Your Strangest Secret Single Behavior


There’s an old episode of Sex in the City where Carrie, newly cohabitating with her boyfriend Aidan, finds herself mourning the loss of her “secret single behavior”—i.e. the habits so personal that you can’t imagine doing them while anyone else is around.

We all have strange behaviors that are best and most joyfully expressed when we’re on our own. This could mean taking your pants off to eat a beautifully arranged cheese plate, talking out loud to yourself in funny voices, trying to learn the dance moves from old music videos or loudly cheering yourself on while taking a good shit. The possibilities are endless and we want to hear about the strange secret single behaviors that belong to you.

But before we put our hair up in towels, squeeze our blackheads and try to shriek along with the YouTube karaoke version of Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights” (something I try and fail to do often while alone), let’s celebrate the winners of last week’s Pissing Contest, The Greatest Pick-Up Move You’ve Ever Attempted.

From viciouslies:

1994, suburbs of Chicago, summer before my senior year of high school. I’m a sexually frustrated 17 year old gay boy and my parents have left me home alone so I’m having a party – nothing outrageous – with my friends. My 18 year old girl friend has brought the 20 year old dude she’s screwing around with and he – in an attempt to help me lose my gay virginity (I’d had sex with two girls prior to admitting I was 100% into the D) – has brought along his 21 year old gay friend.
My future bed post notch doesn’t seem too comfortable with the situation, perhaps because unlike my friend’s skeevy summer fuckbud, he’s in college and hanging out at a house party with a bunch of high school kids feels a little… unseemly. He humors us all for a bit but eventually starts making his way to leave. Not wanting my only chance for any nookie to get away – he’s cute-ish and if you squint almost resembles my best friend from freshman year who I spent our entire friendship secretly pining over – I decide I have to do something. I make my way to the stereo, flip on “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails and proceed to do a sex dance floor routine like some kind of crazed fuck beast. I can’t even imagine what it looked like. Epic? Deranged? Epically deranged? I remember it involved lots of back arching and I tore my shirt.
He stayed, we swapped really boring blow jobs, and a couple months later I met a guy my age a town over who was just as into figuring this gay sex thing out as I was. Much better.

anythingsweetie is a very smooth talker:

My best friend was negotiating the shared tenancy of a flat with a gym PR manager who looked exactly like Mark Vanderloo. She brought him to the bar that I was working at, and just before they shook on the arrangement she called me over to pour them some shots. There was one for me too, obviously. We raised our glasses.
“You realise we will never sleep together, right?” She said. We all drank to the arrangement.
I poured us another.
“You realise we will…” I said, whilst holding his gaze and downing the shot. He held mine and downed his straight away, while my BFF laughed herself off her barstool.
We sealed the deal in less than 2 hours. That marvellous arrangement lasted for 3 months. He never bothered learning my name, nor I his.


Oh man. This went from awesome to goddamn disaster really fast.
I was still married, and my then-husband and I had our five celebrity freebies set in stone. A few years after we set our lineups so to speak, it turned out that, through work, number one on my list was a friend of a friend. I was working an event one night and holy fuckballs, he showed up. I was probably 30 pounds overweight and in a boring, unhappy, passionless, sexless marriage. Anyway, our mutual friend knew I was *obsessed* with this guy and so she invited me out to the bar they were going to after I got off work. CLEARLY I went.
He and I ended up sitting next to each other. We’re drinking, I’m eating off his plate, he’s got his leg pressed against mine and we are flirting like crazy. I’m getting pretty drunk at this point and I say to him, “I just want to shove my tongue down your fucking throat,” which is the most direct I have ever been, before or since. He puts his hand on my thigh and responds, “I kind of want to bend you over that barstool over there and fuck your brains out.” I tell him I want him to.
Then he notices my wedding ring. He kind of freaks out.
I tell him it’s ok, he’s in my five freebies. He’s like, “wait, your what?” I explain the concept and he stops looking mad, stops looking lustful and just looks curious. He goes, “Damn. That’s a new one on me. Who else is on your list?” So I tell him. I’m not sure if this helps or hurts my cause and I’m *definitely* drunk by this point. I’m pretty sure my epic denouement was essentially begging this guy to sleep with me and then leaving alone.

Congrats, you casanovas.

Image via HBO.

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