me down? Growl. Good, because I’m tired, I had to walk to two whole stores before I found the cheapest possible candles. She’s going to ride me like a mechanical bull.

Holy gosh. She’s like a rainforest. And she feels so freakin’ good. Stop making air guitar faces. Grab her ass. Put her nipple in your mouth, but not in a transparently Freudian way. Squeak, bedsprings, squeak! That’ll show that scowling old lady next door that I DO know women! Oh she’s a moaner. Her hair is in my mouth, but I kind of like the taste of her shampoo. Yes. This is a rhythm you can dance too. She just told me to f**k her harder. Done and done! I’m doing it!

Now say something. Something dirty, something hot, something that will make her coo and scream and tear me apart. Say something! Did I just say “Ya bebe, thass goo!”? ARGH!

Grunt. Grunt like a lumberjack wrestling a moose or a Viking taking a dump. Grunt like the wind! Dude, she really feels amazing. What a fantastic grip. I’m going to come. You can’t come. I’m going to come. Think of something not sexy! War crimes! Baseball statistics! I don’t know any baseball statistics! Green Lantern! Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano – I’m going to come! DUDE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Slide her off you! Oh she likes that … She’s on her back. Git r done! Be gentle, I’m in control. Not in control! Now THAT felt really good.

Condom broke! Pull out. Almost … too late. Where does a gentleman ejaculate? Her breasts? Need permission. Same with face! Belly! To the left, man! To the left! Dizzy. Wrung. Giggly. This is no time to go wobbly. Must … be … polite. Tell her she’s the best. Because, frankly, she is. But in a way, aren’t they all, just a tiny bit? Collect your marbles and prepare to return the favor. She is insanely wet, so good on me. Spell out the ABC’s with your tongue in the general direction of her clitoris. She’s probably wise to the ABC trick. Spell something else out. Lando Calrissian. Spell out the space mack daddy of Cloud City’s name. Spell it out again. And again. Again. And again. I hope the neighbors don’t think I’m murdering someone. She’s possessed! Thrashing! 8.9 on the Richter scale! Game over!

Panting is a positive sign. She’s grinning. Shy. Trembling. So am I. I need a shower. Clamber up to her. Hold her. Nuzzle. Awesome.

Look her in the eyes. They’re brighter than the candle.

Yeah, she really is that beautiful isn’t she?

Zzzzzzzzzz.

Read more of John DeVore preening narcissism on Twitter.

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