Let’s play Truth without the Dare, Never Have I Ever but without the Never. We asked around Chico for your craziest, funniest, most awkward sex stories, and in proper drunken slumber party fashion, you told us things you probably never should’ve.
THERE WAS A GUY I HAD BEEN FLIRTING WITH FOREVER, his name was Paul and he was super hot and silly. One day we were splashing around in the creek down by the ampitheatre. He picked up a stick and pretended it was a gun and was like, “get down, there’s Viet Cong everywhere.” So I grabbed one too and we started wading downstream in this weird Vietnam War roleplay game. We ended up going all the way down through campus and it started pouring rain, so we took refuge under this bridge and had crazy sex like only two lonely soldiers in the middle of an illegal war could have with people walking overhead on their way to class. Then he told me he had a girlfriend.
ONE TIME I DATED THIS GUY WHO WAS THE SINGER IN A LOCAL REGGAE BAND. We were making out and he was like “hold on, let me put on some music.” He pops in a tape and the music (reggae, obviously) starts, and he’s getting hard and all into it, and then I realize it’s a tape of himself singing and playing guitar. He’s getting a boner from hearing himself sing. I couldn’t handle it, I started laughing so hard, like “do you want to be alone with you?” Why not put a mirror over my shoulder and you can make eyes at yourself while we do it.
ONE TIME A GUY LITERALLY SAID “WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” to me like that’s an actual thing people say.
THE FIRST TIME I EVER HAD AN ORGASM it was in a tent in the middle of the employee campground of a Ren Faire in the middle of the day. Did you know tent walls are made of nothing? They’re made of nothing. People applauded though, I guess not many people can say that.
WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL WE USED TO have kegs out at the end of the road on the backside of five mile. You could park your car there and hike back on the trail to the diversion dam, which we called Giant’s Graveyard. One night a bunch of us were out there. It was pitch black under the trees, you could only navigate by walking with your hands out in front of you and by the feel of what was under your feet as you headed toward the starlight in the clearings. In the dark my hands found this person walking toward me, this guy, and we spontaneously started kissing. Just like that we were under each other’s clothes and then down in the weeds, totally carried away like it was some kind of pagan Bacchanalia. We laid there for a minute after and laughed, and then went the ways we were headed. I never even saw his face.
THERE WAS THE TIME I was giving my boyfriend head in his car in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn and when I came up for a breather, I noticed a van parked next to us with a full on family inside looking over, mouths wide open.
MY MOM WAS VISITING ME in Chico for the first time. After spending the entire day together, and several days before that, Mom wanted some space (but it was mostly me that wanted space). So, my boyfriend and I decided to hit downtown to unwind. We came home to my tiny one bedroom in Chapmantown pretty drunk. I snuck into my room, where my mom was sleeping in my twin-sized bed. I shut the door and joyously jumped on the lap of my boyfriend on the couch, where we started making out in earnest. It was exceptionally hot since we had only been together for a few months. Very soon I was straddling him and giving him head. I was somewhere between “really going for it”, and trying to be quiet. In the middle of my gracious gift to my boyfriend, I heard a rustling and looked up just in time to see the silhouette of my mom in the doorway, and to hear her shocked and embarrassed Midwestern, “Oh my” before the door slowly closed. To this day we have never addressed what happened in ANY way.
DOES IT HAVE TO BE SEX OR CAN IT BE SEX-RELATED? Because one time, my husband sent a text from my phone to his that read “I want to suck your cock.” Only he sent it to my sister instead of himself. She woke up to 20 apologetic texts from both of us and had to work her way backward to figure out what we were apologizing for.
ONE TIME I WAS GIVING MY BOYFRIEND A HAND JOB IN THE SHOWER. Right before he orgasms, he grabs for the shower wall for stability, which knocks his razor off the shelf into my foot, blades side down. I don’t stop, despite the razor taking a bit of my foot off. After he finishes, he looks up all bedroom eyes and says “Mmm, is there anything I can do for you?” I respond with “I could go for a band aid,” and gesture down, where my blood has mixed with the shower water, and he gasps as he realises we’re in a literal blood bath.
