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A Scary (Yet Sexy) Story Before Halloween

It’s the day before Halloween. I’m already working up an appetite for candy, I’ve binge-watched an unhealthy amount of slasher movies, and I’m eagerly awaiting the sexy costumes I’m sure to see. Halloween is an underrated holiday, is what I’m saying. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth belaboring.

In the spirit of this sweet, sexy holiday that adults and kids alike can embrace, I’d like to contribute in a way that goes beyond handing out candy, drinking pumpkin ale, or wearing my sexy male nurse costume. Yes, I have a sexy male nurse costume. Men can be sexy nurses too, you know?

While I’m sure some are burned out watching overly-censored version of “Friday The 13th” and “Halloween” on cable, I think there’s still room for a scary, yet sexy Halloween story. As it just so happens, I happen to have one that I would like to share. Hopefully, it gets everyone in the Halloween spirit. If it makes you horny too, then that’s just a bonus.

This particular story takes place during my first year of college. I’ve shared sexy college stories before, but this one is unique in that it was more a legend around campus. I wasn’t there when it happened, but it had already become part of the culture there and, being a curious freshman, it really resonated with me.

Apparently, this story had been circulating around the school for a couple years now. Nobody knew that it was true, but it sounded like it could be true and that’s kind of what made it scary. Sure, it has a sexy twist, but there’s still that creepy undertone that you only ever feel around clown, black cats, or guys wearing hockey masks.

It didn’t have an official name, but I called it “The Tale Of The Cursed Cupcakes.” I promise it’s not as corny as it sounds. I also apologize if I get some of the details wrong because it has been a while since I told this story, but I think it’s worth sharing on the night before Halloween.


The sun had just set. Halloween had officially begun. A young couple, Eric and Karen, were set to go to the biggest Halloween party on campus. This was one of those parties that only a select few got invited to. Eric happened to be a former roommate with someone who helped organize it so they managed to get in. For him and his girlfriend, it was a big deal.

They go to the party wearing their best costumes. He’s dressed as a pirate. She’s dressed as sexy school girl. They arrive at an upscale apartment just off campus. It’s a place usually reserved for students at the school who have rich parents, scholarships, or both. The food is better, the alcohol isn’t cheap, and the toilets actually work. By college standards, it might as well be a luxury penthouse.

Eric and Karen arrive at the party just after eight. They meet up with the host, a somewhat colorful character named Michael Bowers. He has a reputation throughout campus as being somewhat eccentric. His family contribute heavily to the school and works as a trainer with the football team, which gives him all sorts of access. The guy has connections and he’s not afraid to use them.

As soon as they enter the party, they find out he’s used them well. He reserves the party room at his apartment building and he goes all out. He orders multiple kegs, sets up tables full of snacks, and even hires a professional DJ. At the center of it all is this big plate of cupcakes, each designed to look like eyeballs with big blue irises. Karen finds them kind of creepy, but she figures that’s just part of the Halloween theme.

“Welcome!” Michael greets them, dressed as a vampire. “Here, have a cupcake or several. I promise they’ll get you in the spirit!”

“Whatever,” Eric says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m just here to have a good time with my girl.”

“You’re sweet, babe,” Karen replies, giving him a nice kiss.

They both eat their cupcakes. They’re warm and sweet, definitely better than anything bought in a store. Eric ends up having another. Then, he and Karen grab some beer, some snacks, and start dancing to all sorts of Halloween-themed music.

More people arrive. Michael greets every one of them, offering everyone cupcakes. Most accept them, thinking little of it. They then join in the fun. They eat, they dance, and they laugh. Like Karen and Eric, they want to have a good time.

Then, after a couple hours or so, everyone has had their share of drinks and snacks. Intoxication takes over and inhibitions disappear. It’s fun, decadent, and everything Karen and Eric expect of a party. Then, Karen starts to notice something odd.

Eric, who isn’t that drunk, gets a little friskier than she expects. As he dances with her, he starts kissing her neck, feeling up her thighs, and even squeezing her butt. This surprises her because he’s usually doesn’t get that overt in public. He usually saves that kind of intimate touching for the bedroom. He’s kind like that.

Before she knows it, though, his touching becomes more overt. He kisses her in the middle of the dance floor and not in a romantic sort of way. He does so in a way that makes it clear he wants to fuck her.

“God, I want you, Karen,” he tells her with an almost-predatory tone. “I’m so fucking horny right now!”

At first, she thinks he’s just drunk. Then, she feels it. When he pulls her deeper into his arms, it literally pokes her right in the thigh. Eric has a raging hard-on. He doesn’t even try to hide it. When she looks down, she sees he has pitched a full tent in his pants. It’s so big and hard it looks like the seams are ready to burst.

“Eric, what has gotten into you?” Karen wonders.

That’s when she notices something else. Looking around her, she sees similar behaviors between other couples. Some are already making out. Some rushing into darkened rooms. Some are engaged in full-fledged foreplay right on the spot. It’s not coy or playful either. It’s like something has gotten into them.

