After a few weeks of thorough and comprehensive festival guidance, finally we come to an article where I can sum up my advice in four short words:
JUST. DON’T. DO. IT.
You may have noticed already in my Festival Attitude post that I casually referenced cold cheese pasties in relation to this topic. Upon googling the term “tent sex” to find an appropriate accompanying picture, I happened across Cosmo’s 2011 Guide To Festival Sex. It may be a year old, but unless they do it differently now (what can I say, it’s been a while), I can confidently state that Cosmo really have excelled their usual level of ridiculousness with this one.
Almighty Cosmo says you must pick a tent high enough for the reverse cowgirl – God forbid your man/horny stranger should have to adapt to these unique surroundings. As stated, you otherwise run the risk of your head popping out of the roof while you’re doing the deed, and vents are essential.
You know what sod it. Ditch the tent and just get down on it in a puddle.
Sex sleeping bag
Whilst this tip helpfully links up to Vango double space sleeping bags, I know for a fact that the last actual thing I want to do in an already sweaty tent is then share my bed with someone else’s muddy feet/festi sweat/alcohol-provoked flatulence with no escape at all. But there is a handy pocket for condoms, so that’s every reason to suffer the sleeping bag sharing consequences.
Cosmo reckons your festival sex life will be helped along by the purchase of a solar shower.
If you think I’m standing in drizzle with a freezing bottle of water swinging from a tree, claiming to clean me for the sake of a higher chance of knocking boots in the night, you have another thing coming. They also suggest I purchase “man scented” antiperspirant wipes for my lucky significant other. I say no – I’m his muse, not his mother, and washing him is just screaming Oedipus complex.
“If you plan ahead and manage to brush your teeth before heading back to your tent, then fine.”
Yes because as soon as Biffy Clyro hit that last extraordinary note to a background of ear-splitting applause last year, the very next thing I did before going tent-bound wasn’t hug my friends and cry in an overly emotional state of music ecstasy. Oh no. Neither did I find the nearest vodka vendor and buy up everything to celebrate my last night at Reading, or get myself a roast dinner in a giant Yorkshire pudding. Goodness no. What I did was reach for the Colgate.
Don’t worry though. If you forget to take your toothbrush into the arena like a damn fool, you can get disposable chewy toothbrushes for when you’re “caught out with nowhere to spit”. Because what man doesn’t expect to launch themselves at a lady’s gob to be met with a mouthful of bristles?
Don’t compromise on the amount of squealing you can do from the depths of that awfully sweaty double sleeping bag. Cosmo genuinely suggest you take along a full sound system with speakers to drown out sexy noises. Because who doesn’t use CDs these days?
Lit up sex
Aha, a tip I finally agree with. Yes, having a small battery lamp hanging from the tent ceiling will help. Unfortunately they also felt the need to point out that doing it by candle light is a “Total Fire Hazard”. Thanks captain obvious, I’ll pop this 6 pack of Glade back on the supermarket shelf.
Not to be confused with the above smelly sex. Cosmo’s suggestion for keeping the ladygarden clean during intercourse is to pop some hand sanitiser on your man’s private parts to prevent nasty infection.
I’ve had sexual partners who thought Durex Tingle lube was going to burn their manhood off. Getting Dettol-esque fluid rubbed into your erection must feel like accidentally catching your cock on the toaster.
Pop a vibrating cock ring* into your backpack along with your dry shampoo and clean socks. I can’t think of anything more useful**.
*Actual real life suggestion.
** Most other things would be more useful.
Blow up pillow sex
That age old trick of popping a cushion under your pelvis so the poor bugger has a vaguely higher chance of hitting the G-spot? It’s come to the festival, baby!
Make missionary position more effective (and more cramped and slippery while you try and balance on the bloody thing) by sticking a handy inflatable pillow into the mix, and make some truly unique festival memories when you wake in the morning to find yourself with an earful of sex goo.
Not on each other, obviously. But it appears the Cosmo way to take your post-sex pee is to avoid queues by purchasing a Travel John. Eureka! That’s why I haven’t yet held down a lifelong lover! To hell with discretion and ladylike advances. What my plan for a husband has distinctly lacked is squatting over a potty in front of him after we’ve done the bad thing. Travel John, I salute you.
Sex is always hard (for want of a better word) when you’re not entirely feeling it down there. Dryness leads to pain when things get forced – I’m sure the sexually practiced among us all know this. But I wouldn’t listen to Cosmo’s suggestion of taking lube for two reasons:
1. Sometimes there’s no explanation for dryness, but I will wager that if it’s happening at a festival, it’s probably because you don’t want to bloody do it. Save space in your backpack (the cock ring and inflatable pillow will already take up lots of room remember!) and jump on each other when you’ve had a bath.
2. IMAGINE THE WET PATCH. If you do manage to get your sexy on regardless of a sheet of dirt and cider vision, it’s bad enough to deal with natural lubricants all over your sleeping bag, let alone adding extra slime (even if it IS passionfruit flavoured). Frankly I have enough of a time washing myself, and in the absence of a washing machine and tumble drier, you will not find me in the middle of Glasto trying to scrub sticky substances off my tent furnishings. Blergh.
The easy answer to avoiding the wet patch, as they rightly point out, is condoms. But that shouldn’t need pointing out either boys and girls. Stay sensible.
So there we are. If you’d like to spend your festival of choice in the thralls of passion, this is what Cosmo suggests. But personally, you’ll find me at the JD bar, and the sex life can resume when I’ve had a bath and have room to do the cowgirl, grasshopper or up against a wall.
At least I won’t be wiping mud out of an extra unsuspecting orifice.
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