Quoted By:
What is sex like with Sam Hyde? It’s a question I’ve pondered many times, about a great many men, but the thought of sexual intercourse with Sam Hyde is something I constantly return to, more so than others. Sex with Friedrich Nietzsche must have surely been terrifyingly masochistic and dangerous (not without protection, Freddy). Ingmar Bergman’s many affairs meant he was probably a great lover in bed, but he also probably cried relentlessly afterwards every time out of guilt and the lack of God’s answers for shagging. Someone like Cary Grant would have been a fantastically smooth talker, but given that he was probably gay, he would also have probably been a slight disappointment. Klaus Kinski would probably not allow you to make a single sound, in case you distract him from his task. A Marlene Dietrich would probably eat you alive and forget about you immediately. It goes on.
But Sam Hyde? Lord knows what that’s like. I don’t think Letty could bring herself to talk about it if you asked her, it was probably too terrifying, or maybe even non-existent. After many hours pondering (because what better things do I have to do than ponder how Sam Hyde tackles penetration?), I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Hyde is either entirely asexual and has always been that way, or he’s a complete fucking jackhammer. I can imagine him hating sex like he hates absolutely everything. On the other hand perhaps he only hates everything because he does not get enough sex. If it’s the latter than he’s probably incredibly frustrated in bed anyway, and it leads to 300mph machine-gun fucking. Does he even have a mattress? Is it just a metal or concrete slab? I doubt Sam Hyde has a memory foam mattress. There’s probably a bunch of metal chains hanging around for sado-masochistic stuff, and also love poems to Letty and some hot waitress in a place he frequents, although I suppose Sam Hyde probably only eats goat intestines.
