I hear that jauntily, balls a-swingin’, with a jealous/mischevious
cat in the room is a rough way to go for the guys…
:eek:
It wasn’t so bad. Quite fun, actually.
…and I would suggest:
In the wolverine enclosure at the zoo.
In the hyena cage. At feeding time.
On in the choir room at church. When the priest walks in.
The other priest?
On a bed of nails on national television. (Thank you King Ralph)
In a dumpster, filled with dead and rotting fish and road kill.
In a tubful of snot. Someone else’s snot. And it’s still warm.
In a large vat of battery acid.
While listening to an insurance salesman.
While riding through ‘It’s A Small World’ at Disneyland.
Chicken Scratch that mental image is truly distasteful and just plain awful. I love it.
Welcome to the boards.
near a babling brook at night
while a cloud of mosquitos attacks you ass.
BTDT
ok and to finish the series
with your parents
:eek:
Waist-deep (or, even worse–neck deep) in toxic waste.
In a trash compactor–while the compaction is in action. (I’m a poet and I don’t even know it. I suppose this is like doing it in a dumpster, but the dumpster’s not about to crush your bones at any moment–though it might crush your sanity and self-respect.)
Covered in steaming hot vomit–maybe that vomit would have been produced as a reaction to riding through “It’s a Small World” at Disneyland. Covered in steaming hot vomit while riding through “It’s a Small World” at Disneyland–there we go!
With me.
Actually, a swing can be quite fun! 
I think on the beach is the worst possible way because of all the sand. Why not just scrub your tender areas with sandpaper?
In zero G.
Seriously. Think about it. Sex in zero gravity is something of a fantasy, and we can all imagine the possibilities, particularly the potential positions that can be explored without the restriction of weight, or even up or down. It’s only a matter of time before the international space station is big enough to accept a couple as tourists, and you know the first thing everyone will want to know.
But, I imagine, the practical reality will be quite different. Since you don’t have anything to sit or lie on, there’s nothing to hold you in place for the, uh, thrusting. Every contact between bodies will push them away from each other. So, you have to be attached somehow, maybe by bungies, or you have to wear some kind of special belt or suit that has handles on the hips or something. Whatever the workaround, it would be a hassle.
And even if you do solve that problem, and are a joined couple floating freely in the cabin: You’re going at it, and then, bump, one of you hits your head on the wall you didn’t notice you were drifting toward. Or, after you finish, you have to spend a few minutes chasing down all the globules of bodily fluid that have been produced. It’s one thing to be confronted with a floating sphere of Tang; it’s another thing entirely to expect your crewmates to duck the drifting spunk.
I suspect solutions to these problems will eventually be worked out; human ingenuity rises to its greatest heights when exploring the frontiers of sexuality. However, until then, I believe couples in space will simply zip themselves together into one of those wall-mounted sleeping bags, because true zero-G sex will be more trouble than it’s worth.
Cervaise, a friend of mine covered that in one of his novels. His real name’s William H. Keith, Jr., but if I remember the series right, it’s one he wrote under the name Ian Douglas. It was a pretty good scene, IIRC.
Worst possible way? How about while your little brother points and giggles?
CJ
Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to look for that. Could be interesting.
Oh, and I should clarify my previous post: I didn’t mean to say that sex in zero-G would be the worst possible circumstance for copulation, objectively speaking. Obviously, it would be far worse to try to have sex, say, on a swimming pool full of push-pins.
Rather, I was trying to suggest that sex in zero-G would suck hard – at least for the novice – in comparison to how cool you expected it to be when you started. The contrast, I think, is important.
I mean, if you try to have sex with a gila monster stuck up your butt, you know it’ll be uncomfortable and unpleasant, and you won’t expect much at all out of it. (Well, unless you’re one of those types.) But you go to the space station, look at your partner and grin – and then find yourself grumbling and grousing about what a pain in the ass the whole production turned out to be… That’s what I was getting at.
Anyway, I’ll keep my eye out for that book. Thanks.
In Harlem wearing blackface
Gay sex orgy…in Fred Phelps’s front yard.
In an unused storage space on a US Navy ship.
What?! :o
Robin