Well, that was a turn up for the books. At our meeting this evening Old Fifi told us to stop doing it altogether.
I knew it would come to this, what does an old boot like Fifi know about sex? Let’s face it, with a coupon and a body like hers the last time she got laid was when the bow and arrow was a secret weapon.
Anyway, she’s given us a sheet of paper with a list of do’s and don’ts. We are allowed to kiss, including tongues, I may add; and we are allowed to sleep in the same bed. Manual petting is permitted, but there is to be no oral/genital or genital to genital contact. ‘Genital to genital contact’? That’s called shagging, you daft bugger, even kids know that, so why not just say it. ‘Cause then you wouldn’t be able to charge exorbitant fees, isn’t that right, Ms Mind-Fucker?
Anyway, Veena’s usually quite happy with just a kiss and a cuddle, so there’ll be no problems there. But what if there’s a mad rush of blood to Willie-Boy’s head? It’s going to take more than a piece of paper to stop him enjoying his conjugal rights, and I’m sure every court in the land would support me on that one. Especially if the judge’s a man.
This could be an interesting night.
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