will.i.am, he of the auto tune yodel and Perez Hilton feuds, does not strike one as a particularly sexual creature at first glance (nor second, third, fourth or fifth glance). His public persona is surprisingly sexless and stark for a man that has made a fortune on music for teenagers to mindlessly grind to in nightclubs. will.i.am seems like the kind of lover who’d bring you to his exquisitely leather and chrome apartment for a night of expensive liquor and gentle back rubs. He’d probably make a few jokes about “Boom Boom Pow-ing” you before the actual deed, which itself would be quick, emotionless, and disconnected. Following completion he’d retreat to the shower and you’d be left to dress and find your leave before his housekeeper came in to change his sheets for the third time that day. will.i.am kisses without tongue.
I imagine that you don’t so much have sex with Scott Disick as he has sex on you. Disick seems like the kind of guy who is entirely interested in his own physical pleasure, and would only deign to cater to your needs if he thought it might get him something that he wanted in exchange. I imagine his sexual goals include acts only available on German fetish sites, buried in some dark corner of the Internet. I’m not going so far as to say that Disick will absolutely Patrick Batemen you, but I am saying that if that does occur you shouldn’t be entirely surprised. Anyone who engages in ill-advised sex with this man and lives to tell the tale should immediately change their cell phone number, lest they incur the digital wrath of Kourtney Kardashian.
If you’ve found yourself in bed with George Lucas you’re his ex-wife, assistant, or somebody he purchased for the evening from an illegal catalogue. You’ll almost certainly be spending whole days in a metal bikini, chained down in some probably damp corner of Industrial Light and Magic. I’m sure actual sex with Lucas is a fairly straightforward series of events, save for his constant use of the phrase “light saber” to refer to his member. Turn the lights off and try to avoid the beard.
Tobey Maguire’s weight has yo-yo’d over the years but let’s be generous and assume we’re dealing with him during an in-shape phase. I am absolutely certain that Tobey Maguire cries before, during and after sex. Any attempt to comfort him will only push him to louder and more convulsing sobs. I assume any partner of his would feel too uncomfortable in the situation to terminate the proceedings but I’m unsure of whether or not he would actually reach completion. What I do know is that his bedroom is covered in photos of Spider-man and horses (which he obviously cut from magazines himself).
The conversation leading up to sex with Nathan Lane would be absolutely sparkling. The champagne you would drink would be crisp and mesmerizing. The fireplace you’d witness would be roaring. The rug you would lounge upon would be thick and lustrous. The sex you would have would be quick and unskilled. The first thing you’d think when you got home would be “Now I can never watch The Birdcage again,” but do not fear… that sensation will pass as you slowly block the entire event from your psyche.
Let’s just get this out of the way: I assume that Al Roker smells like bologna and that no amount of cologne masks this. Al Roker, who sharted himself in the White House and news casted for 34 hour straight, does not seem like he could make it through sex without disaster or gimmick. If Al Roker is not a furry, he has most certainly thought about it and that is actually a great thing because nobody is constitutionally prepared to look Al Roker in the face during sexual congress.
He insists that he is not wearing a hairpiece, but you are suspiciously not allowed to touch his face or head in any capacity. Cage would sweat profusely during any and all sexual activity, leaving any clothing or bedding in the immediate vicinity soaking wet. He would avoid using your name; presumably because he’s already forgotten it. You would need to sign several waivers before entering his home. Oh, and you’d get HPV.
If you plan on having sex with Eminem then I hope your name is Kim because that is what he is going to call you regardless. Do not give him any personal details about you or your life and be sure to obscure any tattoos or identifying marks because his post-coital rage can last from several days to several years.
Bill O’Reilly spits on you while he climaxes. He smells like mothballs and is only be able to get an erection when given several hours notice. He probably refuses to have sex anywhere except inside of a classic car, pulled to the side of a highway.
I hope you’ve brought your hedge clippers because Jonah Hill’s pubes have literally never been trimmed. His body is as covered in stretch marks and acne scars as his bed is covered in indiscernible stains. I imagine he’s never made the effort to hide his Fleshlight or porn DVDs so if you’re not into any college frat fantasies you’d better get out post-haste. He insists on taking a bathroom break halfway through the proceedings and call his mom right after.