Okay, in the title alone, I’ve revealed a couple of things about me:
1. I read Cosmo, at least occasionally.
2. I either take the information found in Cosmo seriously (as in The Gospel), or I’m a smart ass, directly pointing fun at how seriously Cosmo would *like* for me to take the information.
Number one is completely true. Number two is a little bit of both.
This past week I picked up the January 2009 edition of Cosmo, lured in by “the Awesome ‘S Stroke’” guaranteed to drive my man wild. Scott (my man) is completely in favor of all things meant to drive him wild, so he didn’t raise an eyebrow at the $5 price tag. In fact, he felt it to be money well spent. I cautioned him, though, not to get his hopes up.
“But it says it’s awesome. And that they’ve never printed it before. Maybe someone’s thought of something new!” His enthusiasm was amusing, to say the least.
“Sex is still just sex. If someone had thought of something new, I’d have already read about it on the internet. Besides, rare is the occasion that I bring home a Cosmo and actually learn something useful.”
“Well, maybe ... But I don’t think you’ve ever done anything remotely resembling an ‘S Stroke’ on [me down there]*. A little ‘S Stroke’ might be nice, every now and then.”
“You really want to get into this now? Here? Because I’ve got a stroke or two I’m not at all afraid to use in public, if you’re feeling lucky.”
The swift shake of his head let me know that he wasn’t feeling all that lucky at all.
So we paid for the groceries (yes, this conversation really took place in line at the grocery store) and we went home. In the putting-away activity that ensued, the magazine was slid onto the bookshelf nearest to the kitchen and I conveniently forgot about it—and the “S Stroke”—for about three days. (Scott, however, apparently did not. Later, he expressed shock over the fact that I didn’t just go ahead and read it on the way home, carsickness be damned! There was important information to be had, after all.)
I would just like to take a sidebar here for a moment to admit that I recognize that there is a universal male attitude that no matter how fulfilling their own sex life is, they are convinced that someone, somewhere, is having better sex. With better moves. And fewer strained necks. I’m sure that it’s this line of thinking that tends to cause men (and women, for that matter) to stray, and most certainly helps Cosmo to sell more magazines. We gals know that those cover-teasers are not there for us, yet we continue to indulge them (both our men and the magazine editors) by buying into it.
Eventually, a couple of days later, Scott got that twinkle in his eye that I know so well. He leaned into me on the sofa, put his lips against my ear, and spoke ever-so-softly, saying, “So, um, what’s that ‘S Stroke’ all about, anyway?”
His question was asked with the intimate reverence typically reserved for the naughty little request that he’s only allowed to make once every six months or so.** In fact, so intense was his passion for that awesome new move he had been promised that I dropped what I was doing and went in search of the magazine and the information that would assist me in driving him wild.
Needless to say, he was wildly disappointed.
The “S Stroke” turned out to be nothing more than a swirly way to scratch one’s back. Instead of the standard up-and-down scratching motion typically employed when indulging your lover all of their little itchies, The Gospel dictates that the wise and sensuous woman will employ a varying technique in which the letter S (or any other letter, for that matter) can be dramatically scrawled across her man’s skin, creating new and titillating sensations.
