So, it's official--scientists spend way too much time in the lab. Why, you ask? A group at the University of Iowa found the need to conduct a study about the amount of sexual partners people in committed relationships have vs people who have friends with benefits. Their conclusion? Those who enjoy friends-with-benefits scenarios are more likely to have sex with multiple people.
Um, we could have told you this just by common knowledge. And if statistics were necessary, we could have simply stood at the entrance of any freshman dorm in America polling drunken co-eds on their way in from the bar.
Hey, thanks scientists for wasting what we're sure was hard-t0-come-by grant money to come up with this more-than-obvious conclusion. How about you stop rubbing yourself with the contents of petri dishes once and a while and turn on some TV? We recommend Jersey Shore.
[via Gawker]
Showing posts with label one night stands. Show all posts
Showing posts with label one night stands. Show all posts
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
A USB Port Like No Other
One of our tipsters sent us a piece about this ridiculously awesome Craigslist ad, where some secret-agent ho shoved her one-night-stand's flash drive up her poon and peaced out. Apparently his hard drive just didn't do enough for her. Fantastic!!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
New Year New Hookup
Submitted by Cat Attack
So one New Year's Eve a few years ago, I went out to a party with some friends. I look over to the corner of the room were I find a tall, lanky boy with a cute face. I drunkenly walk over to him and start to talk. Minutes later, I find myself linked to his arm following him upstairs. After a few rounds of making out, we decide to go to a friend's house. We end up on top of his pool table where we had stupid drunken sex. After falling off of the pool table and ripping my tights, I decided it was time for me to leave. While I was getting up, I hit my head on the wieght bench. I put on what was left of my new year's outfit to find out my ride had left and had to call my dad to come pick me up... I then had to take a walk of shame past 3 other kids I had hooked up with that night and someone's parents. Needless to say, I was never invited to that house again.
So one New Year's Eve a few years ago, I went out to a party with some friends. I look over to the corner of the room were I find a tall, lanky boy with a cute face. I drunkenly walk over to him and start to talk. Minutes later, I find myself linked to his arm following him upstairs. After a few rounds of making out, we decide to go to a friend's house. We end up on top of his pool table where we had stupid drunken sex. After falling off of the pool table and ripping my tights, I decided it was time for me to leave. While I was getting up, I hit my head on the wieght bench. I put on what was left of my new year's outfit to find out my ride had left and had to call my dad to come pick me up... I then had to take a walk of shame past 3 other kids I had hooked up with that night and someone's parents. Needless to say, I was never invited to that house again.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
New Year's Reso-what?
Submitted by Lucky Prescott
I know I need to leave. I’m breaking my own rules by staying here for even a second after I wake up. But I don’t know how to just get up and go. It’s like my body is frozen with the fear of being rude. I watch the clock on the building across the street tick away opposite a bright blue sky that looks like summer even though it’s freezing out. I longingly stare at my black g-string on the floor by the closet, sending it telepathic messages to get up and walk its way over to me. It doesn’t.
I’d been doing well with my New Year’s resolution: 354 days and nights without a one night stand. I guess I could have held out 11 more days, but I needed some good sex before heading home to get some terrible sex from the guy I’m quasi dating. Besides, Luke was a conquest. And maybe I was a conquest for him too.
After all, this was a long time coming. We made out at a bar last year, but when he asked me to go home with him, I declined. He took my number, told me that he’d had a crush on me for a while, and then put me in a cab. This time, after talking for an hour or so at the bar, when he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” the only logical response was “Yes.” I can’t be called a slut this time if I already refused him once before. Right?
We held hands as we walked along the Christmas tree-lined sidewalks, hopping into a cab and going to his apartment. We started on the couch and he carried me to the bed. It was great. It did the job. I actually got off. I actually had fun. And there were absolutely no strings attached.
I hear him groan a morning groan as the clock’s minute hand reaches the hour mark. I give myself a pep talk, say I’ll get up at the count of ten. I reach ten. I don’t move. He wakes up. Gives me a kiss and smiles. And I thought leaving would be awkward before?
