Here is a not so definitive list of places in which I haven’t had sex.
- A McDonald’s bathroom. I once entered a McDonald’s bathroom and the floor was covered in blood. Other memories I have of McDonald’s bathrooms involve foul stenches and clusters of wet toilet paper scattered around. I’m sure I’ve had experiences in McDonald’s bathrooms where I just dropped trou, did my business and left without incident. These experiences are vacant in the face of the aforementioned terrible ones. If I did once have sex in a McDonald’s bathroom I bet I blocked out the surely painful memory. I’ve never even wanked in one.
- An aquarium. While the idea of doing doggy style on a moving conveyor belt and watching marine life as we went sounds fantastic, have you seen fish eyes? How many fish live in one of those glass tunnels? How could I climax feeling that judged from all these gormless, staring cod? If I managed to get there I’m sure it’d awaken something I’m not ready for.
- A sauna/steam room. All the elements are there, it’s hot and sweaty. You’re merely wearing a towel if anything at all. There’s even a steam room at the local sex club, but I think it’s the one room you’re not allowed to have sex in. Somehow, whether it’s the fact that nobody I know owns a private steam room (or my own fainting concerns), it’s never happened. Pity, in my head it’s just like that Titanic scene, but sexier and with less impending disaster. Unless of course you’re counting the part where I pass out and crack my head open on the tiles.
- My parents’ bedroom. I had the chance too, an ex and I were house sitting and the thought came up. Something didn’t feel quite right about it though. At the end of the day a bed is just a mix of natural and synthetic fibers, a frame, sheets, mattress stuffing, pillows and a headboard. Still, there was weird symbolism that I couldn’t grapple with. I mean, we for sure had sex in the house. Where? Well this is the wrong list for that. They were away for at least a week. Oh, if you’re reading, hi Mum and Dad.
- Costco. Which seems unusual, because anything we’d need would be abundantly available and they do free samples all the time. I’m sure if we decided to go through with it there’d be a helpful attendant standing by with a little cardboard cup of lube and a condom topped with a delicious salsa verde.
- The beach. I can’t say the idea doesn’t hold appeal. Picture this: A soft expanse of white sand, the sun sinking slowly, a large towel surrounded by champagne and strawberries (and knowing me some dumb novelty inflatable or sand castle building kit) with nobody in sight. Then yes, possibly. The last time I saw someone naked at the beach, however, it was a nude beach. Some old dude was watching my girlfriend and I make out and he had a long glistening strand leaking from the tip of his penis to the sand beneath. I can’t fault his taste, but that didn’t make it any less off-putting.
- A school, any school. There’s something naughty about the idea of, say, having sex in the place where I was repeatedly bullied as a child. A long, hard middle finger of sorts to those arsehole kids. The flip side of that is fucking in a place that kids frequent. I remember being all of ten years old and finding a condom by the playground. Even then I thought to myself really? Couldn’t they aim a little higher? So for the sake of ten year old me and all the small humans out there, I won’t have sex at my childhood school when I go home in January. Also because getting criminal prosecution over something like that would place me on a ton of lists. Once again, entirely different lists than that one.
- Work. Ever.
Is this a sign I need to be more adventurous? More creative? Or that beds are just really fucking comfortable? Maybe fish actually want to watch, but they’re too afraid to ask. Also, insufficient vocal chords and all that.