Sex Quotes - Page 5

In bed, I can go for hours. Oh yes, I love naps.


I make love like farm equipment - not to farm equipment. There is a difference, though my cousin can’t tell it.


We made love like two people trying to make love like three people in the trunk of a car.


I make love like sausage is to bacon as brick is to blanket. Somebody get me some utensils. And some lubrication (not Castrol Motor Oil).


I make love like a snake disguised as an elephant and a donkey. But I mustn’t talk about sexual congress and Congress simultaneously.


I make love with a focus and intensity that most people reserve for sleep.


Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.


I'm a dog lover and sex addict. Those two things are unrelated.


I bet she likes it hard, from behind, probably likes to get spanked too. I mean, just look at her, she has a serious come-fuck-me-face.

We made love like a half a minute. I brought the thirty seconds, and she provided the excuse as to why she didn’t have enough time to have sex with me.


Love is a banana. First you peel it, and then you roll on the condom.


Let me be clear: I don’t want to make love to a mannequin - I want to make love like a mannequin. Oh, if only I were that animated in bed.


Once you've ridden the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel's kinda restricting.

Join us. Play the game. It will bring you an untold number of rewards and you will finally have some direction and purpose in your lives. Take control of yourselves and those around you. Bend them to your will and all worldly pleasures will be yours...

The slick concrete reflected the facades of the work weary - grey, cracked and old,
but more importantly, trodden upon.

Nothing is ‘wrong’ with me, Dan. What’s wrong with you? she said in the same eerily quiet voice, dark eyes fixated on Dan, as she breathed heavily.

Her descriptions will be incandescent, perfect little nuggets of phraseology, and there will probably be lots of sex in her writing - the clinical type of sex with labias and clitorises and tongues going everywhere.

I had a fucking standing ovation going on in my goddamn pants, and it was demanding an encore.

For the writer under Actually Existing Socialism describing sex is a simple matter: he simply does not do it (the describing, I mean, not the sex).

Cooking without wine is like sex alone. You may get the job done, but you don't really care once it's over.