Here at The Badger Herald, we love sex. We love to have it, read about it and disturbingly enough we even love to share about it. Therefore, since we have been holding in our sex stories and advice to the point of explosion for two semesters now, we collectively made the decision to pull out the Hump Day package and let it all out. We hope you enjoy.

Don’t tell your girlfriend every time you masturbate.

We’re not stupid. We know you masturbate and that your chosen hand is often your best friend. That doesn’t mean, however, we need to hear about it every time it happens.

My boyfriend and I never had sex, but still fooled around quite a bit, and each and every time he got off. Clearly, that wasn’t enough for him. I would see him every day and every day he would practically greet me with, “I’ve wacked off twice today already” or “I’ve only had ‘me time’ once since I woke up so let’s go screw around.” BIG TURN OFF. Wonder why I never popped his cherry? That’s why. If he was that in love with his dick, imagine the kind of attachment he’d have to my vagina if I let it anywhere near me.

Instant message confessions

Once upon a time in freshman year, I met this guy, and we hit it off. He came over later and one thing led to another… and we were making out. Which was great — until he abruptly stopped and left. I was confused. What the hell happened? Only after asking on AIM did he confess that he had gotten a little excited… and lost it. But instead of manning up and just telling me, he just didn’t tell me at all. He was a dick ever since, which is why his nickname is Mr. Cum-and-Go.

I decide to lose my virginity, but it just won’t let me go

Remember losing your virginity? Unless it happened in a drunken stupor, most people do, and I am certainly no exception to that. I remember the first time, the second, the third and the finally successful fourth. I was 15, which is pretty young to be contemplating this major life change. Only a few of my friends had even progressed to anything that could be labeled fellatio, so I was really coming into this whole penetration thing blind, without any guidance. Even so, I knew I was ready. I went out and got myself a boyfriend, and point blank, I asked him to penetrate me. As you can imagine, his pants were off pretty quickly, but there was one serious problem — he wasn’t hard.

“Can we just slow down?” he asked. I stayed with him for a few more weeks, but when it became clear it wasn’t happening, I was done. I was very clear from the beginning — I was in this for the sex, and he wasn’t performing. This happened again twice with the same formula. I lost my pants, they lost their boners.

Finally, things fell into place for me. I went to prom with a very attractive senior, determined not to let it happen on this most clich? of nights. However, as soon as he dropped his tuxedo pants and I saw that his penis wasn’t running from my blatant sexuality, I just thought, “Fuck clich?s. And fuck me.”

There’s nothing you can do about it

Oh, high school. That awkward time when you scramble to get your bra back on when you hear your boyfriend’s mom open the garage door. That awkward time when you try to get your boyfriend to stop sucking on your tit when you hear your boyfriend’s mom unlock the front door. That awkward time when your boyfriend finally stops sucking your tit and starts to cry: “Why does this always happen to me?”

Are urine?

Certain sexual experiences can be so powerfully awkward they can effectively end even an established casual relationship. While casual sexual relationships can have a cleansing and cathartic value. The rate of return on these types of affairs decreases dramatically, however, when more than repressed sexual energy and everyday stress is released unintentionally. After a mid-finals week session of such passionate catharsis, I awoke the next morning to one of these game-ending situations. My bed had been turned into a urine-soaked sponge. Awaking with a full bladder myself, I knew it couldn’t have been mine. After a long, awkward walk to class we parted ways. Neither of us called the other again for any sort of sexual release. As far as I know, she could still think it was me. I’ll just keep telling myself I gave her such a good dicking, her muscles just couldn’t keep it in.

He keeps going and going and going

My story is also one of virginity. With a girlfriend far more experienced than me ready to lead me through it, I was enthusiastic to get the show on the road. When you go to see “The 40 Year Old Virgin” and start thinking, “My god. That’s me,” you start to wonder which collection you should start building — sex stories or video games.

Having figured out the appropriate holes pretty quickly, I started thrusting slowly to make sure I didn’t come right away. Five pumps in, and I was good. Hell, five minutes in and this was still going! The myth of teen comedies and erotic nightmares finally had been broken!

Unfortunately, coming wasn’t the problem. Well, actually it was. After fucking on top, on bottom, from behind and using the trundle bed as leverage, I realized about 30 minutes in — this is like a naked bike ride: Great exercise, but I don’t think I can feel my ass anymore.

Well, at about 40 minutes, ballet class was more than over for her roommate. She ripped the door open and nearly took the bolt with it. I immediately jumped off my girlfriend, threw on my underwear and pants in a flash.

As I walked home, I realized around Bascom Hall that my extremities still felt rather odd. As I went to adjust my pants, I felt something rub against my balls.

Yep, that’s the condom. Rather than walk around with latex between my legs, I ducked behind Ingraham, ripped off the damn thing and tried as discretely as possible to dump the evidence.

And boom goes the dynamite

A couple months into a particularly passionate and experimental sexual relationship, the girl I had been seeing suggested taking things to the next level. Intrigued by the possibility of further expanding my sexual horizons, I was all too eager to agree. When she reached in her handbag and pulled out a small velvet sack, my heart began to race. When she began to uncoil a string of grape sized spheres, I knew what I saw — anal beads. Although I had little interest in using them myself, I was happy to oblige her exotic intrigue. One-by-one I watched the beads disappear inside her, a faint whimper escaping her mouth with every insertion. “OK,” she said. “When I start to come, I want you to pull them out.” I agreed, and began to thrust. Fifteen minutes later, I was on a role and close to orgasm myself. “OK, now!” she cried between moans. Panting and grunting, utterly clueless of proper anal bead technique, I yanked on that string like I was starting a lawnmower… needless to say, that relationship ended with a very loud scream and whole lot of poop.

The Badger Herald is all about being sex positive. Please don’t let our stories hinder any of your sexual desires.