I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF HAVING SEX with a guy and he said he was tired and needed to go to sleep. Before he finished. And it was the first time we had sex. It did wonders for my self esteem. He was actually pretty impressive size-wise, and I had bought normal-sized condoms, so my hope was that his blood supply had been cut off making him drowsy.
SHORTLY AFTER GRADUATING HIGH SCHOOL, I moved out of my parents’ house for the first time. I moved in with two of my best friends, and despite the usual financial and interpersonal issues that stem from first-time roommate situations, we had a great time and threw lots of parties.
At one of these parties, somehow a male stripper was in the mix. I guess he was a friend of a friend or something because I had never seen him before, and haven’t since. At one point he was giving a few of us girls a lap dance and he casually, coyly, and very sexily grabbed me and kind of lured me into the nearest bedroom (which was my roommate’s, and believe me, I heard about it later).
The stripper was sexy. And it felt good to be wanted, even if it wasn’t real. I wasn’t a virgin, but I wasn’t super experienced either. We were making out, and I was so turned on and excited, but I didn’t really know what I was doing. At one point, he grabbed my hand and put it on his penis. In a sexy, husky voice he says, “I want you to touch it. Do you want to touch it?” I whisper, in my most sexy turned on voice, “Yes.” Him: “What? What do you want to touch?” Stunned, thinking it was obvious, and again having no experience with this, “your….penis.” He started laughing and everything just grinded to an embarrassing and anti-climatic halt. When he finally got ahold of himself, he corrected me, “my cock.” We just kind of fell asleep after that and “talking dirty” has always been kind of a mystery to me.
I WAS 20 YEARS OLD. I WAS DATING AN OLDER MAN. He was 30. He was super cute, and his awkwardness seemed like sweetness.
We had been dating for several weeks. I realized afterwards I had been dating his mom. She would have me over for dinners with the both of them, and see me at events or stores and secretly buy me gifts of things she had seen me look at and then wrap them and give them to me in his name.
I adored her.
His mom was gone for the night. He had the evening planned. He made a blender of margaritas, gave me one, and then said “Do you want to have sex?”
And I said, “Well, I guess.” I had only ever done it with my long term high school boyfriend.
So, we did it. I guess. Mostly he masturbated on my leg, in the twin bed he’d had as a child.
I held him gently and said “What are you thinking about?”
And he said “Football.”
I WAS WORKING AT AN ICE CREAM PLACE in a world-class casino at the time (see: not in Oroville) when I met him. We frequently had customers who would come through our line, drunk and wanting to party. He flirted with me as I scooped his order and invited me back to his suite after I finished my shift. He was clearly older than me, but like, hot-dad older. He looked like Mark Wahlberg. I didn’t have any reason not to accept his invitation, so I finished my closing duties and headed to his room. It ended up being the penthouse suite in the posh part of the hotel.
I smelled like fresh waffle cones; a scent that I had grown to hate, but which tended to be loved by everyone close enough to smell my hair. We didn’t fuck for too long, I didn’t get off, but I never do. We were laying in the giant hotel bed afterwards, making small talk about the casino and my job. I mentioned that I would occasionally gamble with the tips I’d earned after I finished a shift. It was nothing too intense, usually just 10 or 15 bucks in a slot machine. I never won much, but I indulged every once in a while.
He reached over to his jeans on the floor, grabbing his wallet. He peeled off a few hundred dollar bills and tucked them into my purse on the nightstand. “Here,” he said. “I had a great night with you. Go win some big money!” I got dressed and left shortly after. It wasn’t until right now that I realized that I prostituted myself out that night. Holla!
THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT THE BEST SEX OF MY LIFE. That would be with the mother of my children; the love of my life. And I’m not just saying that.
But this is about the most spectacular—in the full sense of the term: it was both “incredible” and it was “a spectacle”—and intense and erotic and drug-like fuck of my youth. And as that Milkshake song says: “Damn right, it’s better than yours.”
I was backpacking across Europe, by myself, the summer before I started university (the only person to ever come up with that idea, I know). I was on a train station platform. I saw a girl, and we locked eyes. Everything else—the other passengers, the station, fell away. She had cat-like blue eyes, feral and intense, with a lot of eyeliner. Red lipstick. No makeup, otherwise. She was with a friend. We were all getting on the same train. It was headed for Rome.
