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Rowan Raunchbitch's torrid sex tips for red-hot lovers

I was recently on a radio chat show with Tory MP Toby Rubpubbly. He was furious about what he saw as the degeneration of Britain's sexual morality. He cited a piece in my own publication — The Erotic Digest — as evidence of this downward spiral.

Entitled Two's company, but three's an orgy, it chronicled the Club 18-30 experiences of my production assistant, Gemma. Gemma, it must be said, has embraced the new spirit of Bacchanalia with every orifice. Indeed, as I write this piece, she and our two sub-editors are making the beast with three backs in the middle of the office floor while a howling mob of printers' apprentices cheer them on.

And apparently, everybody's at it. The threesome has become the Groundforce of metropolitan Friday nights — plenty of bush, various holes being filled, and a happy surprise for the wife when she gets home.

So what I am about to say is about as socially acceptable as shagging a goat in front a packed rush-hour train. I don't do threesomes. Never have, never will. Don't like the idea at all. No way, Jose.

I would not deny the erotic potential of the lusty menage-a-trois, but there is a world of difference between the gentle soft-focus explorings of genteel pornography and the harsh realities of drinking from the furry cup whilst being ram-raided from behind by an orgiastically-frenzied stallion.

That's not to say that many woman might not derive great pleasure from the triangle of love. Many girlfriends have described the experience as "transcendental", or even "quite enjoyable". It's interesting to note that every one of these women is Catholic. It's as if they have some genetic predilection for the forbidden. After all, what's the point of turning up at confession if you don't have something worth confessing?

But to we Protestants, the threesome is like Iceland: you go there because someone told you'd like the locals, only to find that there are too many pricks and cun*ts for a truly satisfying night out. Indeed, there are many places far more hospitable. What on earth is wrong with lying back on the bed and thinking of England while your partner impregnates you with his filthy seed? Nothing, that's what.

Rowan Raunchbitch is Editor of The Erotic Digest

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