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'I can never travel to Wangaratta again, because of hand jobs.'

Wangaratta is a lovely town.

I had the pleasure of going there on a work trip about a month ago. The people were lovely. The pub was publy. The air was airy.

But the whole time I was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about hand jobs. Thanks a lot, Cosmo.

When I was a giggling teenager, I would read the sealed sections of Cosmo and Cleo and B (remember B magazine? Must have been ‘B’ for ‘brief’ because it wasn’t around for long), blushing and marvelling at the naughty sex tips that would no doubt become a huge part of my future.

Make it stop. Please.

I’ve since realised that most of the sex tips were grade-A bullshit. Not that I’ve made my way through the catalogue of tips with a memo pad, a red pen and a willing penis, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that a tip like “run your teeth along his shaft, nibbling like your eating corn on the cob” is a sure-fire way to make a man scream (and not in the way those magazines pretend it will).

How about the ‘penis donut’? Magazine sex tip: put his penis through the hole of a donut (like a weird game of coits) and then sexily eat the donut. I can’t deny that a good cinnamon donut is delicious enough to evoke arousal, but I’m pretty sure if I ate one off a penis I’d be a) distracted by the dessert and b) fighting an urge to change my sheets.

Not sure if I’m hungry or horny.

 

‘Pull on his pubic hair’ was another one I remember. Does it feel as good as when I get a hairbrush stuck in the knots at the base of my skull? Because if so, he’s going to punch me in the boob.

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Read more: 14 sex tips we reeeeeeally don’t recommend.

Anyway, back to Wangaratta and wristies.

One of the first ‘sex tips‘ I read was about hand jobs. Specifically, tempo. The speed of a hand job should be up and down the shaft twice in the same amount of time it takes you to say ‘Wangaratta’.

Got that?

There’s a lot of variables there. I can say Wangaratta really, really fast. Wangaratta. I just timed myself, and I said that in 0.18 seconds. That’s a lightning fast pull, Cosmo.

My arm is gonna get reallll tired. And it’s not the only thing that will be sore.

The Shake Weight is all about the Wangaratta speed.

Also, what about variety? Maybe I should start saying Wangaratta slowly, and work my way up to 0.18 seconds. Or maybe I should mix it up, and try a bit of Woy Woy, Wollomooloo and Wagga Wagga.

Now that I’ve thought about it, Wangaratta was a pretty random choice, Cosmo. Is it because it could easily be remembered as wank-aratta? Or because it has the word ‘wang’ in it? Maybe the writer was a farm-dweller? Or had some particularly good-tempoed foreplay on the Wangaratta river banks?

Anyway, thanks a lot Cosmo. I couldn’t stop giggling when I was in Wangaratta. I only hope that it’s possible that around the country, other women are also giving hand jobs while chanting the name of a small Victorian country town in their head.

Sorry, Wangaratta. You guys seem lovely. And no doubt, you give the best wristies in the country.

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