We got on through different doors, but I approached her onboard. She was Norwegian. Her friend, too. She did have blond hair, but she was not tall. We talked in English about who knows what. But the eyes, always the eyes. Our eyes said that we knew what we were headed for; what we were in for. You know what I’m talking about, right? Those eyes?
In Rome it was already dark. Rome at night in the summer. If you’ve been, then you know. We walked to the hostel where they had reservations. It was called Hostel Love. In English, just like that. Hostel Love.
The girl and I went out alone. It was after midnight. We had a bottle of Italian wine, the kind where you can taste the grape’s skin. We found ourselves at the Colosseum. In Rome you just wind up at places like that. We walked around it, looking for a place to sit. But then I saw a small gap between the gate and the ground. I pointed to it and, without saying anything, we just squeezed ourselves through (*years later, I sent my best friend and his fiance to find that gap, when they were in Rome, but they said they couldn’t find a space big enough to get in, which really confirms the “cupid’s magic portal” theory).
We were inside the Colosseum in the middle of the night. Amazingly, there wasn’t a single security guard. Down into the tunnel-like spaces, where tourists can’t go, where the lions and the gladiators with their broadswords waited. Where violent, hedonistic spectacle was born.
We waited. Pressed up against the ancient hard stone, under the summer stars, we made out and drank dark wine, and didn’t go all the way. We were back at Hostel Love before first light. If you’ve heard of a better first date than that, I’d like to hear about it.
The next night, after a day of drinking up Rome’s sights and sounds and pleasures, we came back to Hostel Love. We were in a shared room with three bunk beds. When we started the girl’s friend was there, in the room, and a Canadian Goth girl with lots of piercings, from the bottom bunk, opposite, and the lights were on, and it wasn’t even late. We spoke to them and and looked them straight in their eyes and the girl commanded the Goth to look at us and they both touched us, but they never interfered. It was guttural and animal and we were on the creaking top bunk, as if it were an amphitheatre stage, this youth hostel bed, those thin, worn, cheap sheets.
The door was open. We didn’t care. Others came to watch us. They didn’t laugh in shock or even smile, not for a second, not one of them. We looked them in the eyes too. I looked in men’s eyes and women’s. This beyond intense sex magic, this heady, pheromonal, intoxicating force pervaded the entire hostel. I’m 100% certain that every single person in that hostel fucked that night. This was confirmed by the girl’s friend, and she said that included herself and the young bosomy Italian woman working the front desk. And people, the next morning, looked at us with awe—no winks, no smiles, just awe. Something external, something eternal, had taken us over, all of us.
I’ve never done anything performative like that before or since. The girl and I travelled together a bit later in the summer, getting briefly kidnapped in Morocco, then skinny dipping in the icy fjords in her home country. Then we fought and never spoke again. She’s a famous director there, now, I recently learned, though we don’t talk.
Cupid is not some small-dicked, chubby little angel with a little bow on a post-card. He’s Eros’ Roman counterpart. Cupid, god of desire, Venus’ son. They call him “Amor” in Latinate languages (as in “love,” as in “Hostel Love”), but sometimes he’s called “the demon of fornication.”
I’m just looking this up on Wikipedia, because I’m telling this story for Valentine’s Day. It says this, too: “An association of sex and violence is found in the erotic fascination for gladiators, who often had sexualized names such as Cupido.”
Were we struck by Cupid’s arrow on that train station platform? Can there be any doubt?
IT WAS THIS GUY I STAYED WITH FOR A WHILE IN BERLIN WHO GOT ME INTO KINK. One of the things I discovered is, when I’m having sex with men, I prefer to be the sub, but when I’m having sex with women I have no interest in that whatsoever. We hooked up like five minutes after getting to his apartment, the first time. I knew virtually nothing about kink at the time. He was into this certain kind of bondage called Shabari—which is Japanese rope bondage a lot of kinksters are into. You can completely restrain someone so that they literally cannot move. You lose all control of your body. There’s whole communities of people who just get together and tie each other up and there’s not even any sex involved. Which wasn’t the case here (laughing). I was letting him tie me up a lot. Shabari is… beautiful. A lot of the ties incorporate things that look like Jacob’s Ladder or the string games that you play when you’re a kid.
