What is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you during sex?
Outdoor sex is fraught with dangers. And I don’t just mean ants crawling up your ass, although that is a major mood killer. Like any public sex, the possibility of discovery may add to the erotic tension. The reality of discovery is not so erotic. We're deep in the woods in a canyon outside Salt Lake City, Utah. My girlfriend (loosely) bound to an old growth tree while I fisted her. So hot: My knuckles rubbing inside. Her clenching. Her butt rubbing against the rough bark. Not so hot: the troop of boy scouts that hikes by. Anyone who is a fan of vaginal fisting knows that it is a slow process. It takes time and lube to get it in there and once in, it’s not easy to “disengage.” Plus, bondage hampered her ability to help in any way. One-handed, I covered her nudity with our coats while I glared and shooed the gawking hikers. They went by very slowly (or so it seemed to us) until the second wave of scouts and scoutmaster appeared and hurried them along.
Oh, this one is easy. The most embarrassing moment during sex for me was certainly the night that my boyfriend (my first) in high school did something that has to be the most horrible thing that can ever happen to a 17-year-old girl. He put it in the wrong hole by accident, and let’s just say, for a newly de-virginized high school girl, that ain’t no pleasure cruise. As I let out a yelp that might have woken up the neighbors, and he realized what he had done, he jumped out of bed and ran out of the room naked into a living room filled with our friends that had decided to show up and surprise us. Surprise! To this day, I hate surprises. But, I have learned to love (well, like might be a more appropriate word) the art of “putting it in the wrong hole.”
—Wise Young Mommy
During college, I considered myself a sexual dynamo. One night, though, I ate a big dinner at Golden Corral, one of those places where you stuff yourself with second-rate pork, fried chicken, hamburgers, baked beans, corn, butterscotch budding, banana splits, and triple chocolate cake. All for $8.99 a person!
Afterward, I swung by a bar to meet friends and I ended up hooking up with the cousin of one of my roommates. After about fifteen minutes of some serious foreplay back at her apartment, we got down to business. That’s when my stomach started with the King Kong style of thundering. I was terrified. I tried to hit the brakes but wasn’t able to before I let out a tremendous fart. You know the type—those so evil and insidious that your own immunity doesn’t apply. She passed out. Literally. For a moment, I honestly thought I killed her. But she was still breathing, so I dressed quickly and left, hoping I wouldn’t shit myself before I got home. I never spoke about that disastrous night to my roommate or anyone again.
Given that embarrassing runs the gamut between slightly disconcerting to profoundly humiliating, where should a girl begin? Like tongue and groove, sex and a sense of humor belong together. Intrinsically creative—a dynamic medium for self-expression and discovery—good sex, like groundbreaking art, demands an adventurous and curious willingness to slip out of your comfort zone into hairy new territory.
We anticipate with the creative process that pushing limits and exploring new truths inherently involve a few miscues and dreadful, but daring, prototypes. With sex, as with creativity, to rise above the tide of mediocrity—the peril of plateau—you need to plunge in again and again and freely play the fool.
From ridiculous roles and revealing requests, to hitting my edge and easing around it, I expect sex to feel safe from physical harm or injurious shame, but not absent the gratifying burn of harmless and humorous ego discomfort. Fragile and self-conscious, we mortals loathe chancing rejection creatively or sexually, but as is the nature of potential—no pain, no gain.
Hot, noisy sex when one or the other of you still live with parents is hard to come by. Furtive and silent is far more common. Naturally, when those parents run out to the store, giving you some alone time, you take advantage of it. You immediately get naked and get to making each other feel real, real good. Right? Right.
But getting so wrapped up in the sex you don’t notice when said parents come home? Not good. And when one of those parents walks in the room and sees you, ankles in the air while their son pumps away? Horrifying. To make it worse she didn’t just walk out or even start to yell. She tossed a pack of cigarettes at his ass and left the room. Marlboro reds and they bounced onto the floor. I’ll never forget that detail. Ever. That and the “I’m going to vomit now” look on his face.
He lost his boner like it was a popped balloon. I wouldn’t leave the room until I knew the coast was clear. And wouldn’t come back for weeks!
Looking back, it could have been worse. But, man, it makes me glad I'm not eighteen anymore!
I was (age redacted!) years old, and still a virgin—but the point of my virginity’s reckoning had seemingly come (pun? you decide). I was there, man—I was right there. She was ready, I was ready—it was go time.
It is at this moment that I should relate to you the fact that I am nearly as blind as a bat. Or at least as blind as the late Harry Caray. Also, being (age redacted!) years old, a surly teen, I eschewed wearing my glasses—these were the 80s; cool Tina Fey glasses hadn’t been invented yet. Also-also, I have absolutely zero night vision.
I should also point out that it was pitch-black in the room and I reached for the condom package. And then I fumbled with it. And fumbled some more. And then I really fumbled with it.
Several minutes had elapsed—I had no idea how to put the damned thing on. Especially in the dark.
And then—eureka—I had it!
Or so I thought. She related it to me several days later thusly:
My virginity, I am sad to say, was not lost that night. My will to live however was.
The first time I (female) ejaculated occurred during oral sex accompanied by g-spot stimulation with a vibrator. I shot my partner in the eyes. He thought I’d peed on him. I was simultaneously mortified and ecstatic—though I reminded my partner after the fact that when it comes to facials, turnabout is fair play.
That would be when my partner laughed through our entire first experience together. Wait, let me explain! He was laughing with me, not at me. See, since it was our first time, we really didn’t know the technical details of what we were doing. We were both nervous. He was afraid he was going to hurt me. I assured him I could take it like a man, but he erred on the side of caution. I didn’t really know what he was doing back there for so long before finally getting into things—until I saw the nearly empty tube of lube off to the side and heard and felt the squishing and squirting as he basically screwed the entire tube of lubricant he’d put in me out of me! It was messy and noisy and we laughed until we came. Not exactly the most romantic first time for two virgins, but it sure was a memorable experience we’ll never forget. And it gives a whole new meaning to the term “fucking funny.”
—Daniel W. Kelly
Summer. No air conditioning. The loud, slurpy, thwuck-thwuck-thwuck noise was akin to a Three Stooges smack-fest featuring wet mackerels.