Be the crazy woman he can't get enough of.
Guys like crazy. But not the frothing at the mouth, weeping on the bathroom floor type of crazy. And not the lay-down-in-traffic-like-Varsity-Blues kind of crazy.
No, guys like a carefully calibrated kind of safe crazy, the kind that gets really drunk but doesn't take her top off and dance on the bar. The wild and crazy girl who challenges them, takes them out of their comfort zone, but in a laughing sort of way. They call her the manic pixie dream girl.
I lied to everyone and told them my ex and I were twins. We looked like it, with our dyed-blond hair and facial structure. He appeared to be some missing link between me and my sister, but with freckles.
A few days later, I grabbed his face and we made out in front of everyone. People freaked out. Some of them actually believed we were openly committing incest. It didn't help that when we heard someone walking down the hall and we were having sex, I'd yell, "Do me harder, bro! Whip me like mom used to!" We'd hear steps quicken at that one.
Sex is always a great way to get crazy. That same boyfriend and I ran off to a local resort town at my suggestion, rented a seedy hotel room, and had sex for the first time on the sketchy coverlet. We drove up and down the main drag, neon flashing around us, teenagers cruising, and made out every time we stopped. Cars honked to get us going.
In the afternoon, he drove as fast as he could while I stood up in the sunroof, both of us daring to see who would chicken out first. Our last day there, our mentor, a psychic gay man, called and asked, "What the hell are you doing, child?" We laughed and laughed.
Once, I was at the same ex's house, hanging out in the hot tub. It faced a giant picture window in the living room, with a couch facing a big screen TV on the opposite wall. We wanted to get it on. So we started, slowly at first, keeping my top on, until I sat on his lap and slipped him inside me.
I watched the back of his dad's head as I moved up and down, up and down, slowly, as if with the rhythm of the water. He came harder, I think, because we were being sneaky. Sneaky sex is always crazy sex is always better sex.
My husband and I once found ourselves horny at a Halloween party. I led him outside the circle of the fire, into the dark, where we found a swing. We sat down next to each other and he proceeded to finger me in front of everyone. No one noticed.
And then, of course, there's the easy suck dick on a phone call. As soon as his mom calls, drop to your knees, open his pants, and open your mouth. Or, if you want to watch his face contort with pleasure and terror, just rub his cock through his jeans as hard and as well as you can.
Guys say they hate this, but they don't and get totally turned on. You just have to follow up with it afterwards, and not just make it a cheap trick. In other words, don't quit when mom hangs up.
I've done the typical lean over and whisper "I'm not wearing underwear" in a miniskirt, in a nice restaurant. Guys love that. One girl I knew put mints up there and went pantiless to go dance. She figured whoever she picked up could eat it out of her later in the evening.
You don't have to get into sex to be good crazy, however. One night, several of us and my ex made it our mission to get royally trashed. We played Monopoly, with all of us cheating outrageously.
I kept trying to get my boyfriend to make out with our gay friend, since he was a notorious bisexual and used to be known as "Gay C." He refused but loved the attention. When the pizza came, I invited the pizza boy to come back and party. We smoked a lot of pot, threw up some vodka, and lo and behold, here was the pizza boy, six pack in hand, looking a little ashamed. We drank some beers with him before he left.
Good crazy means throwing snowballs or stuffing snow down the back of his shirt. I did this to P, an ex, once, and it sparked a giant snowball fight, which ended up with both of us puffing warm breath into the cold, and needing to shower afterwards. And yes, having some great shower sex.
Tell him, out of the blue, that you'd go down on him in a theater. Dress up as his favorite TV character and see how long it takes before he notices. Be the woman who's the right kind of crazy, the kind he's addicted to.