Someone sent Jezebel a package of cookies to “promote safe sex.” Yum! Nothing about that seemed amiss at first.
But wait. Here’s what I saw when I went to break off a portion.
That is not how sex is. I’d suddenly found myself tooth-deep in a delicious and sexy mystery.
Is her thigh rubbing against his crotch? My colleague Bobby Finger, shaking his head at my stupidity, suggested that they are simply “nearing penetraish.” But if that’s the case, what is she sitting on? Try penetrating a floating woman—impossible. Perhaps her back is against the wall.
My colleagues discussed how delicious the cookies were. Kate Dries opined that they contained almond extract. I had no time for pleasantries. Could he have extra firm thighs that can support her body weight and his while in a crouched position?
Of course not, you fool, my least charitable angels snapped at me. No one’s thighs could be that strong and toned at the same time. It was true. Minutes passed. Work got done. I knew not of it.
Emma suggested that they may be sitting on a bed. But that couldn’t be. On the side of the bed, there would be no room for his leg. Unless he had the aforementioned thigh strength, but I’d already ruled that out.
They are having sex on their sides, I suddenly realized. I crumpled up the diagram and cleared my desk. I readied my yarn. I cleared my calendar. I called John Cook, Editor of Investigations at Gizmodo Media on a secure line. This was going to need the whole team.
No, that couldn’t be it. His dick was still too far from her vag. Damnit. I woke up Clover Hope, one of Jezebel’s best investigators in the middle of the night. She offered only that this sounded like a “fun investigation.” Brendan O’Connor was no help either, submitting only that he intended to “penetrate this cookie with [his] teeth.”
In a hastily-assembled laboratory I’d erected at my desk, I realized that I’d cracked it. I hadn’t showered in days. I was living on Diet Doctor Pepper, and running on fumes. My eyes were bloodshot, but I had it. They are in a chemistry-style lab, he on a stool, she on a countertop of some kind.
Kate Dries rolled her eyes, and demanded to know why the images were in black and white. To which I shouted, top of my lungs, “because it’s more fun this way!!!”
From across the newsroom, the quiet voice of Joanna Rothkopf could be heard. “They’re in missionary,” she near-whispered.
By God, it checked out.