We asked for your sex stories. This is what we got.

Call me James

It’s the day after the 2015 General Election. I, a Labour voter, am heartbroken, and have just spent four hours on a coach to visit my tory-voting then-boyfriend. I’m pleasantly surprised by the lack of gloating and the sex has temporarily taken my mind off of my woes – that is until he, mid-thrust, looks me straight in the eye, says “You are Ed Miliband”, demands that I call him David Cameron, and continues with gusto. I’m so taken off guard that I oblige, but am now plagued by the harrowing mental image of poor Ed’s resignation speech. Never trust a tory.

Lube is the new sugar

I was talking to a casual lover who happened to live on my street. The conversation was getting quite heated and I was thinking of inviting him over when he said he had a weird favour to ask me. I tell him to go ahead and he proceeds to ask me whether he could borrow some lube. Surprised and rather disappointed I say sure, but warn him that I have one big bottle rather than individual single serving packets. Unfazed he reassures me it’ll be fine. Ten minutes later, he’s knocking on my door. I let him in and take him up to my room at where he whips a glass out of his coat pocket. I squirt some lube in the glass, he thanks me and heads off. Ten minutes later I get a message from him saying I’m welcome to join. Nope.

Margavine Road

So I’d just got off work, at around ten, and I was meeting this guy, a doctor who was also finishing work. We met outside Charing Cross Hospital, and went to the Southern Belle for a drink. We had our drink, and as I was walking him back home, we clearly couldn’t wait any longer, and started to make out on Margravine Road. At this point he just kneels down, lowers my trousers, and proceeds to suck me off, right there on the street. I came on his face, he laughed, I laughed, and we awkwardly bid our farewells. He messaged me the following week. I never replied.

I’m Batman

I was seeing this guy from America. He was only here for one semester and he was staying in these American Halls near Portland Street. After a few dates we wanted to go back to his, but there were no guests allowed, so I was snuck in with a crowd of people. We got into his bedroom and he said that we had to be really quiet because of the no guests rule. He then proceeded to get undressed and said that there was something he liked to do that helped him keep it quiet. I said that sounded like fun. He then reached behind his pillow and picked up a Batman mask. He put it on and said in the typical Batman voice “I’m Batman”. I was freaked out, but was also a bit drunk, so I dealt with it and we continued. About 30 seconds later he asks, “can you tell me a riddle?” and then shouts “YOU’RE THE JOKER! THE JOKER, THE JOKER I SAY!”. I freak out, (a) because wtf, and (b) because he shouted it. I quickly left the room and looked the exit to leave. On my way out, the receptionist simply says, “Batman guy?”

Virgin organic

This one time there were five of us at a ‘hang-out’. Everyone was really chill and sensual, the vibes were great and we were all generally really enjoying each other’s company. At some point I noticed that one of the guys was missing, but I didn’t really care at the time considering there were another three people to keep my hands occupied. Until he reappeared. He ran into our entangled bodies without warning, and slipped between us like an eel. He had covered himself in oil. I thought it was massage oil until I got a mouthful and realised it was actually olive oil. He messaged me once afterwards. He said I probably didn’t remember him. I answered I couldn’t possibly forget olive oil guy. He never messaged me again.

The great dane

I met a guy in Tiger Tiger and went back to his, he had a nice flat, I go into the bedroom to see a HUGE Great Dane on his bed. I like dogs, but this dog was taking up the entire bed. The guy comes into the bedroom. Not thinking the dog was an issue and continues on as though the dog wasn’t there. I stop him, and ask about the dog. The guy says “Oh don’t worry, he will move, he knows when”, and so we go on. Then the guy attempts to throw me onto the bed, I land on top of the dog, and the man climbs on. Now I’m effectively in a sandwich between a half naked man and his giant dog. I stop the man like, “the dog gotta move”, and the man reluctantly gets up and shooshes the dog out of the room. To this day I still don’t know why he felt the need to throw me on top of his dog.

Birdfood

I once slept with an artist, who lived in the attic of a house by the sea in Wales. After we’d finished having sex (which was no mean feat, considering the paints, canvasses, and easels I’d had to climb over to get to the futon in the corner), he took off the condom, tied the end in a knot, and carried it over the the skylight. He opened the window, and tossed the condom out on the the roof, but before it landed, it was caught in mid-flight by a seagull, who promptly carried it away. I still don’t know if he and the seagull had it prearranged.