Here is a link to the original thread, which has grown large and unwieldy, as well as aged.
There are things you done while having sex, or seen, or been told of, that are just plain humorous. Share them with us here!
I’ve been waiting to share:
A girl I was dating always insisted that I pull out at the critical moment, which I always did. But one time I’d had a few beers and when I pulled out I proceeded to accompany each burst which “gunshot” sound effects as I sprayed back and forth on her belly and chest. At first she looked more than a little bit surprised, but then we both laughed for about 10 minutes. The really bad part though is that I collapsed on her while laughing, thereby thouroughly covering myself on my own emissions.
A friend of mine in the dorms had an absolutely hilarious story about learning to drive a stick shift. She and her boyfriend were lying in bed afterward one night not long after she’d gotten her license, and he was trying to explain the shifting pattern to her. She grabs him and says, “Oh, so first would be here, and this would be second, and…” I don’t think he ever tried to explain automotive skills to her ever again.
Ummm…CCL…you didn’t go to college in Massachusetts, did you???
Nooo, I didn’t. Why, did you think I was talking about you?
Oh yeah…that’s how my girlfriend (at the time) learned, EXACTLY! I sent her a link so she could get a laugh. That’s too funny…but, it seems sort of fitting 
My girlfriend can be pretty vocal during sex, and sometimes quite loud. (Gotta admit, I love it)
One night, while I was playing with her, she starts saying, “Oh god, oh god, oh god…” Knowing what was going on, I thought I would really play with her and I stopped what I was doing. She looks at me with this incredulous look on her face, her very expression saying (tho she wasn’t talking, just panting), “WTF!?!”
Then I said, “You don’t have to call me God. Just Steve.”
She screamed bloody murder and BIT ME! (on my shoulder)
Strange how men and women think different things are funny. But we had a laugh about it later as she treated my wound.
Well, this isn’t quite a “during” story; it’s more of a “morning after” story.
The first time one ex and I were intimate, years ago, we had quite a lot of discussion beforehand about how much contraception we wanted, and settled on one method and a backup (simultaneously). The backup was a sponge, which I’d never used before, but figured it was worth a try (although not on its own, because the failure rate was too high, 20-some percent IIRC).
For those of you who remember sponges (or the Seinfeld episode on this topic), you were supposed to leave them in for at least several hours afterward, or up to 24, so they can finish the job. I didn’t stay with my honey that night, but went back to my shoebox of a studio apartment, because my best and oldest guy friend was coming into town for the weekend and had counted on crashing at my place.
This is even funnier if you know that for most of the 18 years my friend and I have known each other, nobody can understand why we’ve never hooked up, although each of us has always sworn we’re a) repulsed by the thought, and b) know one of us would be dead within a week (and it wouldn’t be me; I’m short, but I’m tough). He didn’t know I’d just acquired carnal knowledge of my now-ex, though he’d known it was coming for quite some time (like more than a year). So here was the scene as I disappeared into the bathroom to remove the sponge the following morning, in the process discovering that either the sponge had flipped over, or I’d lost the loop of string that you’re supposed to use to extract the darn thing:
[after 35 minutes of me fumbling around trying to extract the stupid sponge, cursing at the goddamn company that manufactured them, at the FDA that approved them, and at the male half of the species in general and their damn fertility]
Friend: Are you OK in there?
Me: Yeah, sure, don’t worry about it.
Friend: You’ve been in there an awfully long time. Are you sure you’re alright?
Me: I’m fine, I’m just having some logistical difficulties.
Friend: What do you mean? Are you sure you’re OK?
Me: Really, you don’t want to know.
Friend: Are you sure there isn’t something I can do to help you?
Me: Trust me, you don’t want to know.
I told him afterward, and he turned a lovely shade of magenta. I sincerely thought I was going to have to have the stupid sponge extracted in the E.R.; I never used them again!