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

The world is indeed an strange and confusing place. If it were not sufficient that we are once again in litigation with Tory MP Toby Rubpubbly — this time regarding a recent piece by Erotic Digest correspondent Thor Hungstallion entitled A Place in the Country: Cottaging in the Lake District — I have to report that I have got myself into a bit of a fix with the "other half".

Just last week I found my musings on the feminist perspective on fisting rudely interrupted by office girl Gemma regaling her colleagues with a blow-by-blow account of her recent birthday: an occasion, it seems, made all the more memorable when her current squeeze honoured her with "a pearl necklace" as the climax of the celebrations.

I was, I admit, impressed. Gemma's birthday wish-list traditionally comprises little more than "sixteen Bacardi Breezers, some poppers and then a right good shafting", as she herself delicately puts it. Indeed, her most memorable gift had previously been a ruby-encrusted labial piercing in the likeness of Pierce Brosnan.

Naturally, I immediately enquired as to whether this impressive and very grown-up gift demonstrated that I might not soon need "to buy a new hat", as Cilla puts it. Apparently not, although I did not realise why until much later, by which time the damage was already done.

I refused Gemma's seemingly ridiculous offer of an explanation, insisting that no self-respecting career girl had not felt the warm glow of pearls around her neck, and immediately rushed home to confront my partner on the matter.

Incredibly, he did not blink an eyelid when I demanded a birthday gift to surpass Gemma's in both quantity of quality of pearls. "I didn't think it was your sort of thing, to be honest," he noted with a disconcerting smirk. "But if that's what you want, it'll be my pleasure."

I must admit I found this enthusiasm slightly unnerving. What I did not then realise — although I was to find out the next day in graphic detail — was that a pearl necklace was not considered among Gemma's peers as a precursor to nuptials. Far from it, consisting as it does of the following:

• Excitement of the male member while said member's owner is straddled across one's chest
• Male climax during which ejaculate is deposited around the neck in the manner of a string of pearls

It beggars belief that this activity would be considered in any way an adequate substitute for a proper and expensively gift-wrapped piece of jewellery. Don't misunderstand me — I too can imagine that some might obtain sexual gratification from a hideously empurpled member discharging hot semen onto one's upper body — I'm just absolutely, definitively convinced I'm not one of them.

Sadly, my protests that after due consideration I no longer wish my partner to go to all that trouble have fallen of deaf ears. Worse still, he insists on unzipping his trousers to reveal a slight tumescence and asking whether I'd like to "have a quick look in the shop?"

I now have less than a week in which to extricate myself from this disaster. It's likely that my own means of escape is some pre-emptive manual relief in the traditional Raunchbitch manner: rubber gloves, salad tongs and strong antiseptic. Wish me luck.

Rowan Raunchbitch is editor of The Erotic Digest

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