You scratch my back

Well I’m no prude but I’m also not in to telling the world about sexual activities either. Take my hen night – I wouldn’t thank you for a stripper at all – and neither would my mum or my friends. Instead we enjoyed a game of irish bingo, musical statues, pass the parcel, had makeovers and readings from a psychic and most of all had more fun with toilet roll than the Andrex puppy.

It was a great night followed by the walk of shame the next day from a friend’s house in broad daylight and a hangover weighing heavily on my wee body ready to go in for the kill.

I finally arrived home in the wee small hours of the afternoon to be greeted by a wedding present – oooh the excitement. We opened it together to reveal the silky softness of the velvet bag hiding some delights inside.

Well here’s a full blown invitation which would have Tommy Sheridan trading in his working class roots for a quick fake bake to get ready for the action. Inside this delicate little pouch we found a concertina of scratch cards – suddenly the black velvet bag made sense and a quick read of the instructions alerted us that we had just received 52 weeks worth of sex tips from an 18 year old boy.

I know I don’t talk about it but surely that’s a fair indication that the subject is well off limits and if this young boy really really knew me he wouldn’t even consider it.

Designed no doubt to shock but the biggest pay back will be the lack of information coming his way on his delightful little present.