Image: Macworld (nee Moscone) is not on the list. You all know how I feel about Macworld.
I’m getting sweet *and* unflinchingly mean email about this one. Whatever. I was just having fun. In the SFO stall. By myself. Really. Anyway, here’s a snip from the middle of my Chron/SF Gate column this week, The Ten Worst Places to Have Sex in San Francisco:
6. Any street not on Google Street View (yet)
Go to Google Street View for San Francisco. Go to Streetviewr, which collects “interesting” Street View moments. If it’s not on Street View yet, it will be at any moment, so unless you want to become a Street View porn star, stick to streets already mapped. Think about it.
5. Capp and 17th
When I park my car there, the girls run up, see I’m also a girl, then wave and smile before moving on about their business. And I don’t think they’re collecting for the Stop AIDS Dining Out for Life fund. They know it’s smarter to conduct their business elsewhere, and you should, too. Oh, the ambiance!
4. Sir Francis Drake Hotel rooms
Even if you’re so out of your mind with lust that you’re ready to hand over your plastic at the Drake for a tumble between their fugtastical sheets, know that you can replicate the experience you’re about to have thusly: Get really aroused. Take 10 hits of acid and watch a Cirque Du Soleil video for five hours straight while trying to masturbate wrapped in a pirate-themed Bed Bath and Beyond Bed in a Bag. Throw up on the walls. Cry. Pass out. Wake up wearing the outfit of a footman for a horse-drawn carriage and swear on your life that you are going to shrink-wrap your genitals A.S.A.P.
3. The sidewalk in front of my apartment during Folsom Weekend
Or Pink Saturday. Or Halloween. (Thankfully, this year will be spooge- and spent-shell-casing-free.) Yes, I live in the Castro, but just because we have a rep for sexual tolerance does not mean we want you to use our lovely, topiary-festooned, clean doorways as your personal, one-stop, grope’n’poke. And yes, that also means you hets, whom I’ve seen doing this way more than the boys. Get a room. A tasteful one.
2. IKEA
OK, so it’s technically not in The City, but if trips to Emeryville, the scent of Swedish meatballs and being surrounded by furniture thrust together with all those little wooden pegs in holes gets your motor going, IKEA’s your fetish fantasyland. But honestly, when a warehouse contains an acre of hidey-holes that virtually scream Scandinavian bordello theme rooms, it’s tough not to want to try out a little bouncy-bouncy on the Bedktig — or in the Showeraaaaang. However, you will most certainly get tossed by security by the time you set up your Love Swing in the Fjelldal.
Link.
Coincidental side note: I helped a friend assemble a Fjelldal bed last night. It’s totally sturdy enough for a sex sling.
