Staff Lampoonist
You and your man have been churning the butter all night, your arms are as limp as a stir fry noodle and you don’t even have the strength to do one more pelvic thrust. Finally, your night of roasting the broomstick is coming to a close. Soon you can go to sleep and awake to the promise of a Cranston waffle. All that’s left is the grand finale and you’re free.
You’d think that the finishing act of sex would be easy, just let it fly, but unfortunately it can be the most complicated bit of the entire experience. Typically, when you are trying to wrap up your sexual experience you start asking your man questions like, “are you close?” or, “how about now?” And then, as he’s thrusting he’ll reply, “85%” like he’s an iPhone charging. A few seconds later he’ll give me an update and say “96%.” Once he’s fully charged and ready to … you know, your man will start location-scouting for a good spot. I do not understand why they gave to do release their cottage cheese on my body. There is nothing sexy about having warm, sticky stuff all over me. My ex-boyfriend used to tell me that he hated finishing in the condom because it was the “cum-prison,” so that is why he felt the need to make his own little Lake Erie on my body.
Sometimes they look at you like you should be cleaning up the mess — you just have to look them in the eye and get all Pinterest on him and say “DIY girl, DIY.” They just need to break out the Windex and clean it up real good.
If your man is trying to release his milky explosion on you then you just have to be assertive and hand the man a towel. Which, believe me, also is unfortunate because there goes your favorite towel. But when his anaconda is in the towel, I can never tell what is happening.Your man just gives you this look, like he’s just seen a dementor. For clarification I ask, “Is, is it happening? Right now?”
My advice to all of you is that there is no avoiding the mess of the end result. It comes with the territory. All you can do is prepare, hide your good sheets and pillows, whip out an old crusty towel from Freshman year that you don’t care about anymore and hope for the best. You’re heading into battle.