Sexcapades

Yolo, don’t yolost

So, my boyfriend is a lad’s lad. He plays rugby, lives for the sesh, and genuinely believes Saturdays are for the boys. He’s the one you look at and think, “there’s not a chance he is into sex toys,” and you would be right.

If he was the boyfriend of any one of my friends, I would be telling them to dump his a** quicker than they could even get the words “but he’s really nice” out. The thing is though, my bf is really nice, and I wouldn’t ever dump him for his vibey flaw— if you would even call it that. However, in the essence of spice, YOLO-ing, and orgasms, I told him I want to turn our twosome into a threesome, and ménage à trois my way into second semester.

“It’s better to have yolo’d and yolost than to have never yolo’d at all!” I said, quoting an IG post, but not even that could push him into unknown territory. So, I accepted the fresh hell I was in and told my vibe it would just be us for a while longer. We didn’t speak about it again until a couple of weeks ago when I arrived at his flat only to instantly feel my sexy senses tingling. There was something in the air. Something saucy. He looked cute but I could tell he was about to cause chaos, so, I buckled up, walked through the door, and got the best fright of my life. There she was in all her glory, sitting on his bed.

Sure, I’d stopped asking him if we could bring toys into the bedroom, but I wasn’t quiet about the fact I wanted to try out Tiff. She’s a majestic vibrator that I’d heard leaves you shaking so much you can’t even walk, and I don’t know about you but that really piqued my interest— and apparently, his interest, too.

After we both got comfortable with our new friend, the rest of the night was a blur of big-Os.

He was Neil Armstrong, I was the spaceship and together we saw stars, the moon, the entire bloody galaxy. It was the freakiest sex we’ve ever had. Safe to say we are both glad we yolo’d instead of yolost.