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Wednesday, June 19, 2024

She says...

I love sex. And lucky for me, and the rest of my fellow females out there, I have little standing in my way as far as making it happen. (Except maybe reputation, but that’s a whole other column.)

It’s unfair, really, which is why I feel especially bad when a guy I’m hooking up with is having performance issues. Maybe he’s just had too much to drink, maybe this is a recurring problem, but whatever the situation, it’s uncomfortable for both parties. I can only imagine the embarrassment that comes along with not being able to get it up, and I bet it’s worse than the frustration I feel upon realizing I’m not getting any. But still, I can’t help but think, “Damnit!”

Whenever this happens to me or one of my girlfriends we of course talk about it. From these conversations I’ve noticed some common questions and thoughts about the experience that I hope will incite discussion on this unfortunate occurrence.

How am I supposed to handle this? Guys, we are not dick experts. Please do not make things weird by allowing us to fondle your semi-limp member for longer than a few minutes. Be honest with us and yourselves. And do not ask us to go down on you to get you going. Gross.

Ladies, don’t treat it like the elephant in the room. Be sensitive to the issue, but at some point you’ve got to just give it up and avoid beating his failure into his head, doing way more psychological damage than necessary.

Maybe it’s me. Being naked in front of someone is going to make any girl self-conscious at first. If an erection does not happen immediately after you take your clothes off, it is not your fault, ladies.

Guys, this is why it is important for you to be upfront about the situation because before we think of your shortcomings, we’re thinking: “Oh my God, are my boobs weird?” or “this is such bad lighting for my vagina.” Just tell us you’ve had too much to drink and we can all move on with our lives.

Maybe some guys just get harder than others? Please enlighten me on this one, masses, because I just can’t come up with an answer. Is there a spectrum of hardness or something? Or is this a sign that my girlfriends and I should start hooking up soberly?

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He says...

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Sex is awkward.

And to the pristine bunch who walk among us, who chose not to make the American-Pie pact, don’t let anyone fool you with their tales of heroism and Kama-Sutra crazes.

They’re all lying—sex is just plain awkward.

There’s the uncomfortable sloshing sound of excess lubrication with every thrust and then there’s the possibility of drying up like a dust bunny in tumbleweed on the Fourth of July.

Do I smack his ass, or do I leave my hands at my side?

You almost always encounter the unexpected down below whether it be a mole, a scar, a patch of freckles, a tattoo or just a small fern of ill-groomed jungle hair.

Just pray it’s not the latter.

Then, just maybe, once you’re past all that foreplay masquerading as the big enchilada, you have to cross your fingers that everything works properly.

And I always work properly.

And even that’s awkward.

No, I never have to worry about Whiskey Dick or anonymously calling Pfizer to order a little blue pill for my member’s Plan B, but it’s just as awkward when someone down below wants to play before anyone else even reaches the playground.

Being naked, usually with someone whose name I just learned and now can’t seem to remember, is awkward enough, but when we add the homemade underwear-tent at the first lip-to-lip connection to the equation, things get a little sticky.

The premature sneak attack of a hard-on that almost always appears at the first sign of intimacy is no gift.

It’s more like God’s little sexual game he uses to taunt me while I’m fornicating in my Ford or shacking up in somebody else’s shower.

Well, no one’s laughing, God.

Things could be worse. I could have a permanent case of Floppy Disk Dick; that would be a death sentence.

But things could be much better.

I could do without the biting comments from bedmates about my eager beaver of a member.

I wouldn’t even mind if the habitual-hookup hard-on took a tiny hiatus.

Because winning the prize for first boner of the evening isn’t always what you want.

My condolences to those who have the opposite problem, those who can’t keep their flagpole at full staff.

But even doing everything right and having all your parts in (over)working order is awkward.

Awkward it might be, but waking up the next morning in a strange bed next to someone whose name escapes you screams of success.

And awkward takes a backseat to success every time.



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