From a sex basics article for “guy virgins” about the practicalities of sex you don’t learn by reading, or by watching porn:

Messiness

You probably know this already, but overall sex is messier than what you see on TV or in porn.

• You’re going to get hot and sweaty of course.
• The woman’s lubrication is going to dribble all over the place and possibly stain the sheets. Someone is going to get semen on them at some point. Condom wrappers are going to litter the ground. You may kiss passionately and slobber all over each other.
• Sometimes when you’re doing a girl she’ll fart. I heard it has something to do with the thrusting pushing air into her abdomen but don’t quote me.
• Sometimes when you pull out and she changes positions she’ll fart out her pussy (queefing).
• If you have sex when she’s on her period, well use your imagination.
• If you have anal sex you may get some poo on your dick.
• If you have a good session, when you’re done you’re going to be sweaty, red faced, tired, and a bit out of it. Your hair will be messed up, gross stray hairs will be stuck to your skin, the girl will have a bit of white goop running out of her cootch. You’ll have a bit of cum dribbling out of your dick. There will be at least one condom wrapper on the floor, the sheets and pillows will be all over the place, and the bed will have a wet spot on it. If you cuddle after you’ll start to stick together and it’ll feel gross when you pull apart. It’s great.

Link via Sexoteric.

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It never fails. You’re heading for the nude beach with your girl, and before you even get there she pulls you into a shady patch of bushes for a quick blowjob. But before you know it, you’re being watched by a pair of nudists with absolutely no concept of “personal moment”:

Picture is from Usenet.

From The Dilbert Blog:

Researchers asked people to write essays in support of a random point of view they did not hold. Months later, when surveyed, the majority held the opinion they wrote about, regardless of the topic. Once a person commits an opinion to writing — even an opinion he does not hold — it soon becomes his actual opinion. Not every time, but MOST of the time. The people in these experiments weren’t exposed to new information before writing their contrived opinions. All they did was sit down and write an opinion they didn’t actually have, and months later it became their actual opinion. The experiment worked whether the volunteers were writing the pro or the con position on the random topic.

Most of the truly stupid things done in this world have to do with this consistency principle. For example, once you define yourself as a loyal citizen of Elbonia, you do whatever the King of Elbonia tells you to do, no matter how stupid that is. And your mind invents reasons as to why dying is a perfectly good life strategy.

This research provides a surefire method for readers of the Dilbert Blog to improve their sex lives. Go down to the local mall with a clipboard and pretend to be doing a research experiment. Offer $1 to attractive people who will write a paragraph describing how incredibly sexy you are. (Based on the research, you should offer a low dollar amount so people don’t think they did it entirely for the money.) Tell participants that the research has to do with handwriting analysis of people who are writing opinions they do not believe. Stop after you get 100 people to do it. That’s less than the cost of one meal at an upscale restaurant.

Give the participants your e-mail address and tell them they can get the results of the research study in a month if they contact you. According to the science, about two-thirds of the people who wrote a paragraph on your sex appeal will strongly believe it a month later, no matter how hideous you are. And a few of those people will remember to e-mail you for the results. You’ll still have to close the deal, but I think we can agree that I just did the hard work for you.

Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.

It’s Monday, so please allow me to brighten your day with some vintage girl-on-girl hippie action:

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They say art doesn’t have to be practical, and in this case, I suspect that’s a good thing. Because, I would imagine that in the sort of bars where this urinal would be appreciated, it might also get molested.

All I can say is, I hope it’s stoutly affixed to the wall.

Say what you will, but married sex doesn’t have to be either rare or (when routine) boring:

We go through condoms like matches. I began buying the large packs – 24 is it? One pack probably lasts us about a month. I would say that we probably make love 4 to 7 times a week. Sometimes daily.

It can happen in the evening during and after a kinky session, or late at night, half-asleep in bed, always following the same routine – he wakes me up, half asleep himself, by rubbing my body, caressing my breasts and rolling my nipples between his fingers, pulling down my panties and even delivering something like a vague, sleepy spank. I expose my breasts, whether it means pulling something up or down, or taking something over my head and throwing it on the floor. I remove the comforter from my chest, to feel the chill of the cold bedroom (always cold) on my bare skin, contrasted with the heat of his palm and fingers. I slip my hand between my legs and masturbate.

Inevitably, I turn over, kneeling on the bed, with my legs wide apart, my face either in the pillows or next to his. He continues to play with my breasts, as I often replay in my head various master/slave scenarios, imagining the power exchange between us. I close my eyes. He would often put his fingers into the dewy, slippery territory between my wide-spread thighs – caressing, running his fingers up and down, plunging them inside, penetrating me roughly, firmly, confidently. Sometimes I would come right there, around his fingers – I wonder if he can feel the muscles contracting. Sometimes I would come from a slightest touch of my intimate areas, sometimes from the breast stimulation. Last night was especially “dramatic,” as he put it this morning. It was loud.

The night sessions are always followed by an intercourse, almost always with me on top – I reach for the dresser drawer in the darkness, feel the condom wrapper with my hand – scratchy edges, smooth surface. Pull it out and present it to him. Put my lips around his penis and suck on it as if my life depended on it. He would lift my head off himself, place the condom on. I’d throw away the remaining clothes, if any left, climb on top of him and ride him into bliss [his bliss]. He might kiss me along the way, or slap my bottom sharply with his palm, or hold me by my neck, which I find especially hot, or my hair, or hold on to my hips and guide my body, or wrap his arms around me. I never come from an intercourse, but I love it – I like it slow and sensual, I like it rough, I like it either way – by then I am well lubricated. Sometimes I try to clench my muscles around him. He comes inside, always inside.

From A Farmwife With A Twist.

Girls putting bananas in improbable places go way way back on the internets. In fact, if I didn’t see a .gif file on that theme back in the dialup BBS days, then I’ve manufactured a memory.

For some reason, though, this banana gallery reminds me of the end of one of those “…and one this time, at band camp” shaggy dog stories. Punchline: “And then, you’ll never believe this, she ate the banana!”

Picture courtesy of the [defunct since 2014] website Get Dirty With Juliet.

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