Backseat, windows up, this is the means we choose to.
I thought my days of car sex were finally behind me when I kissed high school goodbye. I decided to have the ability to bring a fan back into my “cool” university dorm space, full of dreamcatchers and unframed posters of Bob Marley. I figured I’d have a sick studio in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and it would surely suffice after I graduated. No further would my 6’4” Gumby-like framework have to fold down the backseats of my mother’s Prius to awkwardly enter my gf while one leg dangled when you look at the passenger’s seat.
I became young, foolish, and oh-so-very incorrect. Freshman year of university I lived in a triple how big is a shoebox that is glorified. Continue reading Strategies for Better Automobile Intercourse