Welcome to Pissing Contest, a weekly story sharing circle for the the ass-draggiest time of the afternoon on the ass-draggiest time of the last day between you and the weekend. Every week, we'll provide a prompt, you'll share stories, and we'll pick a winner that's featured in the next week's post. It's like a pyramid scheme of outdoing each other
Chances are you've given your share of side-eye to sex tips and alleged turn ons dispensed by glossy magazines. Guys get boners when they smell vanilla? Drive a man wild by eating a donut off his dick? Really? But what if there are people who are actually into that? What if you are one of the people who are into that?
People's sexual preferences are as varied and wacky as Rihanna's address book. But we've all got outliers that we're pretty sure would never wind up on a GQ list of SECRET LADY TURN ONS. Surveying the staff, I found that the following weird stimuli result in sexual arousal:
- the smell of Comme des Garçons men's cologne, because when one staffer was living abroad she and her boyfriend — who wore the aforementioned cologne — had sex pretty much constantly;
- the sound of a motorcycle;
- the smell of AXE BODY WASH because one staffer's ex used to wash with it DANGER DANGER DANGER AVOID;
- songs from 50 Cent's first albums, as one staffer's college boyfriend used to turn Fiddy way up when they were having sex in his dorm, so as to not disturb his dorm mates with sex sounds;
- the Yahoo messenger sound, as one staffer used to have a lot of Yahoo messenger sex back in the day.
Everybody's got their thing. What's yours?
Before we get into that, let's talk about the winner of last week's Pissing Contest: Nutty Travel Story edition. Lots of great entries, but one was clearly the crowd favorite. Take it away, CanIHave4Beers:
By the time I was 6, I had two little sisters. We went on our first family vacation that year, and (now that I know what kind of hell it is to share a hotel room with children) my parents weren't exactly relaxing. By the end of the trip, their plan was to load up the car while we were all still asleep (when you're bouncing on hotel beds til midnight you sleep late), and then just dump us in the car in our PJs and feed us in the car as we woke up. They. Were. Done.
One problem. They loaded up our stuff. They got my sisters in the car. They drove away after checking out. I woke up an hour AN HOUR later, cozy in the white hotel sheets of the Ramada Inn. The maid woke me, to be exact, singing Afternoon Delight while cleaning the bathroom. Her name was Florence. She screamed when she saw me pop up out of the covers, and I screamed too. Once we calmed down (and I apologized for peeing the sheets in fear), she called down to the manager, who came up with a t-shirt to change me into and breakfast. Chocolate milk and chocolate chip pancakes. At that point, I had control of the TV, the best breakfast ever and no intentions of ever leaving this hotel. This was the age before cell phones, so we pretty much had to wait around for my parents to realize I wasn't in the car and come back, all panicked. While I'm enjoying VIP status, my parents realize their oldest child - the one they've known the longest and should miss the most - hasn't asked for breakfast. Then they realized I hadn't asked because I wasn't in the car. They pulled over and called the Ramada from a pay phone, and were assured they had me, and would they please come get me because I kept calling down for chocolate milk every five minutes.
They arrive, and I'm eating a BLT and watching soap operas. The manager says, "your parents are here," and I refuse to open the door. It took another hour and a to go small cheese pizza to convince me to leave the best place ever. Best part, my parents couldn't punish me for my bratty behavior because THEY LEFT ME IN A HOTEL.
Image via screengrab