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What to Expect From Sex (as Dictated by Internet Porn)

Valentine's Day has come and gone once again; that magical time when a young man's idle fancies turn to thoughts of love, and his aggregate monies are frittered away on shiny trinkets he hopes to barter for sex. For many a scrub-faced youth, V-Day is a chance to prove one's manhood, to lose forever the stigma of approaching thirty with one's maidenhood and Snood High Score Record still intact. Like a vicious assault on childhood, teenagers all over America yesterday proffered flowers, walked on beaches, and staked tents in their pants. If they were lucky, the awkward, sweaty dance of Love probably followed.

But what to expect out of those first tender moments, those gropings towards adolescence, those mutual statutory rapes? Let us turn, as always, towards Internet pornography, in hopes of sound and somber guidance.

Despite any previous worries about your size, the moment you are truly ready to get down and dirty, your penis will spring out of your shorts fully erect and proceed to balloon up like a frightened Blowfish. Veined and rippling, the mere shadow of your engorged member is likely to cause your nymphomaniacal date to chirrup lustily and fall immediately to her knees in worshipful praise. Careful: accidental clubbing is a serious risk.

Anal is only the beginning; it's all fair game. With a little dedication, you could soon be known as "The Ear, Nose and Throat Man." And even if all logic dictates that she should be at least uncomfortable and at most screaming in horrendous pain, you can rest assured that this kitten will lap it up like so much milk. After all, as any doctor will tell you, ninety-eight percent of the surface area of a woman (internal and external) forms one large bundle of erogenous nerves known as the O-spot. That's why they get so upset when you try to rub up against them on the bus.

This party has a two-girl minimum, and a Maximum Occupancy of ?. Balance them precariously on top of one another, then spin them and play hip-thrust darts. Scatter them about the room and drag your way from one to another on an absinthe-fueled trail of debauch and physical exhaustion. Have sex with them. The point is, more equals better. Unless of course we're talking dudes; then it's a whole different equation.


Variety is the spice of life, they say (again, unless we're talking dudes). A little horseplay may be just what the doctor ordered, especially after the women have tired of your oversized phallus and require a respite. The midget's just there to laugh at, and service the horse-woman coupling process. A quick word of advice: make sure your midget is a licensed Bestiality Engineer, preferably with a specialization in Coupling. Using an unlicensed midget isn't just illegal, but can result in a mass of manes, neighing, and giant fake breasts that will leave your bedroom essentially unusable.

Don't freak out. They're probably on their way back from the market with a big tub of cool whip, or hiding in the closet with pillows at the ready. Your demure date's audacious lesbian friends will be by shortly, and when they arrive, the making out will no doubt begin. After all, you like hot chicks, right? So why wouldn't hot chicks like hot chicks? It just makes good sense.



There's nothing funnier than showing some dumb bitch who's boss. You are truly a real man. That woman's low self-esteem and willingness to fuck you have rightly earned her public humiliation and financial destitution. Can someone say hot? Go, you!

Your date's day job at the zucchini-swallowing factory has allowed her to develop some remarkable sexual traits. You guessed it: she likes being forcibly held still during sex. That gagging noise is her way of saying "you are the finest lover I have ever known." If only her lecturer friend Casey weren't at that national banana-squatting convocation all week.

Some do diapers, some do animal costumes, some do feet, some do chocolate sauce. You do all of the above. No need to be embarrassed, son; unless you've hooked up with a total prude, your odds are damn good of getting all you want and more out of your date. In fact, according to a national survey of characters appearing in Internet pornography, there's a ten percent chance that if you check the trunk of her car you'll find one or more of the following items: butt plugs, a big black dildo, the collected pubic hair of three years of waxing, lead body paint, stranglin' belts, jumper cables.

Forget to pick up some rubbers for the date? Chill out, bro; the editor's got your back. Just keep prodding her upturned bottom with your man-stick, eventually the condom will appear. If not, take it as a good sign that she's either barren or you've had a vasectomy during one of the numerous star wipes.

One of the few times a woman will openly show her distaste is during the money shot. Wincing is an ancient and respected method of accepting a man's seed into the natural receptacles (the mouth, nostrils, and cheek area). But aiming for the eyes is simply barbaric, a practice dating back to the 19th century, when it was largely believed that an unblinded woman witnessing a man's orgasm would be insatiably driven to devour the penis. This is most likely a scientific impossibility, as any woman's stomach would be far too small to accommodate the filet mignon-like flesh of your now enormous unit.

Seriously, go for it. It won't end with you crying at all. On the contrary, you'll want to do it again right away, and have absolutely no urge to avoid your partner for the rest of Junior High.

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