Public Sex:

‘In Public’

Kelis feat. Nas

An exhibitionist anthem with clothes over the balcony and some stick shift action in the car, which I’m guessing has little to do with the car, makes this song perfect for getting it on outside the bedroom. Surely this is part of why her milkshake brings boys to the yard?

— Jazmine Woodberry

‘Thong Song’

Sisqó

With lyrics like “”She had dumps like a truck truck truck/ Thighs like what what what/ Baby move your butt butt butt,”” one-night-stand comes to mind. So, if that’s the kind of mood you’re in, I guess Sisqó’s got your butt covered … partially.

— Dallas Williamson

Ambivalent hipster sex:

‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright’

Bob Dylan

Dylan is never not sexy, and this bittersweet song is sure to impress anyone androgynous and wearing flannel. The sex will be deep, tender and ultimately meaningless. And at the end, be sure to tell your partner, “”Goodbye is too good a word … so I’ll just say fair-thee-well.”” You’re sure to score a second rendezvous.

— Heather Price-Wright

‘Sigh No More’

Mumford and Sons

“”What is this, a song about God or something?””  “”Yeah, babe, I thought it’d be ironic.”” “”Oh. OK.”” Ignore the opening lyrics. Mumford’s reverent acoustic tickle builds to a pumping, triumphant climax that urges listeners to be “”more like the man / you were made to be.”” If your timing’s right, you’ll both be sighing when it’s over.

— Brandon Specktor

Ain’t nothin’ but mammals:

‘The Equestrian’

Les Savy Fav

Les Savy Fav makes the connection between horseback riding and the beast with two backs seem obvious in their song. But it takes a particularly perverse genius to use the jargon to describe a torrid affair: “”Jet black boots, whip stiff crop / once we started we just couldn’t stop. / Foreplay, forelocks / four legs stripped but for their socks.””

— Steven Kwan

‘Heathen Child’

Grinderman

I’m pretty sure Nick Cave has killed a man. I can hear it in his voice, see it in the way he holds that tambourine like an obsidian dagger. When Nick sings “”Here come the wolfman,”” you better lock the doors. The writhing grind of “”Heathen Child”” is good for two things: performing ritual sacrifices in the woods and having wild, wild sex.

— Brandon Specktor