Search Results for: bwogsex



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img January 24, 20147:00 pmimg 4 Comments

Jack and Jill slide down the hill. In a daring position.

Jack and Jill slide down the hill. In a daring position.

The Polar Vortex is upon us. But what does this mean for your sex life? BwogSex is proud to bring you a definitive how-to guide on doing the dirty in the pur(ity) white snow. If you have any sexy thoughts or comments, please send them in to our anonymous tip form. And finally, just remember that sex is only sexy if it is consensual.  

To prepare for your romp in winter wonderland, first ask yourself a few important questions:

  • Have you removed all metal genital piercings?
  • What is the freezing point of your favorite lubrication? (Must be above 32 degrees Fahrenheit).

If you are still willing to brave the cold for a steamy session of hide the sausage, follow these steps:

  1. Take off your clothes and wear a colorful bathrobe of your choice. This will be your disguise when walking outside. Your neighbors will think “Oh, they must be looking for their newspaper or grabbing a coffee down the street.”
  2. Find a concealed location outside to bump and grind. This could include: a low hanging tree, a dumpster, the alley next to Mudd, Central Park (just kidding that’s way too far) or the courtyard in the International Affairs Building.
  3. Debate what position would be best: Husky style, treehugger, the snowplow, the salt-spreader, etc.
  4. Decide to stay standing because the ground is way too fucking cold.
  5. To set the mood, blow sexy white dragon breath on your partner’s neck while simultaneously holding their ears to keep them warm.
  6. Suggest they put their hands near your genitals to keep them warm. It’s science.
  7. Remind them that shrinkage is real, and you/they are actually really big.
  8. Incorporate snow into your play. Make little snowmen on each other and watch them NOT MELT CAUSE ITS SO FUCKING COLD.
  9. Finally, do the deed. Stay “inside” longer cause it’s warmer there.

Some things to note about having sex outside in the Polar Vortex.

  • Orgasm tears will freeze.
  • Your tongue will get stuck in places that could be hard to explain to CAVA. Proceed licking with caution.
  • Frostbite is a real thing; it brings a whole new meaning to “blue balls.”

Now that you sexsuccessfully had sex outside during the Polar Vortex, go inside and drink some hot chocolate while snuggling. Remember, you are actually a good person.

The snowplow via ShutterStock



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img December 15, 201311:34 pmimg 8 Comments

"I have sinned: I put my backpack on the seat next to me, even though I wasn't saving it for anyone."

“I have sinned: I put my backpack on the seat next to me, even though I wasn’t saving it for anyone.”

Some of you more cultured Bwoggers may have heard of this thing called Columbia Admirers. The on-again, off-againon-again (limited time offer) Facebook page has been the subject of many anonymous confessions and declarations of “dat ass.”  Today BwogSex and Columbia Admirers brings you a story of daring heroics and steamy finishes. As always, send in any and all sexy things using our anonymous tip form.

A few days ago, Columbia Admirers posted this:
1628: Had sex with my professor in the basement of St. Paul’s Chapel. I admire myself.

After gaining 420 likes (ohhhh coincidence? we think not) on Facebook, Bwog received this tip:

To the Community,

As I saw there was an inconceivable interest in my post about sleeping with my professor in the basement of St. Paul’s Chapel, I figured you might as well hear it from the source.

In the Spring of 2011, I took Art Hum. Within two sessions I knew I wanted to be with my professor, and for the first time ever, what attracted me most was her mind. I mean, this woman was brilliant, and still is. I spent the entire semester studying harder for that class than any before or since.

On the last day of classes, I asked her out, and as soon as grades were handed in we went out on a date. Things picked up quickly and we dated for a few months. During that time, the chapel was desecrated.

I’m pleased to say that though our relationship ended, we still remain friends. Lesson: Go for it! (Just wait until the semester’s over)

Best of Luck on Finals,

Well hot damn.

“Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, You’re our Only Hope” via ShutterStock



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img December 05, 20139:47 pmimg 14 Comments

wait what who said that

Carefully wrap your dick and place it in your refrigerator

After this week’s tipped stackssex, one of you crazy readers took our bait and anonymously sent in a story. And here we present it to you: effectively debunking the myth that no one at Columbia is in a relationship. If you would like to share your own story, email or use our anonymous tip form.

We both know it’s better when I lead the sex.

For the past three hundred or so times that we’ve done it, we’ve split it up about evenly, but I only get off when I’m the one that approaches him and climbs on top. I think I’m a far superior kisser and manipulator of…situations. I might be more experienced, and he might have been a virgin when I reached him. I allow him the hotdogs in a hallway jokes when they happen, rolling my eyes, because I’m so tolerant.

