Six lazy sex positions for the minimal-effort lover, with the Mash sex columnist

THE high-impact multi-position end-changing shag is the dream, but what you really fancy is a nice lie down. Combine the two for lovely low-maintenance orgasms: 

The pub table crisps

As in the generous pub behaviour of tearing a packet of Walkers open and leaving them spread and ready for the whole table? This position is the sexual equivalent. Splay yourself open on the bed and let your partner lick their fingers and go at you.

Cloth tease

The opposite of striptease, this is where you layer up for warmth and still negotiate sex with zero flesh exposed, like mole people. The only foreplay will be a gentle zip, the only effort light rocking. Can’t be done in onesies. A terribly lackadaisical way to conceive a child.

The Jabba

Taking inspiration from the Star Wars character, this position involves slow, laboured movements, zero attention to personal hygiene and no pressure to omit any noise besides the odd unintelligible and unsubtitled grunt. The aim isn’t to have sex, it’s to repulse your partner into not wanting it.

The Madame Tussauds

Like a waxwork of Posh Spice, give him one of those handjobs where you curl your fingers and fix them in place, then let him fuck away. No wrist action required; the most basic level of providing a hole. Or the female equivalent where you lay two fingers on the bed and she grinds against them until you take credit for having found her clit.

Sexual Harrassment in the 1970s

Re-enact the crudest, most basic sexual harrassment possible, such as provided comedy in that dark decade: the man presses against the woman from behind, gropes her tits and continues grinding until he’s spoiled his underpants. Lying down, but he still says ‘Cor!’ and ‘Bloody hell, love’ occasionally.

All the trimmings

Not so much a position as a technical set-up. Outsource all the effort by getting porn blaring on as many screens as you have charged, all the sex toys you own out on the bed, including electric toothbrushes and appropriately-shaped vegetables, then open the love-aid buffet. Serve youself.

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Mash Blind Date: Can married man Julian justify an affair with Hannah, and is she particularly interested?

HANNAH, aged 27, swiped right on 38-year-old Julian even though his holiday photos were very suspiciously cropped. But is he willing to take the plunge into infidelity? 

Julian on Hannah 

First impression?

Gorgeous. Carefree. Trusting. Has no idea the man she’s dating is married with two children and wrestling with his own conscience, wondering if he dare dream of freedom from his staid, stale marriage. Wondering if he dare not.

How was the conversation?

A little direct and aggressive for my tastes. I dealt out practiced evasions, like ‘I’m not emotionally committed,’ and ‘Marriage is only on paper’ and she kept coming at me with more questions. Doesn’t she know how hard this is without her treating me like a suspect?

Memorable moments?

When I really opened up to her about how a relationship I was in recently had broken down and I hadn’t had sex in months, and she acted like that was the reason I was there. ‘You wound me,’ I managed to choke out.

Favourite thing about Hannah?

Her arse did bob about nicely as she stormed out of the restaurant. And it’s impressive I met someone with even greater moral integrity than me.

A capsule description?

Little Miss Detective has been watching too many episodes of Cheaters.

Was there a spark?

There was certainly passion. If we met again, perhaps so I could apologise for deceiving her, we could try to retrieve it.

What happened afterwards?

I texted her, saying not to tell anyone and I thought she was wonderfully empathic and I really need a friend right now.

What would you change about the evening?

I would make her more credulous. And sluttier.

Will you see each other again?

I hope so, but only on Wednesdays between 3.30pm and 7pm, depending on my wife’s tennis club schedule.

Hannah on Julian

First impression?

Handsome, tall, bit of a twat’s beard, nice blue eyes. Hiding his left hand. Answering questions with sighs of suffering. Hiding something. Which is probably being married.

How was conversation?

A rambling monologue about a hypothetical married man who is justified in seeking affairs because ‘what is marriage anyway?’ and ‘commitment doesn’t mean cutting off all your feelings’ and ‘Toby is struggling with his maths’. I snapped and ask if he was married and he asked if that would be a problem. I said it would and he replied that he definitely isn’t.

Memorable moments?

When his phone rang and he answered with ‘Yes, darling. I’m at Mike’s like I said I would be’. When he admitted he was married but hadn’t had sex in months, like that was anyone’s problem but his. And very shortly after that, when I fucked off.

Favourite thing about Greg?

How bad he is at lying, which saved us both a lot of time.

A capsule description?

Creepy married dude hoping for a shag while feigning a tortured conscience.

Was there a spark?

I’d prefer spontaneous human combustion, but realise that’s less likely.

What happened afterwards?

I found his wife on LinkedIn and forwarded her a screenshot of his Tinder profile. Also, it turns out his name’s actually Greg.

What would you change about the evening?

My chilli-maple wings would not have arrived during my big storm-out moment. I wanted those wings.

Will you see each other again?

I’m powerfully confident that if I came back here at 7.45pm next week, he’d be trying the same shit again with another girl.