'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.

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.

‘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.

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.

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.