4 Things That’ll Ruin Any One-Night Stand Before It Starts

Everyone enjoys sex, except for people who don’t, and that’s a fact you can set your watch by. Your sex watch ! And many of us are not above the idea of a hookup just for the thrill of it, because if you’re cool with it and they’re cool with it, bolt anyone( not literally) who tries to judge you or suggest “theres only” certain relationships that are worthy of being sex. If you’re not hurting anyone and they’re not hurting anyone, then kick it like rabbits and hump till you get a friction burn, is what my grandmother always told. But beware! You can cause serious damage to your humpability by falling victim to any of this tomfoolery.


Your Bathroom Is A Reflection Of Your Soul

No room in your home will ever be more honest than the bathroom. You can pretty up a living room with wall sconces and IKEA shelving, and you can use marble counter tops in the kitchen. But the bathroom, behind all the fluff, is the room where you sit bare-ass on a chair filled with water and expunge your garbage. It’s as close to your soul as a room can get.

Because the bathroom is so honest, you must treat it like a drunk friend who knows too much: Be wary, for it will spill your secrets when you least expect it. Not out of malice, but simply because that is its nature. You may think you’re putting your best foot forward and really charming the literal pants off of someone, and then they excuse themselves to use the bathroom, at which point you have zero seconds left to stem the tide of what may follow. Is there filth-encrusted tissue sitting on top of your trash can? How about errant feminine hygiene products? Is the bowl clean, or is it decorated with a thin layer of ass spackle? Has anyone pissed on the wall and left drip marks that shine in the light when you turn your head just so? Is there a hairy razor sitting on the side of the sink? Did you hang a wet pair of underwear over the rain rod? Is your hemorrhoid cream sitting outside? THERE ARE SO MANY QUESTIONS!

The one-night stand is a strictly impulsive decision based on your boner or lady boner’s insisting that you scratch your groin on someone else’s until your brain nods in fervent agreement. Both of them, and you at this phase, will have forgotten if you bothered to tidy up the house. You will only recollect at the moment your new crotch-cuddler asks to use it, and at that point it’s too late to do anything about it. A solid rule of thumb is to give your bathroom a once-over every time you leave it. Look at it as if you were visiting someone else’s, and if anything induces you cringe, fix it before you leave.

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If the believed to be wading through someone else’s groin shavings gives you pause, take care of it .


Your Kitchen Is As Important As Your Hygiene

You may be surprised to learn that I am not an immaculate homemaker. As it happens, I ascribe to the “If it’s in the house, it’s where it belongs” technique of cleaning up more often than not. So generally, when it came to keeping the kitchen clean, as long as nothing was melting, festering or rusting, I was pretty confident that I had shit under wraps. This never gone over well when anyone came over and wanted to actually ingest anything other than their own anxiety. When your dishes form a squatter community across your counter and your fridge contains bags of soup, what you’re telling to other humen is “Hello, I’m a Morlock. I’ve simply escaped my subterranean lair and wish to mate with one of your kind. Our spawn will be raised in a Rubbermaid storage tub.”

Your home is a reflection of yourself. A super-tidy, immaculate home is a possibility the sign of an anal-retentive neat freak, while the eye of a shit cyclone is indicative of someone who may use newborn wipes in lieu of showering. You want a happy medium that doesn’t offend yourself or others, because yes, people judge you. And rightly so. You deserve to be judged if your go-to style is squalor. I deserved to be judged, and judged I was. Do you know how much tail I missed out on as a result of my hapless disregard for cleanliness and organisation? One. One whole tail. And that’s a lot for me. Do you think I’m up in here having all the sexes? I once wrote a piece about why life would suck for a zombie, because I have the time to consider what life would be like for a zombie, because I have nothing else going on except cleaning my kitchen.


