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 sex@bwog.com 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!

He shudders at the thought of adhesive.

“Breaking news,” he says. “XX’s condom gets 180,000 women pregnant; STD rates have risen to all-time highs.” He plunges back in.

Our usual Pandora station plays Flosstradamus and the like. He’s sensitive about not matching the rhythms of the songs, which leads to some interesting syncopation and uncertain looks about the chosen rhythm from both of us.

“From the Back” comes on. It always comes on. I would let him cum on me, but he says it kills the mood to have to pull out. We’re doing missionary, and Flosstradamus continues to repeat “From the back, from the back, from the back, from the back.” Did he just record those three words once, and then his sound engineers copy-and-pasted, creating the song in like four minutes? What if I didn’t have to take the 80 bpm x 6 minutes = 480 thrusts, but just one, and then it repeated in his mind and not in my body? What if every day of my life could repeat like that, so I would just be on autopilot, making the motions but not there mentally?

“I’m cumming,” he grunts.

“Ooooh,” I moan.

“Ahhhh.”

 Seriously do not try this at home via Wikimedia Commons