Time for another edition of Waxing Off, the feature born of that venerable site The Black Table and carried over here and given a sporty new coat of paint. This week we've asked five talented female writers to ruminate on: Lois Feldman and the Iowa Hawkeye Metrodome Sexcapade.

Let's get right to the steamy girl-on-girl writing action, shall we? Oh, by the way, if you would like to be a member of the Waxing Off writing staff, please email me a Rick@Deadspin.com.


Unknot your panties, internet. Uproariously inappropriate sexual encounters are an integral part of the college football experience. And so it is in the spirit of the holidays, the close of the season, and cross-conference fellowship that I extend the following cocktail recipe to our brethren in the Big Ten. Whether you're looking to recreate this encounter in the confines of your own home or drawing up drankin' plans for your bowl game, this little concoction will get you more than halfway down your designated highway to hell, if it doesn't kill you outright.


With approving pointing and nodding from the SEC, please enjoy the Bull Gator with our compliments:

Fill a pint glass with ice. Add vodka, and just enough Hypnotiq to turn the drink blue. Wedge a full can of Red Bull upside down in the ice, and serve with a straw and copious admonitions not to dislodge the can. As you grip & sip, the Red Bull will flow down, turning your drink a pleasant swampy green. The effects of consuming a full glass of vodka chased with a full can of Red Bull are most readily compared to Super Mario in the throes of an invincibility star. Those sparkles on your skin? Totally real. Go right ahead and run through that door, gentle reader, whether it's open or not. Trust me, you won't feel a thing.

Bottoms up, Hawkeyes. (And don't forget to check her tramp stamp while you're down there—the skank you screw may not be your own.)


— Holly is the associate editor of EDSBS and a contributing writer to Yahoo's college football blog Dr. Saturday.



Dear Lois,

You were wasted at a sporting event. It happens. Granted you're old, married, and very slutty, but still. So in the giving spirit of the holiday season, I've compiled a short list of mistakes you made. Print this shit out and put it on your refrigerator next to your kid's handprint. Though I hope you learned your lesson, I have a sneaking suspicion that you'll probably need this for future reference. Here we go …


1. You failed to remove your beer goggles. When getting caught for public, irresponsible sex, it's better to have gotten it on with anybody but that fugly guy who looks like a less-hot version of the troll under the bridge.

2. You chose a bathroom as your preferred love den. A men's bathroom. While I'm going to go ahead and ignore all the venereal diseases you risked, it must be mentioned that closets are a wiser choice for this activity.

3. You went to an Iowa Hawkeyes game. Lame.

4. You drank too much wine. This may seem obvious, but it's a key point that is often overlooked. Also, this choice of alcoholic beverage is stereotypical of women your age, which makes you seem both predictable and sad.


5. You got caught. Be quieter.

6. You talked to the Des Moines Register about it. Despite what you may have thought, this decision does not make you appear victimized, just desperate.

7. You're gross. Stop it. Really, Lois, you're embarrassing women everywhere.

You're welcome. Have a great holiday and please, for everyone's sake, stay the fuck away from the eggnog.



— Sam is a journalism student in Boston who will never get tired of working "World Fucking Champions" into every possible conversation.


Cari Gervin:

Sex in a bathroom stall. Sex with a complete stranger. Sex during a football game. Sex while you're so drunk you can't even remember it.


I think I can safely speak for all women in this country when I say the above are indeed the sole answers to the question, "What do women want?"

It really is that simple. Despite the collapse of Playgirl earlier this year, women do like sex. We love sex, in fact. We are crazy about having anonymous sex, as evidenced by this season's finale of "Mad Men." And of course, we love alcoholic beverages, even when the drinks aren't fruity or sweet. As for the football … well, as long as it's somewhere public, and there's a chance of being arrested, our panties are already wet.

Honestly, there is no greater turn-on than missing part of a sporting event that we've paid a lot of money to attend. Nothing is hotter than getting it on mere inches away from enough germs to staff a whole season of halfway decent plotlines on "Grey's Anatomy." And if we've had so many SoCo's and limes that we kinda gloss that part over, it's still OK. Because really, nothing gets us hornier than vast quantities of booze - unless there's a roofie in that drink!