I know I need to leave. I’m breaking my own rules by staying here for even a second after I wake up. But I don’t know how to just get up and go. It’s like my body is frozen with the fear of being rude. I watch the clock on the building across the street tick away opposite a bright blue sky that looks like summer even though it’s freezing out. I longingly stare at my black g-string on the floor by the closet, sending it telepathic messages to get up and walk its way over to me. It doesn’t.
I’d been doing well with my New Year’s resolution: 354 days and nights without a one night stand. I guess I could have held out 11 more days, but I needed some good sex before heading home to get some terrible sex from the guy I’m quasi dating. Besides, Luke was a conquest. And maybe I was a conquest for him too.
After all, this was a long time coming. We made out at a bar last year, but when he asked me to go home with him, I declined. He took my number, told me that he’d had a crush on me for a while, and then put me in a cab. This time, after talking for an hour or so at the bar, when he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” the only logical response was “Yes.” I can’t be called a slut this time if I already refused him once before. Right?
We held hands as we walked along the Christmas tree-lined sidewalks, hopping into a cab and going to his apartment. We started on the couch and he carried me to the bed. It was great. It did the job. I actually got off. I actually had fun. And there were absolutely no strings attached.
I hear him groan a morning groan as the clock’s minute hand reaches the hour mark. I give myself a pep talk, say I’ll get up at the count of ten. I reach ten. I don’t move. He wakes up. Gives me a kiss and smiles. And I thought leaving would be awkward before?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Skinny on Getting a Cab
Submitted by Lucky Prescott
I’m ready to go home. My friend’s birthday party, with its crazily-priced drinks, people stumbling into me on the way-too-packed dance floor, and acrobats swinging from the ceiling, has lost its New York City charm. But I spent all of my cash at the bar and it’s too late to take the subway. I could hit up an ATM, but it would be so much easier to just make out with that kid sitting on the couch who I studied abroad with in hopes that he’ll suggest we get out of here. Fine, his waist is smaller than mine, he has terrible acne, and he’s cocky for no reason, but he has money and probably hasn’t gotten ass in a while. I saunter my way over to “say goodbye” to him, but end up sitting on his lap. Within minutes, his tongue is down my throat. We continue this through Usher’s “Yeah,” Britney’s “Toxic,” and a remix of Snoop’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot.” Then, the moment I’ve been waiting for. After saying goodbye to the birthday girl, we head outside and hail a cab, making out the whole way to my dorm. When we get there, he pays the cabbie. My mission is accomplished.
But his isn’t, so we go up to my room. Now, I never realized how skinny he really was until he unbuttoned his black dress shirt and revealed a sticking-out rib cage and barely-there pecs. I start wishing I had just left him downstairs, but know that I just have to get this over with. I close my eyes and let my mind wander as we kiss some more, eventually slipping between my pink bed sheets and having sex.
I wake up the next morning to him jangling his keys as he puts them back into his pants pocket, his wallet and cell phone going in the others. I look at the clock. It’s 9am and he’s out the door. I roll over and go back to sleep, thankful that he knows the rules of the one-night-stand and that getting home last night only cost another notch on my bedpost.
I’m ready to go home. My friend’s birthday party, with its crazily-priced drinks, people stumbling into me on the way-too-packed dance floor, and acrobats swinging from the ceiling, has lost its New York City charm. But I spent all of my cash at the bar and it’s too late to take the subway. I could hit up an ATM, but it would be so much easier to just make out with that kid sitting on the couch who I studied abroad with in hopes that he’ll suggest we get out of here. Fine, his waist is smaller than mine, he has terrible acne, and he’s cocky for no reason, but he has money and probably hasn’t gotten ass in a while. I saunter my way over to “say goodbye” to him, but end up sitting on his lap. Within minutes, his tongue is down my throat. We continue this through Usher’s “Yeah,” Britney’s “Toxic,” and a remix of Snoop’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot.” Then, the moment I’ve been waiting for. After saying goodbye to the birthday girl, we head outside and hail a cab, making out the whole way to my dorm. When we get there, he pays the cabbie. My mission is accomplished.
But his isn’t, so we go up to my room. Now, I never realized how skinny he really was until he unbuttoned his black dress shirt and revealed a sticking-out rib cage and barely-there pecs. I start wishing I had just left him downstairs, but know that I just have to get this over with. I close my eyes and let my mind wander as we kiss some more, eventually slipping between my pink bed sheets and having sex.