Anyways, at one point I told him he could take some pictures with my camera. He took a few. When I get back, my dad picks me up from the airport. You can see where this is going (laughing). He was with my youngest brother and my now wife, who was just a friend back them. We were going through pictures of my trip and I just completely forgot that those were in there. There were pictures of his house, which should have jogged my memory. I had come out to my dad [as being bi] a few years before and he didn’t want to know; he didn’t want to acknowledge it. We never talked about it again. Now he’s looking at pictures of his his son making out with this Cyprian hunk of a guy. This guy’s really gorgeous, too. So, we’re clicking through and, low and behold, I click to the next picture and it’s of me tied up with this rope around my cock with this huge boner and a bunch of chains and restraints and shit in the background and I’m like ‘uhhh!!!, click! click! click!’ and for some reason I keep clicking the forward button in my panic so we’re just getting this, like, slideshow of all this dungeon porn and [his now wife] is just busting up laughing. My brother, who was maybe 12 at the time is like “Is that you?” And I look over at my dad he’s just fucking stiff in his chair; all the color is completely drained out of his face. I was kinda mortified up until the point when I saw his face and, then, I just fucking died. I’ve never laughed so hard. So, that’s how I came out to my dad as being a kinkster.
THE SHAGGIN’ WAGON
I MET UP IN MARYSVILLE WITH SOMEONE WHO LIVES IN SACRAMENTO. That was the halfway point, so we’d just meet there. I decked out the back of my van with blankets and cushions and everything. I call it the Shaggin Waggin. We parked at this park in Marysville near the river and (laughing) had sex for like four hours in the back of the van. People would walk by every now and then and we had to hide. But then, the funniest was, a whole bus load of kids pulled up and got out. They surrounded us. So we had to stop and have lunch till the kids were gone.
I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE PRINTING THESE WORDS
YOU PEOPLE THAT DON’T HAVE KIDS don’t know the horrors that people who have kids have to go through, sex-wise. Little babies, these days, sleep in bed with you. Sometimes they nurse all night long. Sometimes you’re spooning your woman while she nurses the baby. Sometimes you just have to do it anyway. Like, a three-way with your baby. It’s terrible.
THE WORST ORGY EVER HAD
WE GO OVER TO PLAY CARDS AT SOMEONE’S HOUSE. Being a bunch of teenagers, all we had was a small case of Miller Lite. We managed to turn the game Cards Against Humanity into a strip game, which is really a terrible idea, I don’t even know how we did it. Anyways, within an hour, because we made really shitty rules, everyone was completely stripped. This was extra awkward because there were five teenage boys who were afraid of seeming gay in front of each other. Still, somehow we wind up in an upstairs room, all together, naked. Then, what was certifiably the most awkward attempt at an orgy ever, started.
There was this one guy that was particularly defensive and fearful about being naked in front of other guys, especially given that we were supposed to be having an orgy. Right away he said: “No guys better touch me or I’ll fucking kill you.” Also, there was a girl who wouldn’t let anyone touch her; she only wanted to be the toucher. Then, not more than five minutes in, one of the participants has an allergic reaction to something she’d eaten earlier in the night. She is literally screaming in pain, doubled over. She’s escorted out, not to be seen again for the rest of the night. Two minutes after that, the girl who didn’t want anyone to touch her has a straight-up, legitimate panic attack. One of us has to run out, naked, to her car, to get her anti-anxiety medicine.
People kept dropping off. At this point we’re down by almost half. Then, one guy, we notice, isn’t participating. We ask him, “What’s up? Are you ok?” That’s when he said: “Uh, I’m 17. I shouldn’t be here right now.” Then, without making eye-contact or saying anything whatsoever, he just gets up, puts his clothes on, and leaves without saying goodbye.
At that point our orgy is literally down to four people: Me, my girlfriend, Panic Attack Girl, and the homophobic guy. Panic Attack Girl was giving Homophobic Guy a handjob and he told her, “ow, that’s too hard.” So he asked for a blowjob. Panic Attack Girl agreed, but homophobic guy couldn’t cum, so she ended up giving him a blowjob for an hour and a half. Pretty much the worst orgy ever, is what this was.