“Fuck, I’m so hard right now!” she hears one man say.

“Hey! Someone get in my pants right now! I’ve got a hungry snake and he’s ready to bite!” says another.

It’s getting intense. The men around her, and even some of the women, seem possessed. Something has gotten into them and it’s not just the alcohol. They’re like animals in heat. Someone or something has provoked them and Eric is one of them.

He’s now looking at her with the eyes of a hungry animal. She’s never seen him like this before. He’s usually so polite and sweet. On this night, though, he’s a raging ball of masculine prowess and he wants to take it out on her. At first, Karen is worried that something might be wrong with him.

Then, he does it. Eric leans in, nibbles on her ear, and slips a hand between her legs. He does this because he knows it turns her on. He knows it gets her in the mood. He doesn’t usually do it unless the time is right. This might not be that time, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Now, she’s horny too. Whatever monster has consumed her boyfriend has consumed her as well.

“Please, Karen,” he whispers into her ear with that tone he knows she can’t resist. “I want to fuck.”

“Okay,” she tells him. “Let’s go find some privacy.”

“I know just the place!”

Without hesitation, he grabs her hand and leads her away from the party. He’s been to this apartment complex before. He knows it better than most. He practically sprints across the building, eventually finding the locker room area near the pool, which has been closed for the night.

They enter. It was odd that it had been unlocked, but Karen didn’t bother making sense of it. She just followed her boyfriend inside. He then led her towards one of the changing areas, pinned her against the wall, and slid her panties down her skirt.

There was little foreplay or sexy talk, which was unlike Eric, who was such a caring lover. When he dropped his pants, though, she saw the sheer size of his erection and was convinced.

“Fuck! What has gotten into you, Eric?” Karen gasped in amazement.

“I don’t know, but I want it in you too!” he tells her.

He makes good on his desires. With that massive boner, he goes onto give Karen the hardest, rawest fuck of her life. It’s so raw and primal, as though a demon has possessed her boyfriend and the only way to exorcise it was to fuck her senseless. It was intense, but powerful. She could even feel it herself, this demonic lust filling her as he fucked her.

It’s not quick either. He ends up fucking her multiple times, blowing multiple loads. Karen finds herself climaxing more than once too. She swears she hasn’t come this many times since her prom night. For a moment, it seems as though this demonic lust was going to consume them completely.

Eventually, though, they vent their powerful lusts. They’re tired, sore, and dazed. Karen is still a little scared. What just came over them? What just happened?

“We should go,” she finally says after all is said and done.

“Yeah, we should,” Eric says, sounding just as overwhelmed.

They leave the party without saying goodbye. They make it back to the dorm where they shower, sober up, and fall asleep.

The next day is awkward and confusing. They’re still not sure what to make of it. Eric is unusually silent. Karen worries that the monstrous lust is still in him and he’s trying to fight it. She starts to worry whether that party brought out something in them they didn’t know. Did that party reveal a monstrous side to them that they weren’t ready to handle?

Then, later that day, they’re in their dorm together. Eric gets a phone call. It’s his own roommate who’d gotten him an invite to the party. At first, Karen doesn’t make much of it. Then, she hears Eric burst out laughing. Curious, she approaches her boyfriend.

“What’s going on, Eric? What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Viagra,” he tells her, still laughing hysterically. “The cupcakes had Viagra in them!”


That, my friends, is “The Tale Of The Cursed Cupcakes.” I hope it helps inspire your Halloween spirit, among other things. Again, this is a story I only heard from my fellow schoolmates. I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t think it matters. It doesn’t make the story any less sexy.

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The Moment I Realized My Flirting Skills Sucked (A Personal Story From A Comic Book Store)

In my experience, those who say flirting is an art, not a science, either look like a celebrity, are insanely rich, or have giant dicks/tits. They think they understand flirting. They don’t realize that a lot of what they do is showing off and being inherently luckier than most.

I don’t claim to be an expert on flirting. In fact, for most of my adult life, I barely qualified as a novice. My idea of flirting involved a few compliments, lots of stammering, and the kind of goofy laughing that that even the Joker would find awkward. Eventually, I did learn to have meaningful conversations with the opposite sex. I kind of had to in order to write sexy novels. However, it was an arduous process, to say the least.

I had a lot of weird problems talking to people growing up, but not in the way you might think. Talk to any one of my family members, siblings, or relatives and they’ll tell you the same thing. As a kid, I could talk for hours with other adults, even if I wasn’t related to them. When it came to talking to people my own age, though, especially women, I might as well have been a brain damaged horse.

I don’t entirely understand the forces behind that awkwardness. Even some of my old teachers found it strange. All I know is that once puberty did its thing and I felt the urge to do more than just talk to women, things got even stranger. I’m pretty sure I came off as a socially inept alien from another planet. Maybe some girls thought that was cute, but not enough to respond to my pitiful attempts at flirting.

I know the art of flirting with women is a full-fledged industry these days, but I doubt it would’ve helped make my teenage years less awkward. I’ve shared some fairly dark moments in that life, most of them taking place in high school. I’ve also shared some fun, sexy moments, most of which took place in college.

