I have sex in weird places.
Added to the list today: a lecture center on my campus. I have class there tomorrow and I’m going to laugh at the people sitting in the back row, since it was just my own personal bedroom a few hours ago.
I can’t remember all of them, but, in no particular order, here are some of the wild and wacky places I’ve either gotten it on or done a lot in: a bicycle storage room, a laundromat, a dock, a park, a hallway by a dock of elevators (and almost got caught), some public bathrooms, the beach, in a car parked on the side of the road, an elevator, and atop a one-story roof.
On one hand, I kind of admire people who can keep it in their pants until they reach a socially acceptable destination. Beause that is just not really an option for me and my raging sexaholism. On the other foot, they’re missing out. If the only place you’ve ever had sex is a bedroom, MISTAKE. It’s kind of like the world is made to bone on. There are so many wonderfully-heighted things for leaning on and bending over, and couches in public places are surprisingly comfortable. Just a tip (but not just the tip, ’cause that’s lame).
However, I will say this: don’t have sex on the beach. Just don’t do it. Even if you throw down a towel and try not to kick sand all over yourself, you’re still going to end up with itty-gritty beach dirt in places you seriously, seriously don’t want it. And let me tell you, nothing says “romantic” like a full-body rug burn; rolling around on the beach is kind of the equivalent of being attacked with a giant sander.
But luckily for you, Person of the Internet, it’s too cold for that nonsense, so go throw on a jacket and find a sand-free place to sex it up. (But if you’re flying solo, don’t go looking for adventurous jacking-off locations, ’cause that is sad and gross and probably illegal.)