By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Actually, if you're a woman, you've already read too far. Stop now because you really don't want to know what goes on inside guys' heads when we're making love to you.
Now, guys, don't confuse the sequence of primes with the mental techniques we men use to avoid premature ejaculation when confronted with the glory that is woman, such as mentally adding the jersey numbers of sweaty linebackers on the scrimmage line or imagining that we're a minnow in the Long Beach Aquarium with mud sharks chasing us. I told you women you'd read too far, but you didn't believe me, did you? You probably think we men cry out during lovemaking because of something nasty you've just done with your hips, but we're in another world, crying because the shark just nipped our tail and made us forget Rosie Grier's 1965 stats. Men just can't let go. That's why we need you, to vicariously enjoy your wanton abandon, you slutty little minx. Stop reading this now!
So men, what you want to do is start stroking her with whatever you're stroking with using the arrhythmic method of the primes. There are several techniques: you can stroke consistently but lightly, emphasizing only the primes as they come up; you can tease by keeping a count in your head and stroking only on the prime numbers (cruelly, the primes occur less frequently the further you go); or you can pound along like John Bonham's floor tom but stop and pause each time you reach the next prime number higher than the one you stopped at before. So if you stopped at 31 the last time, you go until you reach 37 the next time, and so on. I guarantee that long before you hit 8,563, she'll be reaching the orgasm of her life—that or reaching for a clock radio to club you with.
Don't even try introducing these techniques until she's pretty far along and won't notice what you're up to. No woman likes to think you're using her yoni as an abacus. And for that matter, no one wants to read a sex column that references Rosie Grier twice. What's wrong with you people?