Well, I’d like to share another personal story that perfectly depicts my complete inability to flirt in a way that doesn’t make someone uncomfortable/annoyed. It involves a comic book store so it’s a story that has some added weight too. Given my documented love of comics, I think it’s fitting that I realized how inept I am at flirting at one of my favorite places to be that doesn’t serve donuts and beer.

This particular incident took place early in my sophomore year of college. At the time, I’d adjusted fairly well to college life. I thought my social skills were also improving. I think I grossly overestimated some of my improvements, but in my defense, I was still healing from the scars left by high school.

It began like most Wednesdays do for me, restless and eager. For those of you who don’t know, new comic books are released on Wednesdays so that means this is basically every comic fan’s favorite day of the week. It’s like Christmas comes every week and you don’t have to put up any decorations.

The college I went to had a comic book store right in the downtown area and every Wednesday afternoon after my final class, I made it a point to run down there as fast as I could without looking like a dog was chasing me. It was often the highlight of my week, provided I didn’t have a mid-term.

Since I didn’t have a mid-term on this week, I made my way to the comic book store feeling as giddy as dog in a asshole factory. When I got there, the guy working there, with whom I was on a first-name basis, already had my comics pulled for me. I was ready to spend the rest of my Wednesday in a state of comic book bliss. That’s when I saw her.

Out of respect for her privacy, I won’t use her real name. For now, I’ll just call her Sandra. Picture Wonder Woman with shorter hair and more eye-liner. That’s how this woman looked. Naturally, my hormones nearly short-circuited my brain and butterflies were doing nude oil wrestling in my stomach. Yes, it was that intense a moment.

While I know it sounds like a bad stereotype that inspires bad milkshake-themed internet memes, there is some truth to it. A cute girl in a comic book store, even today, isn’t just a rarity. It’s a spectacle. This girl might as well have been a unicorn riding a white rhino. Her being in that store felt like a gift from the comic gods or whatever god just thought I finally deserved some luck in my love life.

I usually spend a few minutes browsing the comics anyways so I walked up to the girl, saw what she was reading, and started talking to her. Unlike my previous efforts to communicate with women, it wasn’t that awkward and for good reason. She was reading comics. That’s something I know. That’s something I can talk about for hours without stuttering.

I think I spent a good half-hour just talking to her about the comics she was reading. She actually talked back. She even smiled at me a few times. I’m not going to lie. My heart skipped several beats and my pants felt at least two sizes tighter. If ever there was a time when I was going to get a woman interested in me, this was it.

Then, I found a way to screw it up. I’m sorry, but this story doesn’t have a happy or sexy ending.

I knew from the get-go that I was going to try and ask this girl out. Talking about comics for hours on end is one thing, though. Actually taking that step towards asking her out is another. After I sense she’s ready to leave, I try to make my move. This is where the stuttering and awkwardness returns with a vengeance. Not even Batman could’ve helped me here.

I don’t remember exactly how I worded it. I might have started speaking Greek, for all I know. She looked like Wonder Woman so maybe that helped. I do remember, though, that she gave me her number so I must have said something right. It was actually a huge milestone because that was the first time a woman had ever given me her number.

Again, this story doesn’t have a happy or sexy ending. Getting that number was the high point of this story. It all went downhill after that because I basically handled this accomplishment in all the wrong ways.

It started with me trying to call her the next day and leaving her an awkward, stammering voicemail. I’m pretty sure that voicemail alone made her change the combination lock on her panties. I then tried to call her again that evening and left another horribly awkward voicemail.

I know they were horrible because as soon as I hung up my phone, I realized how pathetic they sounded. They were not the words of someone who had the confidence to be anyone’s lover. They sounded like someone who just didn’t know how to react to a situation where he had to be articulate and flirty with a woman.

I know women well enough to understand that they have a variety of tastes when it comes to prospective lovers, but few are attracted to anyone who sounds that inept. Needless to say, I never saw Sandra again. I tried calling her erratically over the next several weeks. I think she might have answered just once, if only because she felt sorry for me. That wasn’t enough for her to give me a chance, though.

Eventually, I stopped calling her and deleted her from my phone. When I noticed her not showing up at the comic book store anymore, I took that as a sign that I’d probably made a less-than-flattering impression. I can’t say I blamed her for avoiding me. I was needy, awkward, and inept in talking about anything that didn’t relate to comics. That just doesn’t check a lot of boxes for women looking for prospective lovers.

It counts as a low-light in my love life, but one that I learned from. It was that incident with Sandra that made me realize just how much I needed to improve my flirting skills and my communication skills, in general. It seemed so daunting at the time, but it was a catalyst, of sorts. It helped me realize that these skills with women aren’t just going to come to me. I have to actually work at it.

I’m still no expert. I barely qualify as an amateur when it comes to flirting. However, I am confident in saying that I’m much better than I was on that fateful day I encountered Sandra. If she were to show up again, even if it isn’t in a comic book store, I’m confident I could do more than just talk comics with her. I’m not saying I’d get her number again, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be that pathetic.