But he pounds away. I come up with a fantastic new idea! The Even-More-Minimalist Condom™! It’s only attached at the head! As he goes about his work, I gesture how long it would be, how to put it on, mentioning that it should be adhesive-y, like Saran Wrap!

Say what now



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img December 04, 20131:00 amimg 17 Comments

so sexy such books

Massive turn on

BREAKING we just received the following anonymous tip:

Sex in the stacks. Butler. Level 10. Red-headed girl. Moaning (in a slightly high-pitched voice). Happening now.

And a follow-up:

Hi, you aren’t going to believe this (or maybe you will… It’s finals season) but I was finishing up my paper in the Butler stacks and saw/heard a couple at it while I was walking out. White guy with a redhead pushed up against the shelves, skirt pushed up, the whole deal. I left quietly, but I’m not sure if they saw me (or cared).

All Bwog can think is dear old Hemingway up there on the 10th level stacks—we’re sure you’re making Papa proud.

Keep it sexy, keep it safe, and Bwog salutes you, you crazy kids. If you have a steamy story you want the world to know, email or use our anonymous tip form. And of course, be sure to discuss strategy on stacks sex in the comments.

Bwog’s porn stash via Wikimedia Commons



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img November 27, 20137:00 pmimg 9 Comments

We all know what is happening here.

We all know what is happening here.

Having been neglected of late, Bwog is proud to bring back BwogSex, our on-again off-again sex series addressing questions, anecdotes, advice, and anything pertaining to the erotic. Since Bwog can only work with what we’ve got, please be sure to share your loud-sex stories, conquests, musings, or questions via our anonymous tip form

Q: So how okay is it to masturbate in the shower. Like is it only okay if you clean up after yourself? It’s at an abnormal shower time? You have an arrangement with your suitemates? It isn’t one of those crappy broadway showers with nothing but a flimsy curtain between you and the rest of the floor? You keep the moaning to a minimum? Is it wrong to use the handicapped stall?

Brought it up with someone and they were disgusted. But reallly, who doesn’t?

Sincerely, Sexless and Shameless

Tackling the hairball in the shower



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img August 20, 20137:00 pmimg 15 Comments

sexy up in here


Sure it’s summer, but that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been any action on campus.  This anonymous tipster waxes nostalgic on summer loving and the art of negotiation.  If you have any stories, queries, or miseries to share, we’d love to hear them.  Email or use our anonymous  form.

Thinking back, I can’t help but roll my eyes and giggle: I seriously ended up in some dude’s tiny ass Broadway room because he said I just had to hear the new Vampire Weekend album?  How much more fucking Columbia cliché could you get?

He was blasting Modern Vampires, and I remembered how thin the walls are in Broadway.  Plus summer’s the worst because a ton more people get some then than during the year; some nights you just hear fakers and makers all up and down the hallway.

So there I was, lying on his bed listening to “Step” when we started kissing.  He asked what was going to happen that night and I told him not much – bad time of month, if you catch my drift.  But, as guys who use Vampire Weekend to get you in bed are wont to do, he persisted.

“If I’m not getting any, you’re not getting any,” I insisted.  Finally we sat up and calmly negotiated: “if you do this for me now,” he promised, “I’ll pay you back later.”

“How do I know it’ll be worth it?” I asked.

“You know,” he stated simply.  Damn, I always fall for those cocky motherfuckers.  So I set to work on my part of the deal (“Has anyone ever told you you’re really good at that?” Like, yeah.)

Go on…



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img March 27, 20139:45 pmimg 11 Comments


Bwog likes dogs, art, and smoking weed too—where’s our date?

BwogSex isn’t known for being meek, but today a guy recounts the rather awkward transition to dating from a sort-of-friends-who-have-drunken-benefits/late-night-buddies-who-tend-to-fuck relationship. Submit your story anonymously to our sexitor at or through our anonymous form (nude pics encouraged but optional).

Sitting across from you at our small table in Starbucks, I am immediately drawn to how beautiful your eyes are. I’ve never noticed them before. We’ve known each other for months, if not always by name, and we’ve finally decided to take the next step. You are sitting across from me sheepishly stirring your Mocha Frappuccino with that oversized green straw, and I am casually stroking my beard while I tell you about where I grew up. From the outside this must look like any normal first date. If things go well, we might keep talking, meet up for drinks, and eventually we’ll seal the deal. But there is a secret hiding behind our shy downward glances and basic conversation. I knew your bra size long before I knew whether or not you had siblings. (Apparently you have two.)

