Let’s be honest: sex is not always the softly focused oxytocin bath that Cosmopolitan magazine spreads make it out to be. Sometimes sex is a romp on dirty sheets with a grabby guy who’s got terrible body odor and zero condoms.
But hey, bad sex is still sex. And if you are horny as we are at The Frisky, you’ll take the bull by the horns anyway because you know there’s a way to troubleshoot most any sexual snaffoo. I am not a sex therapist, but I am a woman who’s has wide variety of sex with a decent number of dudes and have encountered all these problems. (For more in-depth sexual troubleshooting, I recommend the kickass sex guide, Guide To Getting It On.)
After the jump, a thorough, honest (and heteronormative, cause I’m a straight lady who sleeps with dudes) guide to troubleshooting bad sex.
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Your votes have been tallied. The results are in! In Round One of our Real March Madness, Lindsay Lohan and her Terry Richardson-lovin’ self clobbered Paz De La Huerta (of the Elvis ghost orgasm), while the pregnant woman fleshlight out WTF’d those manties made of beef jerky. Now Lilo and the Knocked Up male masturbator will go at it in Round Two. My God, that sounds wrong. How to compare them? Well, they are both missing a brain. The preggo fleshlight, well, because it doesn’t have a head. And Lilo, because she fried hers. Even though she claims to be sober, we’re not so sure. Who/what is crazier? You tell us! Vote!
Who/What Is The Craziest: Hot Mess Lindsay Lohan Or The Pregnant Fleshlight?
- The Pregnant Fleshlight! (55%, 241 Votes)
- Lindsay Lohan! (45%, 199 Votes)
Total Voters: 438
Knitting is not just for nice folks anymore. Some people are using their needles to make naughty bits. I was delighted by this collection of hand-knit uteruses in unexpected places. Who says a womb can’t play piano? This uterus virtuoso is just the beginning. Click away to see what can be done with yarn, needles and a dirty mind. (Warning: some of these crafts might be considered NSFW.)
Dear Man Who Propositioned Me For Sex On The Subway,
Why is it that after I respectfully responded “no, thanks” to your subway sex proposition, you found it necessary to call me a “bitch”? Have you not seen the movie “Shame”? Even an exceptionally fantastic looking guy like Michael Fassbender (who, might I add, was playing a sex addict) found it difficult to come on to a girl while riding the train because he feared rejection.
But you sir, wearing that hideous shirt, those skinny jeans which were obviously washed one time too many because they revealed your ankles, a pair of busted Converse, with a chip-toothed, yellow grin, thought that your offer to leave the train with you on 23rd street “to hang out at your house” should have been received with excitement. Keep reading »
Here’s a fun one for you. Let me say first: People never cease to impress me with their strangeness. This week, in Slate’s Dear Prudence column, a woman ponders whether or not she should date the guy at the gym who SNIFFED HER SWEATY BICYCLE SEAT. Keep reading »