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Another Sexy College Story (Kind Of In The Way You Think)

By now, I imagine most college freshmen are settling into their new life of exams, late-night studying, and awful cafeteria food. I understand it’s a transition. It takes some getting used to, living on your own for the first time and having to be responsible for your own laundry. It can be jarring at first, but you come to appreciate it quickly.

College is a strange, but amazing experience. It’s like the last rest stop on the road to adulthood and you’re not entirely sure if your bladder is up to task. However, once you go through and do your business, you’re off on your own and ready to be an adult. It’s scare, but you really come to appreciate being able to buy beer without a fake ID.

Compared to the prison sentence/nightmare that was high school, college was breath of fresh air and a mouth full of chocolate fudge. I learned more in those four years than I did the last ten of public school. I actually got to forge my own path, make my own decisions, and carry myself like an adult and not some brooding teenager. It might have been the best therapy I could’ve gotten at that point in my life.

As part of that process, college had its share of sexy experiences for me, but not entirely in the way you think. There were a number of events in college that really made clear to me that I was an adult now and being horny wasn’t something my health teachers would treat like a goddamn chronic illness.

I’ve already shared one of those sexy college experiences on this blog. To date, that still ranks as one of the sexiest. It involved a party, a lot of drinking, and a couple showing off their sex appeal in front of a cheering crowd that I was proud to be part of. You can’t get much more college than that without a John Belushi look-a-like crashing the party.

While that night might have been one of the most memorable experiences I had in college, it definitely wasn’t the only one. Since the last one I shared went over so well with readers, I’d like to share another. This one isn’t quite the spectacle, but it’s still sexy in a more direct sort of way. It doesn’t involve a party or anything. However, it definitely helped inspire the young erotica/romance writer in me.

This particular incident happened in my sophomore year of college. It also happened to be the first year I stayed in a co-ed dorm. It was an upgrade compared to my freshmen year when I stayed in an all-male dorm. Believe it or not, when you put a bunch of young, hormonal men in a confined building who have never been without parental supervision before, it tends to get messy.

Living in a co-ed dorm did help balance things out, somewhat. There weren’t as many fire drills at two in the morning and not as much of the building smelled like sweaty socks. Don’t get the wrong idea, though. Contrary to what “Animal House” rip-offs would have you believe, it’s not as sexy as it sounds.

You learn quickly that putting young men and women in a confined building who aren’t used to being on their own can be just as messy, but with a few twists. When the sexes mix, it changes the dynamics and not always for the better.

It’s not just that young, hormonal men do stupid things when in the presence of women they’re trying to sleep with. Sometimes, the presence of both genders just means both have more chances to do all the crazy stuff they hesitated to do when they were still living at home. This story is a nice reflection of that.

Unlike my previous story, this one doesn’t take place at night or during the weekend. This takes place in the middle of the day, on a weekday, and right around mid-terms no less. It’s a stressful time, to say the least. There aren’t as many parties going on and some of the dorms, mine included, mandate certain “quiet hours” so residents can study.

In terms of timing, it may very well be the least sexy time of year. My roommate, who had a girlfriend, seemed to understand that. I remember him being a lot less energetic during that time, even when his girlfriend was around. However, other couples on my floor didn’t get the memo.

One of those couples, fittingly enough, lived right next door to me. Now, I knew my neighbors pretty well. I often went over there and watched TV with them when my roommate needed some “alone time” with his girlfriend, of which I totally respected. On this day, though, it wasn’t my roommate who was the issue.

It starts at around two in the afternoon. I’m in my dorm, my roommate is in class, and I’ve got my last mid-term of the week in about an hour-and-a-half. Naturally, I’m eager to get it over with and take a breath. Then, just as I’m trying to study, I hear something in the dorm next to mine.

It’s moaning. Namely, it’s the very sexual kind of moaning.

At first, I thought my neighbor accidentally left his speakers on while watching porn. It was kind of an unofficial rule. If you’re going to watch porn, you wear headphones. It’s just common courtesy. Then, as I listen closer, I realize this is not coming from a speaker.

I soon recognize one of the moans as belonging to my neighbor, the same guy who was nice enough to let me watch TV with him and his friends every weekend. I don’t recognize the girl, but I do recognize real, sexy moaning. It doesn’t take a porno connoisseur to know the difference.

Needless to say, I’m a little taken aback here, but I’m also very much intrigued. Remember, these are midterms. These might be the most stressful parts of the semester for some people and yet here’s my neighbor, dealing with it by having sex with his girlfriend. I’m not saying it’s a bad way to deal with stress. I’m just saying it’s a bit surprising, given the circumstance.

I quickly find myself listening a little closer. At one point, I think I stood close to the wall, right next to my closet, to make sure my ears aren’t playing tricks on me. I determine my senses were in perfect working order. This was really happening. A couple was having sex just a few feet from me, separated only by a cinder-block wall.