The story of our romance has all the spontaneous beauty of Dido and Aeneas, the poetry of Shakespeare, and the booze of Corona. It was the first big party of the semester, and you spotted my unmistakable charm half-empty beer bottle from across the room. After swaggering drunkenly stumbling over to you, we had the greatest first conversation I’ve ever barely remembered. I’ll never forget what you said to me that night.

“Can I–can I–have a sip of that?”

I swooned.

“Of course you can! You can have as much as you’d like,” I replied with a certain rise in my voice that can only be described as a verbal wink.




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img November 29, 20129:15 pmimg 5 Comments

It’s not AskFreudSex for a reason

In this cross between AskBwog and BwogSex, we advise Edward what to do when Bella says “Jacob” in her sleep take a deep look into the psyche.  Send your questions (and stories!) to

Hey Bwog,

Is it a big deal if my boyfriend said his ex-girlfriend’s name while he was asleep?

Yours confusedly,
I’m Positive He Loves Me But WTF

Dear I’m Positive He Loves Me But WTF Current Girlfriend,

‘Nuff said. You got the man now (assuming this happened at night and you were in the same bed). Clearly you have options, but some may seem crazier than others. It is NOT a good idea to bring it up to him–he’ll either be:

  1. offended you spied in his sleep (and this may not play out as The Spy Who Loved Me).
  2. embarrassed and will spend the next few days grumpy because he’ll have stayed up monitoring his sleep speech all night.
  3. inspired and will take it as a sign and run back to the ex (…too soon?).

So what’s the real solution here? Obviously you should go slap the ex in the face for having incepted him. If violence isn’t your thing, you can pee around the house to mark your territory. If public urination isn’t your thing, just get a dream catcher and cuddle closely to keep warm during the cold winter.

Sleep well current girlfriend; in CC Freud may teach you that all dreams mean something, but last night Bwog dreamt it was dating a balloon and it looks like that’s not happening any time soon.

Go to sleep!


Your buddy Sigmund via Wikimedia



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img October 10, 20128:30 pmimg 39 Comments

And Dido, fated queen, drew out the night

BwogSex is back and steamier than ever with a dispatch from the front lines of roommate run-ins and coed cunnilingus—McBain. Below, a mischievous Moaning Myrtle takes us on a tour of the sordid late night happenings in the already sordid shower stalls. We also want to hear about your Columbia mishaps and multiple orgasms, so send your dirtiest and most disastrous stories anonymously to our sexitor at (nude pics optional).

You really start to reconsider your life choices when you find yourself on your knees in the McBain girls’ showers. Especially when it’s with a guy you’ve known for approximately thirty minutes. What was his last (no, first) name, again? I think he’s foreign. Canadian? Am I supposed to remember?

Goddamnit, John Jay. This is one of those “college” things I never became prepared for after spending all of my freshman year in a single—when I invite a guy back to my room and find my roommate already passed out, I’m at a loss. Then this senior I’m with casually suggests he could use a shower. I know what he’s thinking. I’m drunk enough to think that this is a wonderful idea, but not drunk enough to forget towels. Thank God my mom bought me two.

We stumble into the showers and start throwing our clothes around the bathroom in a frenzy of drunken passion. Somehow his jeans end up on the radiator near the window and somehow I lose my underwear. But now that we’re naked, it’s, as they say, business time, and I suavely turn off those fluorescent McBain lights. Suddenly plunged into darkness, we blindly hop in the shower. He turns the knob and we’re instantly assaulted with a freezing cold—no, now burning hot, no, now back to freezing cold—stream of water. Columbia facilities are keeping us on our toes. As the temperature becomes livable and, um, sexy, we start making out again. Okay honestly, he’s a fabulous kisser. But so am I.

Let the oral adventures commence! Oh, he’s not circumcised; I love when that happens. Wait, is he circumcised? I am much too drunk to tell. He starts giving me some rather lackluster oral sex but whatever—I am Dido and he is Aeneas and together we are invoking the Muses and singing the song and—


Steaming up the mirrors after the break.



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img February 28, 20111:30 pmimg 26 Comments

Taken in the SGO *wink wink*

In the latest installment of BwogSex, two intrepid students take SGO from a place for business to a place for business time. Don’t forget to send in your sexy questions, sultry comments and erotic (mis)adventures to our annoymous submission box.