The Drunken Stupor Is Only Fun Until You’re Naked

I understand that a large portion of one-night stands are birthed at the bottom of a bottle of peach schnapps, and that’s penalty. A little liquor runs a long way in building some people more humpable. But there are limitations. If either one of you is so sloppy drunk that you don’t know what you’re doing, then that’s a shit buffet with no sneeze guard. Sloppy drunkenness isn’t fun for anyone.

The issue of consent is something you need to be always aware of and be respectful of. But even if you both are of sound enough intellect to agree that you want to slide your slipperies together, there comes a phase in the night at which you can have too many delicious Tom Collins Slurpees. Even though inebriation might induce you more clever or honest or a better dancer in your own intellect, it also has a handful of drawbacks that tend to be the opposite of sexy. For instance πŸ˜› TAGEND

1: Vomit

2: Unconsciousness

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3: A hobble, lazy , no-good wiener.

All three of these outcomes are to sex what all three of those things are to anything — maybe with the exception of the hobble wiener, a condition which doesn’t generally affect things like simmering an egg or Scrabble, unless you play it the style I do . But you get the idea. At some phase, you need to know your restriction and drink within it, or else face the terrible prospect of sitting on your bed, vomiting onto your own wobbly squish digit before passing out in your new friend’s lap.


Fossils Of Booty Past Are A Sexual Brick Wall

A general rule of thumb you want to follow when it comes to sex is always pretending you’ve never had sex before. Which isn’t to say that you need to act like a virgin trying to discover which flap fits into which orifice, but you do not need to acknowledge that you’ve savoured someone else’s genitals in that moment. Because, more often than not, the current person whose undercarriage you’re taste-testing doesn’t want to know what other wobbles you’ve gobbled. The more you remind someone else that you’ve boinked other people, the more they’re going to be worried about two key things: Are you comparing them to someone else, and do you bone so many other beings that you’re a stroll chlamydia salad with gonorrhea sprinkles and a side of Paul Newman’s non-GMO herb garmenting?

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It tastes like itching !

No one should care how many sex partners you’ve had , nor is it actually their business. But you make it their business when you rub it in their face, literally or figuratively. Hopefully simply figuratively, but who am I to judge what turns you on?

Obviously, most of us don’t start an evening of seduction by saying something like “I’ve taken a real shine to your crotch, but the last five I jiggered were a little nicer.” Don’t say that. But you don’t need to say anything sometimes if you’ve actually fucked up your preparations. First and foremost, you’re going to want to not have a utilized condom pretty much anywhere that it can be seen. That’s a surefire sign that you’re gross. A used condom has no choice but to be gross, and the closer it gets to you, the grosser it becomes, like a proximity mine of viscous, ropy repulsion. It’s a literal sack of biohazard, and if you see it in someone else’s home, it means they had it in and around where you’re trying to go, all squishies and glorpy in the promised land. That’s terrible. Objectively, it’s a good thing, as it means that your friend is responsible. But you’re not objective — you’re subjective, and you’re being subjected to a rubbery spooge sock within oozing distance. Gross.

If you collect panties, jock straps, bras, photos of ham wallets, butthole silhouettes, or any other sort of sex trophies, make sure they’re in one of those dry clean purses or something else no one is going to look in. People who collect sex trophies are too much like serial murderers for anyone’s consolation. You conquered something and needed a creepy reminder of it that only appeals to you but when anyone else insures it, they’re worried you’re going to set a tarp down and start playing Huey Lewis.

Even if the condom isn’t utilized, you’re going to want to keep your birth control out of sight in general as well. If you have a fishbowl full of condoms or an IUD-of-the-week rack, it takes someone out of the moment. By all means, have those things, but keep them in a drawer. Imagine grandma coming over and misstep your contraceptive pill for Tic Tacs, the style so many sexually clueless boobs in direct-to-video comedies do. You don’t want to live with that on your conscience. It’s not about being a prude or concealing who you are. It’s just about tact and considering the feelings of other people who have to see your utilized condom homunculus trying to birth itself from the ooze-encrusted waste basket, and must decide whether they should flee in silence or whilst emitting terrified screams.

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