61 Frames Per Second by John Constantine Today in Nerve's videogame blog: Street Fighter. The movie. A new one. With that chick from that Superman show. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!
The Remote Island by Bryan Christian Mad Men's January Jones struts her stuff in Vanity Fair. Plus: Damages returns, the latest Gossip Girl guest star and Donna Martin capitulates.
To assess the effect of the New York subway system upon sexual performance.
State your hypothesis in the form of a prediction that can be verified by the results of the experiment.
Getting down underground will turn me on. Or maybe just speed me up.
Please list all the materials required for this experiment (including if applicable, how they were obtained).
Girlfriend (1, sans knickers)
MetroCard (2)
Metro Transit Authority Subway Car (1, uptown)
In this portion of your report, you must describe step-by-step what you did in your lab. It should be specific enough that someone who has not seen the lab can follow the directions and recreate the same lab.
My girlfriend assisted me by wearing a mouse-gray mini-skirt with no underwear, for quick access should the MTA smokey be on our tail.
We entered the uptown A train at 181st Street, in a car with six evenly dispersed passengers on it, then scurried to a corner of the car. There was no air conditioning, and the fluorescent light made our intentions seem grim, so we sat quietly steaming, side-by-side, waiting for a bit of privacy. Any sexual anticipation was doused by the potential variables that haunted my imagination: the appearance of a subway preacher or undercover flat-foot — or most worryingly, a grinning gang of masturbating crack heads encircling us as we performed the experiment.
At 200th Street, we squeezed ourselves behind the Formica partition and delved into one another's laps, keeping one eye on the remaining passengers at the far end of the car. My instructions from the lab were to "go as far as you can." I had one hand up her shirt and the other between her legs as she stealthily rubbed my member through my jeans. I considered this satisfactory.
"Well that's nothing I haven't done in a subway car before," sighed my assistant.
Ouch! And what's worse, she was referring to her experiences in the D.C. system, which is cleaner, carpeted, well-lit and even less conducive to mass-transit nasty. I knew I'd need to go further, for science (not to mention my ego).
207th Street: end of the line. The last of the passengers disembarked as the train idled there for five minutes before heading off in the direction from whence it came. At last, I thought, an empty car. Then: "bing bong" — the train-leaving-the-station alert.
The doors closed behind a middle-aged Indian man, beside himself with glee at having just made the train. As he looked into my eyes, I performed nothing less than a Jedi mind trick, and when the doors popped back open for an instant, he jumped back off onto the platform. He'd still be waiting for a PG-rated train by the time we were back at my apartment. God bless him.
As soon as the train trundled out of the brightly lit station, my assistant — the seasoned subway fuck-fiend that she apparently is — hiked her skirt up around her waist, right knee on the three-seater, left foot on the floor, and backed her bare bum into my engine room. That was all I needed. It was time to mind the gap.
"Be quick!" she hissed, both hands pressed up against the glass partition. What, like I was planning to light some candles?
Quantify the effects of the experiment.
"I didn't know anyone could do it that fast!" She grinned over her shoulder. Typically that's not a phrase one likes to hear after sex, but even I was astounded by my mongoose-like execution. I recorded five pumps per second (PPS = horniness x fear of arrest).
One would think that a subway car might lend itself well to sex: the rhythm, the danger, the convenient handrails. But at least in New York, the grim reality of the car's spasmodic, jarring motion was disconcerting, especially when coupled with the ear-splitting clack of the car hitting the rails. Perhaps things are simpler in Washington.
Summarize your findings. Don't forget to attempt to identify possible variables that could result in different findings for others trying to recreate your test results.
waiting for a bit of privacy. Any sexual anticipation was doused by the potential variables that haunted my imagination: the appearance of a subway preacher or undercover flat-foot — or most worryingly, a grinning gang of masturbating crack heads encircling us as we performed the experiment.
