Hey Jake, How’d You Get So Good at Sex?

I’m used to answering questions from my fans. I welcome it. Nothing brings me more pleasure than teaching someone how to truly pleasure their favorite, or only, lover. It is my life’s mission to ensure that as many people in the world feel taken care of as is humanly possible by one man, and with the Internet, that’s a whole lot of people.

But one question I couldn’t answer quickly and easily with a patented Grifter such as, “That’s easy, cup the balls!” or “Not a problem, just use your tongue AND your fingers!” was a question that came in just as I sat down to relax a few days after Thanksgiving. It was from one of my older fans, who had been paying attention to my career as a Sex Tipster since the beginning. A fan I will call Jill.

It was a freezing, late November day when Jill and I met at my local McDonald’s, to talk over what she said was “Something that had been bothering me for some time now.” Her eyes told me that something was wrong, as she couldn’t keep contact for more than a few seconds at a time. She paused often to look down at her Big ‘N’ Tasty, pursed her lips and furrowed her brow before she could muster the courage to even begin. Finally she found it in herself.

“Look, Jake,” Jill said to me in-between half-eaten fries, “Lord knows that your tips have saved my marriage countless times. Every time that we get in a rut, I just pull up another Tipster article and am confronted with any number of sex acts that can make my partner scream into a pillow, and I’ve always liked that.” She bit into another fry before throwing the rest down on the table, like a half-smoked cigarette.

“Go on,” I told Jill.

“It has been eating me up inside for a long time now. I have to know, Jake. How did you get so good at sex?”

“That’s it!?” I excitedly replied to Jill, thankful that this was all that was getting to her. All this time I thought she had some issue with my tips, or had tried one and it went awry. Or worse, maybe she had lost trust in the Tipster. When one goes, it spoils the bunch, so they say.

“Jill, I’m so glad that you came to me with this worry. I can definitely answer that question for you.”

Just then I realized that my bus was quickly pulling up outside of the McDonald’s and my time with Jill was going to quickly come to an end. On the weekend, the bus only runs like once every thirty minutes! So I said what I always say when people question my sexual prowess.

“How did I get so good at sex? That’s easy. It’s the same way you get to Carnegie Hall in rush hour – a good cab driver and twenty bucks!”