I tried phone sex—it gave me an ear infection. – Richard Lewis
Ever have a chafed vagina? How about extensive rug burns on your ass? Or even, let’s say, a fractured penis?
Safe sex be damned, for there are numerous injuries sustained in the
act of fabrication de l’amour. Sure, there’s the occasional soreness,
muscle cramps and inflamed genitalia some folks get from overuse or
enthusiastic interaction. But there are even greater hazards. And I’m
not necessarily talking about the deliberate bruises, bites and
lacerations of mild S&M play, nor the intentional pain inflicted by
adventurous forays into body modification or even, bathroom
Hey, sex in the tub or shower—as Mr. Bubble might say—makes getting
clean almost as much fun as getting dirty. And people have lots of
piercings in lots of places these days. You know, from what I’ve heard.
But lately I’ve been interested in tales of the more gruesome kind.
During a recent informal poll I conducted amongst my friends—and a
couple shocked but compliant strangers—I wanted to find out what
serious mishaps people have gotten into during, or because of, sex.
While nobody fessed up to heart attacks (rare), broken penises (not
that rare), or popped blood vessels in the eye from orgasmic screaming
(it’s been known to happen once or twice), stories about horrific sex
injuries were fairly common.
One yoga instructor, confident in her flexibility, engaged in a pose
with a lover on a porch swing that ultimately resulted in a hairline
fracture of her hip. She had to stop doing yoga for at least a year.
Congress of a Cow inhibits Downward-Facing Dog—who knew?
Another friend, while attempting a position that employed the use of
a chair—or it might’ve been the balcony rail, she can’t
remember—actually broke a rib. She’s not exactly sure when the injury
occurred, but she was definitely in pain when she woke up.
“It was in the throes of passion,” she said. “I didn’t even notice.”
But then this is coming from a seasoned sexual stuntwoman, who told
me she’d also broken her nose, head butted and broke the windshield of
a boyfriend’s car with her forehead in the coital quest of years past.
She really can’t be blamed. With or without orgasm, sex triggers
endorphins—the chemical equivalent to morphine and our body’s natural
painkillers with a euphoric effect that can last up to a few hours. But
don’t get me wrong; the pain of bad sex can last years.
A male colleague of mine recalled an excruciating experience in the
aftermath of sex; as he was trying to make a hasty exit, he got his
member caught in the zipper of his jeans.
“It was just Frank,” he said. “Not the beans, but still.”
And yet another friend had to be carried into the chiropractor’s
office by her man after she severely injured her lower back and
couldn’t walk. The cause? A tryst in a tree interrupted by a San Diego
coast guard. That’s right—a tree.
“The problem was the positioning,” she said, “and that getting caught made me freeze and lock up the muscles.”
“But how did you explain it to the doc?” I asked.
“I just told him I slept on it wrong,” she said
“You slept on your lower back wrong?” I asked, snickering.
“Whatever, it worked,” she said. “He didn’t ask me too many questions.”
Samantha Campos has just completed
her series of video blogs on YouTube, featuring the confessions of a
post-adolescent, pre-menopausal, semi-Hispanic, TV-addicted,
alternative journalist who has a social column but has recently
developed a case of restless agoraphobia. Okay, so she’s had it all