But the thing that really makes it all worthwhile - the thing that keeps us coming (back) again and again - is that we won't remember your name in the morning. Whoops, I mean the evening. Or twilight. Whatever, 'cause you never told us your name anyway. And that's the way we like it.

Cari Gervin is a freelance writer in the South. She blogs about her misadventures in life, love and sports fandom at Unwelcome Return.


Ellie L.:

Is there anyone (of consenting age) who hasn't had sex in a bathroom? Shock G once got busy in a Burger King bathroom. Someone I know broke a sink while doing the nasty and flooded the apartment. (I swear, it wasn't me.) But as a die-hard sports fan, I'm actually wondering why I haven't done this. Sex at a sporting event should be on a "must do before I die" list for all sports fans. But then again, maybe that's why I haven't done it: I like the game too much. If I'm going to get busy at a sporting event, I don't want it to interfere with watching the game. So if you were to get freaky at a sporting event, which sport would be more ideal: football or baseball?


With football, you have the likelihood that everyone has spent hours tailgating and are well "lubed" up with liquid courage. Unfortunately, it's cold so everyone's wearing multiple layers. Also, if you decide to take a "break," there's a good chance you'll miss a good chunk of the game. At halftime, you only have 15 minutes to navigate the overcrowded bathrooms. If you successfully find a stall with some privacy, you're more than likely halfway into the third quarter by the time you get back to your seats.

At a baseball game, it's summertime so you're wearing less. Plus, with the warmer weather, there are no frigid hand issues. And c'mon, here's an opportunity to use your glove in exciting new ways. With baseball, you aren't likely to miss anything important during the game. There are fewer people so more privacy. Bathroom lines are far shorter so security is not as present. Finally, every stadium has the play-by-play on in the restroom, so you'll have an idea of how much/little time you've got. So, sex while only missing 1/18th of a sporting event? Yes, please.

— Ellie has been watching clips of the Michigan Wolverines 1997 season in an effort to erase 2008.




I'm going to come right out and say this: I have, at times, been somewhat of a public fornication enthusiast. (Hi mom!) You name a locale, I've probably given it a whirl. Glass elevators, hotel windows, city parks in broad daylight, golf courses, parochial school auditoriums, playgrounds, portapotties, concerts, bars, and more public bathrooms than I can recall. Additionally, I have certainly been known to overindulge in the fun juice on occasion. These things happen. So when I first heard about the Metrodome Sex Bandits, my initial thoughts were "eh, so what?", and also, "judge not, etc.", and also, "note to self: attempt college football game bathroom coup". But then shit got wacky.


Namely, the fact that our girl Lois seems to be blaming EVERYBODY but herself for letting this happen. Her husband for not accompanying her to the bathroom. Her hosts at the party for overserving her. And now, she's insinuating that the dude in question took advantage of her and/or that she got roofied. I call bullshit. Granted, her partner in crime hasn't been dumb enough to open up his mouth to the media, and even if he did, it's possible that it's one giant blackout for him too. We may never know exactly what went down (so to speak) in that handicap stall. But given the fact that there were a dozen or so witnesses cheering them on, I would like to think that if she HAD been taken against her will, one of them would have noticed and done something about it. I don't know much about Hawkeye-Gopher football, but I'm guessing that in general, people from the Midwest don't cheer for rape. My hunch is that if she's the kind of woman who willingly lets her friends overserve her (and in turn doesn't take responsibility for how much she drinks), then she's probably also the kind of woman who could, in theory, drunkenly chat up some dude in line at the concession stand and allow herself to be talked into lavatory copulation. Again, these things happen.

So Lois, here's my advice: own up to your mistake, shut your piehole about it, be thankful that your husband didn't leave your ass there, and move on with your life. And for crying out loud, next time, use one of the regular stalls. MUCH less conspicuous.

— Kate is currently in Vegas with her Southern Baptist mom and is probably being lectured about her vices as we speak.