“Press a fork (firmly, but don’t break the skin or anything) into different parts of his body—his butt cheeks, his pecs, his thighs.”
It was around this time I began to suspect that many of Cosmo’s sex tips were in fact fueled by hunger. When Cosmo’s not advising us on how to incorporate the contents of our pantries into our sex lives, it is advising us on how to lose weight, so how else to explain this questionable use of eating utensils? Since I would never turn down the chance to stab my girlfriend in the name of journalism, I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a medium-sized, four-pronged IKEA fork.
Her eyes widened as I made my way to the bed, and she said, “We’re really just going straight into this—no foreplay?”
“No foreplay,” I said. “Only forkplay.”
She protested for the first time throughout this bad sex experiment, so I relented and we fooled around for a while before proceeding. When she felt warmed up I picked up the fork and lightly dragged it across her stomach. “Fuck, that’s cold,” she said. And it was. Because it’s a fork. It doesn’t really adapt to your body temperature. I breathed hotly on it and then stuck it between my thighs to make it warmer. If making out while clenching a fork between your thighs isn’t the height of eroticism, I don’t know what is.
Foregoing the warmth factor, I took to pressing the fork into various fleshy parts of her body—her tits, thighs, butt, and so on. My girlfriend is usually quite responsive to touch of all kinds, but forking her was getting no reaction.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
“It feels like I’m being stabbed with a fork,” she said.