The Art of Club Bathroom Sex

Category: Points Of View

Author: Benjamin Davis

Sex is like frying an egg. It’s a goddamn mystery until you learn how to do it, and—even then—you’ll probably burn it the first few times you try. Eventually, it becomes the simplest thing to make—and then someone comes and says, “Yeah, but have you tried it scrambled? Poached? Sunny… sideup?” And, before you know it, you’ve got a menu on your hands. But then you meet someone who wants it with oregano, or a smidge of tabasco. So, you start to experiment; to—dare I say—spice things up. Eggs always sound better with something, after all; salt, pepper, slice of cheese, and so on. 

For sex, sometimes that means toys. Sometimes inviting a few friends. And sometimes you find yourself in the bathroom stall of a Russian club, pants down, inside of your partner, held stark still because a group of chatty 20-somethings just walked in and all they really want to do is talk it up in front of the mirror, and—tiring from the Twister-like position you’re in—you put your hand out for support, right into something sticky and, when you realize the stickiness did not come from you or your partner but was instead layered onto the graffitied side of the stall, you cry, “Gah!” and the girls who’d been chatting go quiet, and it sinks in, for the first time, that you are in the women’s bathroom of the club, and so you lose your erection, your girlfriend sighs, the chatty-crowd laughs, leaves, and only then do you realize you’ve really gotta pee and wonder, “Can I do it here?”

There is a vicarious thrill about club bathroom sex—not in the doing of or being witness to (though that too) but in the hearing about. As a teenage boy—with the same authority on sex as building a bookshelf (get flush and screw)—the idea of doin’ it in such a wild fashion was intoxicating. The main draws are spontaneity and the ooh-la-la of nearly getting caught. Both are great in theory, but come with many lessons learned only through personal experience. Because it’s not like when friends come back from a club bathroom, they say, “My arms got tired, and I put my hand in something sticky.” No, they either say nothing, or “We just had sex!” and then everyone high-fives.

If only it were so simple… 

I can’t speak to the hard-learned lessons women have with club bathroom sex. The most common complaint I’ve heard is that it’s a pain in the ass. Well, in the lower back pain anyway: sinks and counters are not made for fucking. No business owner has finished remodeling the bathrooms and asked the contractor, “Yes, but can they fuck on the sink?” This means you’re left with cold, hard, unrelenting surfaces. And unless you brought your kneepads, doggy-style is out. This leaves few solid options for positions. So, with this in mind, I asked a few of my more experienced friends for some tips on avoiding the most common pitfalls of club bathroom sex. 

"No business owner has finished remodeling the bathrooms and asked the contractor, 'Yes, but can they fuck on the sink?'”

The first pitfall, of course, is the whole getting caught thing. That can be bad. You can get arrested, have charges levied against you, and get shamed. A friend of mine made a good point on this front: if, at first, you don’t succeed, don’t try somewhere else… especially not in another bathroom of the same club. Or, in my friend’s case, somewhere dumber. He and his girlfriend had gotten sniffed out in the handicap bathroom of a club and so, unable to resist, went downstairs to an attached ATM booth. If you didn’t know, all of these booths are made of glass. And, since there are only so many places someone might keep their debit card, trying to convince the bouncer threatening to call the police that you’re just trying to shake her card loose does not work. If you’re caught once, and they let you stay, just wait till you get home or get off of the club’s property. Also—and this should be a given—avoid places made of glass. 

A tip I can attest to that another friend brought up is cardio. I’ve never been out of breath going number two. I may be doing it wrong but I doubt it. If you’re huffing and puffing your way through sex in a club bathroom, everyone will know what’s going on and—as soon as they finish this line of coke, they’re going to tell someone—okay, after this one. One more, then they’ll tell someone. In this same vein: arm strength. Remember, limited options. Bathroom stalls are not big and not many people want to get fucked sitting on a toilet. 

Club bathroom sex can be spicy, sexy, spontaneous, thrilling, but it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable—particularly if your partner is a woman. Young men tend to skip over this part—they like the idea of it but fail to acknowledge that usually the one getting thrown up against the sticky wall, getting back bruises from the edge of the sink, and facing more stigma if they get caught, is usually their partner. It’s forgivable to drop someone onto the bed, to huff-and-puff to a climax in the privacy of your own home but if you’re going to have sex in a place designed solely for taking dumps and doing drugs, have some respect.

And don’t forget to wash your hands. 

Podcast Transcript: