Sex column: Taking notes from under the sheets

Reader’s note: This story is satirical in nature and published in a spoof issue.

Writer’s Note: Because the last two weeks have been midterm-filled pockets of hell, I haven’t quite made it into the field to bring you the latest in my kinky sex exploits. But I have something even better: I’ve been present for all of my roommate’s 3 a.m. sexcapades with her longterm boyfriend.

While they thought I was asleep, I’ve been taking notes for this week’s column on how to communicate with your partner, while I communicate with my roommate how to not wake me up at 3 a.m. the day of my hardest midterm.

Dear Roommate,

When you crept into our room, giggling and drunk under the assumption that I was asleep, I was lying, horrified, in the middle of some conscious sleep paralysis. I began listening to your every movement, grunt and moan with a Freudian psychoanalysis.

Speaking of your moans – I see right through them. Because college boys aren’t that good and animal noises like those aren’t natural. Does he know you’re faking or does he really believe he’s that talented? In my professional opinion, you need to work on your communication skills either way. Maybe you could start practicing on me by communicating that you need the room for a night.

Remember when he started violently slapping what I could only assume to have been your ass? Did he read that in some rag like Men’s Health or Cosmo? Physical aggression like that is usually indicative of serious pent-up frustration. I recommend one of those one-credit yoga classes or a nice promenade along the Mall. It’s Cherry Blossom season after all.

And all of those sucking sounds – please tell me he’s not trying to give you a hickey. Are we pre-pubescent girls collecting trophies to flash to our friends at sleepovers? And did he try to get practice by doing baby Jell-O shots in the basement of a frat house? If he has an oral fixation, the energy is much better spent down south – and your relationship will be better when you *cough* communicate that.

But the mornings are, somehow, even worse than the nights. The primal grunt upon awakening, the lewd jokes about “someone who’s happy to see you” – your man-child has some growing up to do, darling, or the relationship won’t last.

And yet the highlight of your trysts for me is waking up to the total decimation of my breakfast food. It kinda reminds me of that time you binge-ate all of my Nutella, so maybe you two are perfect for each other after all.

Raise High,
Moore Gasmic

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