Publications and student government groups, please forgive me: I had sex in SGO. “Why? How?” you may ask, and I shall explain. Butler sex, albeit just as exciting and risky, is so cliché. The Butler Sex Badge of Honor just isn’t as big and shiny as this one.  Late one Friday night, when most Columbians were heading to Campo, the Heights, or 1020, my accomplice and I stayed on Lerner 5, innocently studying and conversing about academics—at least that’s what any onlookers may have thought. Once SGO had been dead for about 15 or 20 minutes, it was time. A moment later, I was bent over a table wearing nothing but my skirt. I made sure not to breathe one breath too loud, keeping my eyes pealed for any innocent overachievers passing through SGO on a Friday night. Once the deed was done, we dressed frantically, surprised we had actually gotten away with it. Smug, we exited SGO and then Lerner.  As we headed towards the Carman Gate sporting glasses and stuffed backpacks, we received looks of pity from girls leaving Carman Hall in too-high heels. If only they knew.



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img October 04, 20106:00 pmimg 37 Comments

Wien, House of Sex

It’s a rather glum day outside, but nothing will cure a case of the Mondays like tales of sex. In this case, we mean tales of loud, sweaty (and possibly angry) sex! The following is the year’s first installment in what we simply call BwogSex; a collection of questions, answers, anecdotes, advice and erotic miscellany. Share your loud-sex stories (and any other sex tales, queries, etc. you wish to pen!) here in our anonymous submission box.

“But what about my neighbors?!” I hissed, suddenly tense. “Fuck your neighbors,” he growled. Euphemism or not, right now he was busy with me. He tossed me into my bed, and I said one final prayer that my studious neighbors were fast asleep before getting out of my bra as quickly as possible.

It didn’t take long after moving into my Wien single to realize the place was far from sound proof. Wien is the sad version of John Jay. Instead of the occasional weekend party from a corner double, on Thursday nights you’ll overhear Journey, arguments about problem sets, and late night crying. But I quickly learned that not everyone was having such a bad time—a resident by a main lounge several floors down was getting laid, frequently and vigorously. It was as much to her pleasure as others’ discomfort, and while quickly passing by her door one evening I made a mental note never to be that girl. I’m nowhere near virginal, but my idealistic romantic streak, coupled with a propensity to chicken out, guarantees my bed stays pretty much empty.

So imagine my surprise when half a box of wine turned into the side of my bed hitting the wall.

The next morning, I was left with plenty of questions, and foremost among them was “Was that a good idea?” I’m not saying it was bad (it wasn’t), or it wasn’t safe (it was), or if I’m not sure I needed it (I go to Columbia. Who doesn’t?). I was concerned about my Weenie neighbors, and if I had inadvertently made my sex life their business. This story notwithstanding, I do try to always bow to good taste. What if I had awakened someone? What if I had offended someone?

The next few times I’ve seen my neighbors, everyone has looked at the floor. I don’t know how to breach the subject of my casual encounter even to try to apologize.

Frankly, I would find it unnecessary, though I do feel bad. So I leave this issue up to you, dear readers. I know this question isn’t new to Bwog. Are these situations just an embarrassing product of dorm life, or a legitimate topic of conversation for the hearer and the heard? Whatever my rights to dorm room nookie, I know next time I’ll ask to move to his place. Who wants to worry about having to turn sex into the quiet game?

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img March 27, 20108:28 pmimg 55 Comments

Nothing helps a body unwind from a tiresome first week back at school like sex! Well, this isn’t sex, but it’s the second best thing: allow us to present the third installment in our new and improved BwogSex feature. The following contemplations by Kia Walton were written in response to a question left in our anonymized dropbox – Kia is not the sole writer for Bwogsex, but is our Queer Culture Bureau Chief. Send in your own questions, anecdotes, and ideas to BwogSex (anonymously!), and remember, the weather has changed: it’s time to get busy on the lawns!

This question is as problematic as it is interesting and I am grateful for the query. So… let’s dive in!

Firstly, a rewriting of this anonymous question is in order: “How easy is it to ‘turn’ a ‘desperate, straight’ Columbia girl?” It may seem unhelpful to add quotation marks, which seem only to lend themselves to ambiguous definitions, but I find them more helpful than the rigid preconceptions these words may inspire.