They weren’t very tactful either. I heard a bed rocking. I heard gasping, grunting, and moaning. It didn’t sound like a gentle, romantic kind of sex. This was the rough stuff and they seemed to really like it. I know because the girl was pretty vocal. I heard a few things from her that would probably get her fined by the FCC, but I doubt she minded.

It created this powerful scene in my head. I could vividly picture my neighbor and his girlfriend in the bed, going at it and loving every second of it. It might not have been romantic, given the setting, but they still made it sweet in their own special way. I like to think it helped lay the foundation for my future efforts as an erotica/romance writer.

I don’t remember exactly how long it lasted. I just know that the moaning and grunting stopped. Maybe they still went at it for a bit longer, but it was hard to hear at that point. That didn’t stop me from listening a bit longer, trying to pick up on the details. Eventually, though, it got quiet again and I surmised they had finished.

All this happened and I still had a mid-term in less than two hours. I’m not going to lie, that was quite a distraction, but one I didn’t mind. If anything, I found it to be kind of refreshing, given how stressful everything had been all week. I remember eventually going to my class, taking my mid-term, and not feeling as overwhelmed as usual. I guess my neighbor and his girlfriend deserve some of the credit for that.

I saw my neighbor again a few times after that. I didn’t mention what had happened that day. Neither he nor his girlfriend brought it up either. Every time I looked at them, though, I couldn’t help but laugh a little. During a stressful time in college, in a less-than-romantic moment, these two found a way to get sexy and intimate. For an erotica/romance writer, that’s nothing short of inspirational.

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A Sexy Story From My College Years (But Not In The Way You Think)

I know this post may be a little late. I would’ve posted it sooner, but I wanted to capture the sexier elements in just the right way because those elements are worth capturing. If I’m going to be a successful erotica/romance writer, then I need to make those details count. Like love, sex, and the stories I write, there needs to be an equal balance of quality and quantity.

With summer ending, most kids and college students are already back in class, grinding away at textbooks, tests, and homework. It’s not a pleasant transition, going from sleeping in on a Tuesday to having to get up at six in the morning just to catch a bus full of half-asleep kids.

I’ve made no secret about my poor experience with school. I’ve even shared a few stories that highlight just how miserable and socially awkward I was. I’d like to change things up a bit and add a little sex appeal, as I often try to do. Believe it or not, there were parts of my education that were actually enjoyable. I’ll give everyone a moment to stop gasping.

Most of those moments, however, didn’t come in high school. They came in college. Yes, those were truly enlightening years and not just because I lived away from home, had a high-speed internet connection, and could eat dinner whenever I damn well felt like it.

They were also the years where I had my first steady girlfriend. They were the years where my ambitions to become an erotica/romance writer really picked up, thanks to some of the friends I made and the teachers I met. It was also the time my acne problem finally cleared up. By any measure, it was a huge step up from high school. It was my first true taste of adulthood and I liked it.

Beyond the improved living situation and a steady decline in misery, college exposed me to more than a few sexy situations. Some of them involved me as a participant. Others involved my friends and random strangers who were overly friendly. I’ve been debating just how much or how little of those experience I should share on this blog.

Then, I remembered this site can never have too much sex appeal so I’d like to share one of the more colorful experience I had during my college years. For those who are returning to college, just starting college, or just a few years away from college, I can’t say your experience will be the same. I’m just saying the potential is there.

For this particular story, I need to establish a bit of context. It occurred in the early parts of my senior year and it involves a party, as is often the case with many sexy college stories.

The year before, I had a roommate that I became good friends with. Of all the roommates I had, I probably got along with him the most. He returned the favor by inviting me to this big birthday party of his at a house he and three other guys now shared. They basically cleared the entire first floor to throw this party. It wasn’t quite on the level of “Animal House,” but it had a few similar themes.

I arrived after the music started playing and the drinks started flowing. It was already pretty damn hectic, but I quickly found my roommate and we caught up. There was plenty of food, beer, and pretty much everything you’d expect at a party. My roommate, being real tech-savvy, even built this elaborate stereo system that blared music at a level that felt just like a club.

As I got comfortable, I started dancing a little. At the same time, I began admiring the ladies that had attended the party. There were definitely more than a few. In terms of raw numbers, there was about an equal amount of women and men at this party. Apparently, loud music, free food, and beer attracts both genders. What a concept, right?

I talk to a few of them. I even flirt a little. Keep in mind, though, I’m still more socially awkward than most. On top of that, I had broken up with my girlfriend the year before and found out she’s with someone else. I’m not exactly in the best state of mind to hook up with someone. That, however, isn’t part of the spectacle.

That only happens towards the end of the party, which is past midnight and well after plenty have exceeded the legal limit for alcohol intake. While I didn’t see anyone throw up, I could easily pick out which among them would be badly hung over the next morning. That didn’t stop one particular couple from going for broke.

For the sake of this person’s privacy and dignity, which I’m pretty sure he surrendered that night, I won’t say his name. For now, I’ll just call him Brad. He and his girlfriend helped plan my roommate’s party. I actually knew the guy somewhat because he dropped by my dorm to visit me and my roommate fairly often.

