Does Your Teddy Bear Stare At You During Sex Too?
The Debrief: 'The other day I finished a particularly fun bouncing-sesh only to see that my monkey had been staring at me, with a traumatised expression on his face'
My name is Stevie, I’m 27, and I have an unnamed stuffed monkey (my favourite, and I won’t tell you his name because I don’t think he’d enjoy the publicity), a bear with no ears I rescued from my old company before they threw him away (called Steven Seagal, to boost his confidence) and a meerkat from the CompareTheMeerkat.com adverts that my boyfriend bought for me.
I have slept with the monkey since I was born, I have slept with Steven Seagal for years and the meerkat’s been a relatively new addition but I still sleep with him. And since I’m no longer single, and the sort of person who regularly positions their stuffed animals so they’re wearing jumpers and facing each other in case they feel lonely (I anthropormphise everything, including the washing I hang up on the clothes horse – the socks get lonely if they’re not together, so single dark and sad socks must be paired with happy bright socks so they feel better, etc etc), having sex is a total minefield.
At least when you’re knocking one out, you can turn their heads away – but what if you’re just in the moment? Sex isn’t planned. And the other day I finished a particularly fun bouncing sesh only to see that my monkey had been staring at me with a traumatised expression on his face.
Obviously, it was the same expression he’s always had, but it looks particularly glassy when you’re nude. And the shame. Oh the goddamn shame. It’s like your entire childhood, all that innocence, is embodied in that one furry animal, and it’s totally horrified at what you have become. And the fact that you totally just did it from behind.
‘I left my teddy at home, because I couldn’t face the one night stands, coming home pissed and that one time I decided to smoke weed in bed,’ says Sophie, who is no longer with the imaginatively named ‘Beary’ for purely guilt reasons. It makes me feel great that it’s not just me – but I knew that already. Alongside the fact that it’s not just a girl thing because my boyfriend happens to have a teddy too – even more unimaginatively called Teddy. It’s a white splodgy thing, misshapen with years of love and a year where he (apparently misguidedly) took it to boarding school with him and got mercilessly bullied. Teddy, in fact, ended up being hung from the ceiling. Something that I don’t want to go into because I’m already crying. Alongside Teddy, my boyfriend has Mr Chuckles, a bear he was going to behead for a comedy sketch, but I basically convinced him not to, and now Mr Chuckles and Teddy have to deal with me coming round and banging his housemate (my boyfriend lives alone, so I envision him as living with Teddy and Mr Chuckles) when, let’s face it, they’ve been traumatised enough.
Thankfully, there’s a gap between my boyfriend’s bed and the wall, so the teddies just slide down to the floor while we’re going at it – but the other day I genuinely thought, in the middle of sex, that they were probably scared and confused and had no idea what was going on to the extent that I couldn’t come. My boyfriend has also started gently telling me off for taking the time to explain to the bears that we’re doing grown-up stuff before having sex – apparently it’s a mood killer. As in, it’s definitely a mood killer, considering my inability to relax and enjoy it without worrying that the embodiment of my childhood is going to be upset.
The solution? Non-plastic bags. Those environmentally friendly, material bags that say stuff like WHO DARES, RUNS (or, in my case SNAPE MALTINGS – I’ve never been there, I just liked it because it said ‘Snape’) hung on the posts of your bed or, if you’re not fancy like me and don’t have a luxurious four poster that is broken on one side so you slide off onto the floor during the night but there’s no floorspace so you end up against a shelving unit, then hang them off cupboards or doorknobs. Then the bears are comfortable because it’s material, and you can direct their gaze without feeling bad. Plus, they’re easy to spin around if you’re in the moment and don’t want to spend ages propping them up in the living room with little sheets over them so they sleep.
Sorted. And seriously, this isn’t just me. I know because my good friend Tessa went to her family home for the weekend and, when she left, propped all her teddies on her bed facing the window so they could enjoy the recent eclipse. ‘I really hope I don’t die before I go back, because when the police inspect my room, they will think I’m totally mad,’ she said. No, not mad. Totally normal.
Hanging your teddies in a material bag facing away from your bed so you can wank/bonk without it killing your vibe is totally normal, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Cough.
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At work? With your gran?
You might want to think about the fact you're about to read something that wouldn't exactly get a PG rating