Let’s start with the term “turn.” Turning, in my opinion, is impossible. As a friend of mine succinctly put it, “either you have the desire or you don’t.” (That desire being sexual attention from and/or sexual activity with someone of the same sex).  I cannot “turn” a girl gay (God knows I’ve tried). I can, however, try to tap into the homosexual energy that I believe nearly every single person has (in varying amounts). I would only attempt to woo her with my charm (which usually just boils down to leaving the room when I rip one) and hope that it draws out what is already present. If the girl is receptive to me, it is not because I was able to install some sort of gay chip in her; it was already there, I just had the privilege of activating it. (more…)



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img March 07, 20109:16 pmimg 61 Comments

Spring is springing! It’s time to talk about sex. On this frenzied midterms Sunday, we’re bringing you the second installment of our new and improved BwogSex feature. What follows is not the introduction of a new columnist, but rather a top pick from one of the many submissions left in our anonymized dropbox. Remember to send in your own questions, anecdotes, and ideas to BwogSex (anonymously!), and see you in the Stacks!

That’s what’s supposed to happen in college right? You emerge from your chrysalis and sink your fingers into the awfully moist folds of a woman’s nether regions? That I’m calling it that is a sign of my predicament as I see it now, but back then, that’s what college was: when the meek inherit the bedroom.

She was extroverted, I was shy. But she had traveled the world, as had I. Looking back, it might have been her strong legs or her defined jawline that made me feel attracted to her. At the time, I knew I was just lonely.

It was the perfect opportunity. My four-year, sex-depriving girlfriend broke up with me right after I left for college. It was fine, at that point, because it wasn’t that we loved each other or that we had much sex (read: never. ever.); it was just the comfort of knowing someone well that kept us together. If it weren’t for college, I would have gone into a spiral of depression. But this was Carman.




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img November 11, 20066:23 pmimg 8 Comments

Welcome to the first installment of BwogSex, a weekly column to answer all the questions you’re afraid to ask in polite conversation. Got issues? Post them as a comment on this anonymous thread, and we’ll pose them to the Bwog Sex Committee. Kinkier the better!

doorQ: “Help!  Almost every night my male neighbor insists on having loud sex with his girlfriend.  I can hear both of them talking and groaning, etc, and his bed knocks against my wall.  How can I make them stop so that I can sleep, in a way that’s not too mean and won’t make things awkward? 

– Kept Up By Sex

A: KUBS, the infamous eighteenth century French hostess Jeanne Julie Eleonore de Lespinasse once exclaimed to a former lover, “You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul.”  I would submit that, as much as you may try to deny it, you suffer from a similar affliction.  Your question suggests this is a fairly regular occurrence, and yet you have apparently eschewed the foregone action on what is, ultimately, not a difficult problem to solve.

Admit it: you like hearing your neighbors have sex.  Try lightening up.  After all, there are worse problems (and turn-ons) in the world.  It’s fun to hear other people having sex, it’s free pornography (albeit without visuals), and there’s the added bonus that it’s (probably) real, which is always hot.  When you graduate, you’ll move off into the real word, where your apartment walls will likely be thicker and your neighbors may not be so young and horny.  Enjoy it while you can!

If, however, your neighbor and his friend are ugly (decreasing the value of the above suggestion) and you’re too embarrassed to your RA, just bang on the wall. That way, you’ve expressed your displeasure but avoided a face-to-face discussion of the incident, and they’ll probably quiet down.  What is he going to do, get in an argument through the wall that he can only fuck loudly? Unless they’re exhibitionists–in which case you might want to apply for a room transfer. Good luck and happy masturbating!




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img January 29, 20162:04 pmimg 0 Comments

No promises, but if your date goes well…

Romantic hope among optimistic young urban professionals/students is omnipresent. Last year Tinder, the year before OkCupid, before that, SeekingArrangments, ChristianMingle… Today apps like Bumble, Happn, and The League have hit the scene, promising love, but you STILL haven’t found The One.

Have no fear! Bwog is here. You don’t need to be single this Valentines Day. We’re sending out our annual Call for Personals.

All you have to do is fill out the questions below and send it to us with a pic of yourself looking smexy (or polished, whatever, just please NO NUDES) to We’ll post a select few of the hot candidates on Bwog throughout the week before Valentine’s Day. If you fancy any of the people we post, shoot us an email and we’ll make it “happn.” We’ll even donate $10 for the date so you can go to Hungarian and not JJ’s. (This Hungarian date is okay because you didn’t meet on Tinder). We are not responsible for any Missed Connections. All personals must be submitted by February 10th. Even love has a deadline.

The Questions:

Name, Year, School, Major (grad students encouraged)
Preference (girl for girl, etc)
Your nightmare date in seven words or fewer
What redeems you as a human being?
Library room of choice
Beverage of choice
Which dating apps have you been active on? (be honest)
Where can you usually be found on a Saturday night?
Historical Hottie

Cupidon et Psyché via Wikimedia Commons

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