Brad never struck me as much of a party animal. If you saw him in a crowd, he would be the last guy you’d think would cut loose and do something crazy or sexy at a party. He’s no John Belushi or Sean William Scott. He basically looked like a thinner version of Leonard Hofstadter from “The Big Bang Theory.”

At this party, though, I’m pretty sure Brad could kick Leonard’s ass, sleep with Penny, and get Howard to lick dog shit off his boots. What Brad lacked in size and muscle mass, he more than made up for in other areas and I’m not just talking about his endowment. The fact his girlfriend was pretty hot was already proof of that.

He put all of these traits on full display in what became the finale of this party. Just as people are about to leave and get a head start on their hangover, Brad plays one last round of music. Keep in mind, he’s had five beers and several jello shots. He’s more than a little inebriated and so his his girlfriend.

To take full advantage of this intoxication, he decides to do something special for his girlfriend and everyone else watching. He sits her down on the small, but dirty couch that already has a number of food and beers stains on it. Then, he channels his inner Chippendale dancer, and gives his girlfriend the kind of lap dance reserved for an uncut version of “Magic Mike.”

Picture, for a moment, someone who you would never expect of having much sex appeal suddenly becoming Channing Tatum. He’s thin, he’s pale, and his lanky, but that doesn’t matter. In this moment on this night, he’s the sexiest son-of-a-bitch on the planet and his girlfriend knows it.

I’m not going to apologize for putting that mental image in your head, a lanky guy giving his girlfriend a lap dance. Believe me when I say it a lot sexier than you think. This guy went all out, licking his girlfriend’s neck, shaking his ass in her face, and even doing a handstand right there on the spot. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I never would’ve believed it.

It worked too. I remember his girlfriend’s face lighting up like a kid who just saw a pool full of chocolate fudge. Sure, she too was pretty drunk, but she had that look on her face that said, “Every man on campus is going to envy your dick after tonight. I promise!”

Now, I don’t claim to know the intimate workings of their relationship. Maybe this was their thing and it was how they kept things hot. Maybe it was just a one-time thing they did under the influence of alcohol. Whatever the dynamics, it captured a moment and a feeling perfectly. It was sexy, affectionate, and loving, all at the same time. I honestly can’t think of a more beautiful spectacle at a party.

Brad’s performance earned him the biggest applause of the night. Even my roommate, the birthday boy, gave him props. After that, I don’t remember seeing where Brad and his girlfriend went. They kind of disappeared after the crowd dispersed and the music stopped. I can only imagine that they had the kind of sex that put all the novels I’ve written to shame.

That night was a memorable night, albeit for reasons I didn’t expect. That happened a lot in college. It was so different from high school, which was so regimented and structured. I actually got a chance to explore things in college. That proved both enlightening and sexy.

I hope those returning to college, or just starting college, have similar experiences. It’s a wonderful time in your life and it’s something worth cherishing. I certainly cherished that party. I don’t know what came of Brad or his girlfriend, but I like to think they cherished that night as well for the best possible reasons.

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Idiots And How They Effect Your Love (And Sex) Life

For certain topics, there’s just no way to be subtle. There’s no way to soften the blow. The facts are just too plain and too true. This is one of them so I’m not going to try and be funny, witty, or sexy about it. I’m just going to come out and say it.

The world is full of idiots.

I doubt that sentence will shock anyone. Hell, even other idiots would agree with it. There are so many idiots in this world that it’s hard to keep up.

There are people who kill each other over what they think happens when they die, but fail to see the irony. There are people who pay more money to drink water from a bottle than from a faucet, even when the water from the faucet is just as good. There’s just no way around it. The world is full of idiots.

I bring up this simple, inescapable truth to highlight an issue that is both relevant and timely. At the moment, the school year is ending for many kids out there. While I’m sure plenty of them are looking forward to a summer of sleeping until noon and then taking a nap, the issue of education as a whole is much bigger.

Also, and you knew this was coming, it does affect your sex life. I’m not referring to the inherently futile issues surrounding teenagers and their insatiable desire to bone either. I’m talking about our collective sex lives, both as teenagers and adults. Education does affect that. It affects our sex lives a lot, often in ways we don’t think about.

For me to talk about this must make me sound like a hypocrite to some extent because I’ve repeatedly and excessively bemoaned how much I hated high school. Let me make one thing clear before I continue. Yes, I hated high school. No, that doesn’t mean I hate education in general. I actually enjoy learning and not just with respect to comic books, cartoons, and female breasts. I’m a curious person in general. I like learning new stuff.

Curiosity is one of those universal traits that’s hard-wired into our brains. We see such a crazy, complex world around us and want to learn more about it. That’s a good thing. By understanding it more, we’re able to adapt, survive, and prosper. It’s one of the few instances where caveman logic works to our advantage and doesn’t screw us over.

