Over the past few weeks, we’ve published articles about the joys of driving naked and having sex behind the wheel. All over the web, you can find many videos of people doing the dirty in their vehicles, and as we’ve said before, it’s usually a pretty great time. Just for balance, I’m going to talk about the dark side of having sex in cars. The ugly side. Or maybe it’s the funny side, I’m still not sure.

Thanks to the lousy employment market and the faltering economy here in Croatia, I don’t have a steady job or a place of my own. As a result, I don’t have much money, and I live with my parents. (Sadly, that’s pretty common in Europe at the moment.) I have a boyfriend — who doesn’t have a place of his own, either — so when we want to get busy, we go to the only private place we have: the car.

I can’t say I enjoy that too much, because the car isn’t very private, which means that I can’t properly relax, which means that our repertoire is kind of limited. (You know what I mean.) Everyone’s different, and I just can’t get comfortable, and it’s just not me.

Getting it on in cars isn’t new to me. Before I got involved with my boyfriend, I went out with another live-at-home guy who owned a BMW 3, which is a very cool car, but not so cool when you both get out of it in your underwear to relieve yourself after doing The Deed and the car locks itself. With your clothes inside. And your cellphones. Luckily, he was decent enough to walk to a nearby gas station and call a cab. Unluckily, it took him a full hour to return, which I spent freezing my ‘nads off while watching his cool car. I’ve hated BMWs ever since.

There was also that time that I went out with a guy, and we ran out of gas — not because he was ignoring the fuel gauge, but because we’d stopped to fool around, and he’d left the car running because it was freezing outside. We were very far away from the main road, and it would’ve taken ages for us to reach a gas station, so I called my best friend, explained the situation, and asked him to pick us up. Then had to listen to him lecture me for half an hour about how on Earth could I go on a sexdate in a car, and how disappointed he is in me, and blah, blah, blah. It was a fair point. Why would anyone want to have sex in a car when they could go to a hotel room?

Or the time that I started to work at a car dealership and finally got a company car: an Opel Zafira, black with yellow stickers, including the dealership’s logo. I met a guy in the club one night, we went for a drive, then parked in a very out-of-the-way place — which was, admittedly, known for being the kind of place folks went when they wanted some “alone time”.

Apparently, someone saw us — or at least our car — because the following Monday I got an email from my boss, saying that the company car was not to be used as a roving sex palace. (I paraphrase.) In retrospect, I probably should’ve covered up the logo, or I should have gone home and found some hot guys on the grid. Thankfully, my boss was pretty nice about the whole situation. He said that he understood how things were for “us guys”, meaning “horny straight guys like him and me”. In other words, he thought I was sleeping with a girl. Ew.

Not so long ago, I got a call from my best friend — the same one who lectured me about sexdates — who told me that he had a major problem. He and his boyfriend had decided to take a little drive and spice up their sex life, so they pulled over in the middle of nowhere and subsequently managed to get stuck in a huge pile of mud mixed with melting snow.

I don’t even want to describe how I managed to get them out. Suffice to say that the car was covered with mud and so were we, and I’ve never gotten another lecture.

So, I suppose my four rules for having sex in the car would be:

• Have fuel in the tank
• Have a fully charged battery (on both your car and your cell phone)
• Have a tow rope handy
• Have some really good friends

And #5: if possible, have your own place, so sex in the car becomes a luxury, not a necessity. Unless that’s your thing, of course.