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No, Cosmo. NO. BAD COSMO. No Christmas-themed sex tips. Santa is not getting you a goddamned thing this year, in retaliation for this tinsel-strewn tripe. The names are as cheesy as a Hickory Farms gift basket, the positions are Ghosts of Terrible Sex Tips Past, and let's be honest: anyone who actually celebrates this particular winter holiday is not gonna have time for any fancy-ass fa-la-la. At best, they'll be double-spiking their own drinks and falling asleep with self-stick bows on their heads. Festive!
The Stocking Stuffer
Give missionary a seasonal twist by lying on the edge of the bed, putting your legs straight up, and having him push them slightly to the side. Have him enter you from a standing position. Keeping your legs together makes you feel extra tight. Cozy!
Unless you're doing a lot of core-muscle workout already, this one is going to kink up your spine faster than eight hopped-up flying reindeer. You think your man is going to help you hold up your legs? Hah! He's going to be right off his head in ecstasy from how your normally floppy meat pocket suddenly fits him just right. What do you get the straight cisman who has everything? TIGHT FUCKING PUSSY.
On a One-Horse Open Sleigh, Hey!
Find a penis-level table (the back of a sofa works too) and lie down on your stomach with your butt at the edge and your legs hanging over. Have him grab onto your hips for dear life, lifting your legs and holding them up like a way sexier version of reins. On Dasher and Dancer, but mostly, on Vixen!
Ah, yes, the core-jarring, hip-hoisting, hope-your-boyfriend-is-strong-enough Plow position. They have to put cute names on it, because otherwise it just sounds exactly as brutal as it is. So if you want to add to the season's disappointment and fuckery, by all means bend over the festal board, bruise your elbows, knock over some lit candles, break one of the table leaves… the wreckage will give you a good story for Christmas dinner!
Santa's Lap Dance
Have him sit down, leaning back, then back onto him, slowly guiding him inside you. Keep your feet on the floor and lean forward a bit. Bequeath him with full-on lap dance gyrations, and he will be more than happy to reach around and rub you on in encouragement. #AllAboutTheGiving.
I personally feel that any lap dance worth this name needs to involve balancing a plate of cookies and a glass of milk on your shelf-booty. Now THAT'S sexy. And let's be real, if you were going to be giving Santa a lap-dance, you would need to move his "bowlful of jelly" out of the way to get any kind of proper friction going on. And "allaboutthegiving", HAH. Sorry to be a grinch, but the reach-around this writer mentions doesn't happen under full lap-dance conditions. Who has arms that long?
The Island of Misfit Toys
In sideways 69 position, slide a vibrating toy into your vagina, then have him use a small clit stimulator on you at the same time. This will seriously unhinge you, but if you can manage to get it together, loop a cock ring around the base of his balls and use a masturbation sleeve on him. Or if he's into anal play, go all MacGyver on his ass (in this case, in his ass) and try a butt plug on him while you give him a blow job. Tricky to rig everything up, but there are no unwanted toys here.
This here's a matter of personal taste and level of concentration, but I frankly can't handle mutual genital stimulation even without the toys. When you start dumping the contents of your Christmas stockings all over each other, that gets confusing really fast. Do you have down a little towel or puppy pad for when that butt plug suddenly shoots out of his ass mid-suck? Can you hear each other over the cacophony of buzz? Do you have all the batteries?
Twas the Bang Before Christmas
Lean your head back over the edge of the bed in this modified missionary until visions of sugar plums dance in your head. Precarious and head-rush-inducing — in the very best way.
This thing about getting a head rush reminds me of kids spinning around and around on the playground so that they get dizzy enough to fall down. Also, I thought one of the most important aspects of missionary, for people who like it, was the eye contact? Just hold your breath a little bit, or make yourself hyperventilate; it's less strain on your neck.
Next year, Cosmo, I wanna see you honor the true spirit of the winter holidays by giving us some pagan positions. "Debauched Donkey." "Bed of Holly." "The Green Man Cometh." Give us something nice and nature-loving, thanks!
'Tis the season to throw some money at the artists in your life. Become my patron over on Patreon, and lay those Christmas ghosts to rest!
I gave him his nickname only recently: "Rollercoaster Man", so called because his moods can switch from call to call, and because I am trying to expunge ableist language from my vocabulary and "bipolar" is one of the terms. I also don't like to engage in armchair diagnosis online. Armchair speculation? Sure. Diagnosis is best left to the doctors. In Rollercoaster Man's case, he might actually have earned the clinical definition, because he has told me about seeing doctors and spending time in a psychiatric ward. He therefore has a profound distrust of anyone in the "helping professions," and sometimes is so pathetically grateful for our sessions that I think he has maybe not talked to a non-interventionist professional in years.
But his moods shift, like the transmission in a car driven by a bad driver, from 1st to fifth, and back down to first. Or, to get back to the metaphor in his name, he is up and down so dramatically between calls that it can be breathtaking. When he's up, he's talking so excitedly that I barely need to participate in the call at all. If I try to say something or answer him, he just mows over me anyway. When he's up, I just have to keep up, and wonder when the switch will flip. Will it be the next call, or a month from now?
The switch flipped sometime before yesterday's session, this is all I know. A week or two ago he was soaring and rattling on about movies and politics, all of the non-sex-related topics that he loves to pass through while he spends an hour or two or three with me, 30 minutes at a time. Yesterday, he was back to his laconic low, with vast silences echoing in my ear whenever I stopped talking and waited for his response, several seconds of hesitation following even my direct questions. It is fucking EXHAUSTING to do phone sex with this guy when he's like this.
- Is that what you want to hear about, how that girl would be crying underneath you?
- What does she look like?
- Jimmy? (Not his real name)
- Can you tell me what the girl looks like?
"I just want to talk about that scene."
- What do you want to say about it?
And so on. Yesterday, I gently snapped and said, Look, it's difficult for me to talk with you when you aren't actually talking with me. Sometimes I need feedback, to know whether you like something, or to know if I'm going down the right path, and when I don't hear you answer me in a timely fashion, I think that you've hung up, and that is not a great way for me to work. He apologized, and I went on: today, I'm just going to tell you a story and not keep checking in with you. I've been talking with you long enough, I think I know what you like. I'm not going to ask you any questions, but it's on you to speak up when you're done.
He agreed, and I felt like a weirdo, just spinning out this motel-room rape scenario, and then he interrupted me at 30 minutes, when he had purchased an hour-long package, and said, "Okay, that's enough. Do I get to hang on to the rest of that time?" I want to tell him, yes, don't worry about it, I'll tell them that you went short, that once again you could not handle the very thing that you want. But Rollercoaster Man can't seem to help it.
<sigh> Yes, Jimmy. I'll tell them.
The side of phone sex that you will otherwise never see. If you like what you're reading, throw some love at it, in the form of money. Become a patron of mine at Patreon!