Wednesday, April 27, 2011


The Best Time I Had Sex in a Cemetery in Broad Daylight

Have you ever played that drinking game where a person says something like, “I’ve never eaten cat food, hee hee,” and if you have in fact eaten cat food, you drink? Well if I were playing that game and someone were like, “I’ve never had naked sex for a million hours on top of a grave, in a cemetery, in broad daylight,” I’d have to chug-a-lug.

A few years ago I met a girl online and we had our second date at a cemetery in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Our first date had started off at a BBQ place in Williamsburg and ended with us slamming each other against someone’s garage door until 6 a.m., so we decided to keep it nice and mellow this time around and have a picnic on top of some dead people.

This girl had stopped at Whole Foods on the way over to pick up a selection of pasta salad, bread, something I don't remember and birch beer, so we sat against a tree eating these things, not having shit-all to say to each other. Then we walked around the cemetery making lame jokes and references to things we would never have said out loud or considered funny in non-uncomfortable situations, and after an hour or so a little buzzer must have gone off in our heads because we started (without saying as much) to look for someplace to make out. We made a beeline for a huge headstone towards the back of the graveyard, and as we were approaching it I dumped my half-full birch beer in a trash can because I was tired of carrying it around. As I did this, my date looked at me with what I can best describe as a “Kathy Bates in Misery” face, and pulled the drink out of the garbage, saying something about how it was expensive. Looking back, this is when I should have run at top speed for the subway, perhaps stopping at 7-11 for a celebatory Snickers to eat on the way home, but no, even in the face of true bat-shittery, the promise of seeing boobies always wins out.

We sat against the huge headstone and made awkward convo about how weird it was that we were able to talk about all sorts of freaky/nasty shit via email and texts, and yet didn’t have a thing to say to each other in person. (Operating at full-capacity, this makes perfect sense and can be explained with the understanding that it’s easy to “open up” and get all turned on talking to someone online because your brain is making them into whoever you want them to be, but when they’re plopped down in front of you, they/you see you/them for the bloated turd that you/they really are.) So yeah, we talked about this for a while, and I stared at my shoe for a few minutes until I said “close your eyes” and started kissing her. Once we were kissing I felt a little more comfortable, and perhaps I became so comfortable that I fell asleep a little bit and didn’t realize that I was allowing someone to remove all my clothing right there in the grass on a sunny afternoon, but there we were: me, my butt cheeks, and the blue, cloudless sky of Brooklyn, like it was truly NBD.

It would be enough to say that I had “a little bit” of sex in a cemetery in broad daylight, and find a way to stretch that into seeming like a normal thing to do, but this went on for hours. Literally a full day. We would take breaks to smoke cigarettes, or to pick at the leftover picnic food, and then go right back into the grave humping. My date broke away at one point to go pee behind a tree, and when she returned she handed me a small white flower that I assumed she had peed on to be kinky. I don’t know why I thought this, and it mayyybe wasn’t true, but given the sort of day we were having, I just figured as much.

The early afternoon turned into late evening, and we got cold from all the being-naked stuff and started gathering up our crap to leave. I couldn’t remember the way to the exit, and the cemetery was humongous, so I came up with the master plan to just walk straight in one direction until we hit a road or a fence or something that signaled “out.” We hit a fence after walking for about 20 minutes, and the opening was locked. All the openings were locked. Having not had a concrete reason to climb a fence in many many years, I was oddly pleased with the opportunity to do so, and proud of myself for being able to clear it without any major injuries. My date required the help of a makeshift ladder of boxes and a clear patch of ground to land upon, but she made it, too.

The minute we left the confines of the cemetery I immediately started feeling like the crustiest ho-bag ever. All I wanted to do was get home ASAP and watch something clean and good like Gossip Girl to make myself feel like myself again. On our path to the subway we DID come across a 7-11, and so I suggested we stop in to buy snacks and use the restroom to assess how insane we looked. There was a line for the restroom and I stood there avoiding eye contact with everyone, straightening my hoodie and casually brushing little twigs and clumps of dirt from my clothing. Once I got into the bathroom and looked in the mirror I realized why everyone in line had been giving me fish eye and whispering to one another: My face was smeared with dirt from ear to ear, my hair looked like every picture you’re ever seen of Nick Nolte, and my neck was one big hickey. Like, the entirety of my neck was a hickey. I zipped up my sweatshirt as high as I could to conceal whatever could be concealed and mentally sunk down low into my safe place until I got home.