The problem is that when it comes to education, we’re still going about it like idiots. It’s like trying to get an idiot to fix your computer. Sometimes, he or she might do something right by accident. Other times, however, they’ll just make things worse.

Idiots are a reason why we still have so many problems. Crime, corruption, injustice, and inequality are largely driven and/or propagated by idiots. That’s not to say those idiots are malicious or cruel. Being idiots, they just don’t know any better. They see what they’re doing as right and can’ think on a level that allows them to understand why their approach is stupid in the first place.

Idiots are also a reason why we have so many problems in our love lives. Think about it. How many bad relationships or failed romances are a byproduct of stupid decisions from people who didn’t know the difference between genuine love and hopeless obsession? Why else would we have creepy stalker pop songs and iconic romances that are uncomfortably unhealthy?

Beyond the dumb decisions we make in our love lives, it gets even worse when we apply that to sex. Even though nature wired our anatomy to ensure that even idiots can successfully reproduce, we still find ways to screw it up.

There are still boys who don’t know the first thing about how a woman’s vagina works. They don’t understand there’s a right way and a wrong way to ensure their partner enjoys the process. At the same time, there are girls who don’t know the first thing about how a man’s penis works or how to keep it working. They either overestimate its durability or underestimate its efficiency.

This is why we have issues like the orgasm gap, which I’ve discussed before. It’s also why we have people who develop unhealthy attitudes about sex, love, and relationships in general. It’s not just that they’re idiots. They’re never given the kind of education that would allow them to improve the situation.

Make no mistake. Education does a lot to improve our situation. It improves our job prospects. It improves our ability to make informed choices about the economy. It improves our ability to form stable, loving relationships that turn into successful marriages. It improves our ability to raise our children. It also improves our sex lives. If a man or women knows how their lover’s anatomy works and can maximize that knowledge, then they have everything they need for a great sex life.

This isn’t a controversial position. Everyone from every side of the political spectrum, with the exception of some religious zealots who want to keep society locked in the first century, agrees on the value of education. They may not agree on the type of education that we should champion, but they do understand the value of having a society with fewer idiots.

In a sense, we’ve made a lot of progress on educating the human race and reducing the number of idiots in the world. Literacy, as a whole, is at an all-time high. More kids today have access to schooling and educational resources than at any point in human history. This is an objectively good thing. It’s why poverty has gone down. It’s why violence has declined to its lowest level in history, despite what the news may tell you.

However, there’s still room for improvement. There are still some woeful inefficiencies in our education system. I know this because I, and anyone else who survived high school, have lived through those inefficiencies.

There were times during my schooling where I really didn’t learn much. There are a few painfully long stretches where the only lesson that stuck was how much I hated school and how to count down the seconds until it ended. Pretty much every year after the fourth grade was like that for me.

Conversely, there were some times when education taught me a lot and really sharpened my thinking skills. A lot of this happened in college. That’s where I learned a lot more about the world and how to make sense of it. That’s also where I refined many of the writing skills that I employ now on my novels. Getting a college education is probably one of the most enlightening experiences I ever had.

That education didn’t come cheap, though. I know I’m lucky. There are some who simply can’t afford getting the kind of education I got. It also doesn’t help that the rise of student loan debt has turned an entire generation of otherwise well-educated students into debt slaves, which is almost as bad for society as being an idiot. That’s a major flaw that prevents too many people from enjoying the benefits of an education.

There are some countries that do a better job. The education systems of Finland and South Korea are well-known for their achievements in education. It shows in their rankings as first-world nations. They are, by nearly every metric, some of the most prosperous nations on the planet. There are other countries that are catching up, but it’s a race with no losers in the long run.

If there’s one message I’d like to belabor when it comes to education, it’s that the world needs less idiots. There are over seven billion people on this planet and it takes only a few idiots to ruin something for the rest of us. By having fewer idiots, the world is inherently better for our societies, our families, and our sex lives. Even if you hate school, chances are you still hate idiots just as much. Whether we’re still in school or graduated decades ago, we should all remember that.

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What The NCAA Says About Our Sexual Attitudes

Is anybody else still buzzing from the College Football Championship game earlier this week? I sure am. I still feel like I just left a rock concert and my ears are still ringing. At least with Monday’s game, I don’t have to worry about permanent hearing damage down the line.

In case you’ve been in a coma for the past several days, Alabama and Clemson played one of the most epic college football games in history. It was a hell of a game from start to finish, full of big plays, big turning points, and players that really rose to the occasion. It highlighted everything I love about football, a sport I’ve loved since I was a kid.

As much as I love football though, there is one component about college football that still bothers me. It’s not necessarily the football part though. That’s the fun part that most sports fans can get behind. It’s the college component.

This doesn’t just apply to football either. I watch other college sports from time-to-time, mainly basketball. When I was in college, I even knew some college athletes. It’s a big part of college life. Between class and keggers, college sports are a big part of the culture. However, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to see it in a different context, one that is probably a byproduct of being an erotica/romance writer.