I wake up the next morning to him jangling his keys as he puts them back into his pants pocket, his wallet and cell phone going in the others. I look at the clock. It’s 9am and he’s out the door. I roll over and go back to sleep, thankful that he knows the rules of the one-night-stand and that getting home last night only cost another notch on my bedpost.
Directions to SweatyDrunkenSexTown
Submitted by Sheck-sy Back
One night stands are like a box of chocolates--you never know if you're going to get mouthwatering milk chocolate with roasted peanuts and toffee, or unsavory and slightly sketchy nougat with rum, raspberry cream, and raisins (though, 90% of the time it seems to be the latter). But after a few drinks, I'm somehow always willing to reach into the chocolate box and try my luck again.
Case in point: One night a couple years ago, I headed to a bar in Brooklyn to celebrate the birthday of a friend. After several glasses of whiskey, as well as a couple tequila shots, I was significantly trashed enough to start making out with a stranger standing by the pool table (I was also significantly trashed enough to forget his name...four times in a row). Flash forward to closing time, and I'm one of the last folks at the bar. A couple of dudes, including one sporting a major mohawk, invite me to some after party. But after an attempt to find late-night pizza sidetracked us, I found myself back at my apartment with Mohawk Dude and a couple bottles of OE. We were clearly on a one way street to SweatyDrunkenSexTown, which as I recall wasn't so bad...except for one minor detail: Dude would not stop biting and sucking on my neck. Even after I told him time and again to stop. And it HURT LIKE HELL. The next morning I woke up feeling like I had been punched in the neck repeatedly, then run over by a semi truck, and I was sporting some major hickeys running from my shoulder up to my earlobe. Not cool. So when Mohawk Dude woke up, we exchanged pleasantries, and he left….oh wait, just kidding, he decided to stay until almost 5 in the evening, just awkardly and silently lying around my living room, not taking any of my hints that he should probably go. At one point in the afternoon, he stood up and walked out the door without saying a word...only to return half an hour later with large cheese pizza. (So, at least he was good for something.) That night as he finally left, he told me we’d “talk soon"...however this seems unlikely as I don’t remember giving him my number--which I'd say is probably the best decision I had made in the previous 24 hours.
One night stands are like a box of chocolates--you never know if you're going to get mouthwatering milk chocolate with roasted peanuts and toffee, or unsavory and slightly sketchy nougat with rum, raspberry cream, and raisins (though, 90% of the time it seems to be the latter). But after a few drinks, I'm somehow always willing to reach into the chocolate box and try my luck again.
Case in point: One night a couple years ago, I headed to a bar in Brooklyn to celebrate the birthday of a friend. After several glasses of whiskey, as well as a couple tequila shots, I was significantly trashed enough to start making out with a stranger standing by the pool table (I was also significantly trashed enough to forget his name...four times in a row). Flash forward to closing time, and I'm one of the last folks at the bar. A couple of dudes, including one sporting a major mohawk, invite me to some after party. But after an attempt to find late-night pizza sidetracked us, I found myself back at my apartment with Mohawk Dude and a couple bottles of OE. We were clearly on a one way street to SweatyDrunkenSexTown, which as I recall wasn't so bad...except for one minor detail: Dude would not stop biting and sucking on my neck. Even after I told him time and again to stop. And it HURT LIKE HELL. The next morning I woke up feeling like I had been punched in the neck repeatedly, then run over by a semi truck, and I was sporting some major hickeys running from my shoulder up to my earlobe. Not cool. So when Mohawk Dude woke up, we exchanged pleasantries, and he left….oh wait, just kidding, he decided to stay until almost 5 in the evening, just awkardly and silently lying around my living room, not taking any of my hints that he should probably go. At one point in the afternoon, he stood up and walked out the door without saying a word...only to return half an hour later with large cheese pizza. (So, at least he was good for something.) That night as he finally left, he told me we’d “talk soon"...however this seems unlikely as I don’t remember giving him my number--which I'd say is probably the best decision I had made in the previous 24 hours.
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