Driving Him Wild
I was trapped at a salon the other day, so I read an old Cosmo.
They have some wonderful advice in there. Just wonderful. In order to drive our men wild, there was a list of things we should be doing. First of all, when I dress for a party, I’m not supposed to wear underpants.
I usually don’t wear underpants, so I thought I was already halfway to driving him wild, but no. There was a lot more to it. The afternoon of the party, I’m supposed to call my man and leave naughty messages for him at work. Failing that, I should email him. At work. With messages about how I just got finished “touching myself” and thinking about how I can’t wait for him to ____ his ____ for me. Blank his blank? Oh, I get it: that’s code for I can’t wait for him to lose his job. (Maybe I can leave group messages for everyone at his office. I want your ___ in my ____. Then his boss can send it back filled in: I want your resignation letter in my in basket right now.)
He’ll be home early, at least. Plenty of time to get ready for the party. Once we get to the party, I’m supposed to grab my man, press him against the wall and kiss him forcefully. Then I’m supposed to drag him into the bathroom and fondle him, whispering about the lack of underpants.
When we leave the party – or are thrown out for acting like idiots – it gets even better! During the drive home I’m supposed to blow in his ear, slide my fingers between the buttons of his shirt and tease his nipples, and then slip my hands into his pants and grab his penis. By the time we arrive at my place he’ll be insane with desire and will be barely able to contain his lust long enough for me to get my damn pants off. He will be driven wild. Or we will both be driven into a ditch. Same thing.
Driving him wild, indeed. What the hell is Cosmo thinking? Next issue: Electrify your mate with this fun bath-time tip! Hint: it’s not just for toast anymore, honey! Plus, Bonus: Putting the Bond in Bondage: six sexy ways to use superglue! He’ll be stuck on you for sure!