Unlike the professional ranks, college athletes don’t get paid. Sure, they get a scholarship to a school (although it can be revoked and rescinded at any time), but they don’t make any money directly. It doesn’t matter if your Deshaun Watson, the quarterback from Clemson who just became an icon at his school, or some backup point guard on the basketball team. They don’t make a penny directly.

This is kind of odd because the NCAA, the governing body for college sports, made over $1 billion in 2014 alone. They made this money despite not having to pay a dime to the actual people who play these sports that entertain us so much, namely the athletes.

Understandably, there are some folks who have a problem with this. The issue of paying college athletes is a sensitive issue, so much so that South Park dedicated an entire episode to mocking it with crack babies. It’s as entertaining and offensive as it sounds. Since the basic rule of thumb is that if South Park mocks it, then it must be a serious issue, it’s safe to assume there’s some major controversy/injustice going on.

Now I’m not going to dedicate this entire post to arguing for or against paying college athletes. That is a complex issue with more wrinkles than a porn star’s bed sheets. I’m not entirely qualified to discuss the particulars of this issue, but someone like John Oliver is. Last year, he dedicated a show to reviewing this issue and, as he often does, he breaks it down in a pretty astonishing way.

In watching this, it’s hard to feel much sympathy for the NCAA. That would be like feeling sympathy for the New York Yankees for not winning the World Series this past year. It’s an organization full of bureaucrat businessmen whose sole purpose is to make more money for the organization. I don’t mind people making money, but when it involves exploiting people to such a degree, I have a problem.

Then again, there might be other forces at work here beyond the greed of the NCAA and those who share in their profits. It’s a force that John Oliver never touched on and rightly so. It’s one of those forces that’s clearly there, but the implications are hard to see.

Watch that clip again and focus on the parts about the coaches and administrators making all that money from these college athletes. Do you notice something about them? Well, don’t look too hard. It’s fairly bland on the surface. A lot of these people are older individuals. They’re either at middle-age or beyond. They wear suits, they sit at desks, and they have as much sex appeal as a shaved cat.

Why do I bring this up? It’s not just to mock the ages of those involved. That’s just wrong. I mention their ages because it highlights an unspoken facet of our sexual attitudes. Listen to older folk talk about the sexual behaviors of the younger generation for more than five minutes and you’ll probably hear the same story, assuming you have a strong enough stomach.

Most will complain that these kids are out of control. They’re all a big ball of hormones, ticking time bombs that will go off at the sight of anything that looks like a tit. Put them in a room with anything that’s even somewhat alive and they’ll find a way to fuck it. They’re just that horny. They’re just that decadent.

Never mind that this generation, the Millennials, is having less sex than previous generations. This is the perception of the older crowd. It’s a perception that every older crowd seems to have about younger crowds in some form or another. Whether it’s baby boomers, hippies, yuppies, or whatever crazy generations emerged in Ancient Egypt, old people whined about them.

Why do they whine? Why does younger people having sex make them so upset? Well, if you’re older, you’re more likely to have kids. That means you’re also likely to have a daughter. Talk to any proud father about their daughter and chances are, they’ll vomit uncontrollably if they think about their daughter having any kind of sex that doesn’t involve making a grand-baby that will care for them in a nursing home.

It hearkens back to the Bronze Age idea that men must protect their daughter’s virginity, as though it’s some sort of precious commodity that they can later sell for a juicy dowry. Never mind that this isn’t the goddamn Bronze Age and it’s illegal to sell your children. Older men still recoil at the idea of their precious girls being defiled by hormonal men.

So how does this apply to college athletes? Well, anyone who saw the movie Varsity Blues has a vague idea. College athletes are big, strong, handsome, and a good chunk of them are minorities. They don’t just attract women. They can physically overpower them, sometimes in horribly violent ways.

The idea of paying these young men money, which they could then use to more effectively have sex with more women, probably doesn’t sit well with the older men who coach and govern college sports. Some of them may even worry that their own daughters, sisters, girlfriends, or mistresses will fall prey to a handsome, athletic stud’s charms.

It’s fairly undeniable that young athletes are quite horny and quite eager to fuck. The stories that come out of Olympic Village every four years during the Olympics are proof of that. For the NCAA and the old folk who run it, they just can’t stomach the idea of giving these young men too many resources. They’ll just use them to do more humping.

Now this is just the wild interpretation of an erotica/romance writer. I’m not saying that this thought crosses the minds of those in the NCAA when they’re arguing against paying college athletes. However, I do think there’s an unspoken concern that older generations have about the young, one that makes them look for excuses to not give them too many resources.

In some respects, I understand that. I like to think I was fairly mature when I was young, but there’s no way I could’ve made real, adult decisions about the future of my life at 18, which is when most college athletes start their careers. Give me a lot of money and athletic prowess and I might find a way to fuck it up.

Then again, is the problem really that college athletes are too horny and immature? Or is it that we just treat them with the expectation that this is how they’re going to be and they can’t possibly be any different? It’s just something to think about the next time you hear someone make excuses on why we shouldn’t give too much money to young, handsome, athletic men.

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