Because I am an actual moron, I went on a few more dates with the cemetery girl. I had to eventually cut things off, though, after she house-sat for me while I was out of state and sent me a serious of hysterical text messages threatening to open my mail. When I came home from my trip I crawled around my apartment sniffing all the fabrics, assuming that she had once again (or maybe just for the first time) peed on something.

Previously: A Lady's Guide to Skype Dating.

Kelly McClure lives in Olympia, Washington, and spends most of her days checking and re-checking a variety of lists. She writes stuff, works at a record label, and gets hives quite easily.

20 Comments / Post A Comment

Noelle O'Donnell

I am more intrigued by the hysterical texts sent to you while you were out of the state.
Also, why did she not tell you you had dirt on your face?! Maybe I expect too much...


Outdoor lesbian sex is the best.


Lashes to ashes, lust to dust.

Internet Girl

@atipofthehat omg

omg that's all i have to say really


I happily assumed this was more from the McClure of Little House on the Prairie re-enactment and only now realize that this is not the case. I had been thinking, "well, that's a nice variety of interests..."


Only broad daylight sex I have ever had was on a golf course during a PGA Tour stop, with Tiger at the tee. (Sex was not with Tiger, to be clear.)


To clarify-- only OUTDOOR broad daylight sex.


@PBandJ Hahaha, love the clarification. (Cut to PBandJ at 2:31 am, peeking outward from the window to check the position of the moon. Then.. *click!* The blinds snap close and PBandJ slips soundlessly back into bed to have sex, finally hidden under the dark cloak of night.)


I just made an account so I could commiserate and talk about that time I had sex in the Cimitiere du Montmartre. It was with this guy who my gay French 2nd cousin had tried to pick up once, years ago; they became friends, and my cousin decided to set us up. So, after having taken his virginity in his little garrett, 2 nights after meeting him (I was studying abroad at the time and decided it was okay to be a giant ho, and he was sweet and romantic and French), we decided to go to the cemetery while my traveling buddy went off to Versailles to give us some time alone, us both loving cemeteries. So, while walking around the cemetery, he decided to show me his favorite spot...and, like your story, this turned into him trying to find a spot to make out. Which turned out to be an open tomb, one of those things that look like mini houses with the rooms inside where you can pray. The iron door had been rusted through and banged in, so he hoisted me through. Next commenced some awkward thrusting against some cobwebbed concrete walls. No one finished and I probably got someone's dead grandma on my new white shirt. We climbed out just in time for some security guards to figure out what we had been up to and pointing and laughing at us. Oh! And I found a weird compact mirror in the shape of a shell that someone had thrown into the tomb. It had a homemade curse in it and I gave it to my traveling buddy, who loved it. The end.

And don't get me started with that one time at a church...

Hot mayonnaise

@descie: I wish I had a gay French second cousin. Kudos.


Not a cemetery. After three months of long-distance skype dating. We snuck into George Mason's Gunston Hall garden after closing in Fairfax, VA. Had sex on the Southern edge of his garden, looking out at the sunset over the Potomac.

We're still together two years later, and wouldn't it be hilarious if we got married there?


@cwmilton: If you didn't do it in the Fenwick study rooms, you're not a true Patriot.

Double D

"even in the face of true bat-shittery, the promise of seeing boobies always wins out."

Replace "true bat-shittery" with just about any other phrase and this is still true.

Casanova Frankenstein

I did this exact thing one time! Except with a dude. Including the part where we got stuck and had to hop a fence to get out. It was awkward and not really any fun in real life, but it makes a good story when you want people to think you are the kind of freaky person who has sex in a cemetary.


I've never asked a blogger this before, but are you single?


Having sex in a cemetery has always been on my sex bucket list. I think maybe it's because I spent my formative years not having sex and being really into The Cure, so I developed some weird ideas about what is sexy/romantic. I don't know.

dracula's ghost

@descie that is an awesome tale, truly. Also I must thank you, because it reminded me of a thing I had forgotten: I was in Paris and went to some big hill I can't remember the name of but that is famous, and written on the presumably-ancient marble gazebo atop it (in gorgeous cursive) was the French phrase: "Here, on the [hill whose name I can't remember], Jeanne and Victor experienced the ultimate pleasure of making love in the out-of-doors." That graffiti (graffito?) was The Frenchest Thing That Has Ever Existed, and I saw it on only my first day in Paris! I was like "what fresh wonder shall greet my eyes each day I awaken in this magical place"

Cass Bugge@twitter

Your hair looked like Nick Nolte and her mouth sounds like Gary Busey's.


"celebatory Snickers" is either the greatest pun or most excellent typo of all time.

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