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Friday afternoon lunch and porn with the girls.

It was Friday lunchtime and just like any other normal Friday lunchtime, a couple of friends had popped over to my house for a catch-up over lunch.

“Did you hear about Lorraine Kelly and the naughty pics turning up in the internet?”

Lisa and I stopped mid-mouthful and stared at Kim across the table.

“Whaaaaaaat??”

“Nudie photos of her on the internet. Some builders found them when doing up a house she used to live in, apparently, and now they’re on the internet.”

“Lorraine Kelly? The Scottish breakfast TV host?!”

“Yeah, her.”

Lisa and I stared at each other. Lorraine Kelly; the chirpy, early morning national treasure whom we had grown up with? Never. Kim was obviously confused.

“Lorraine Kelly isn’t the sort to have nude pics taken! They’ll be fake.” Lisa was always the voice of reason.

"Yeah, she's definitely a lights out, pull ya nightie up kinda girl," I added with scorn.

“No, really! It’s her. They definitely look genuine.”

“You’ve seen them?!”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I had to look…”

Kim got her phone out, and as we finished up our spicy vegetable soup, Lisa and I recoiled at the images on the website. Let’s just say, they were certainly taken before the bikini wax became popular.

“Poor woman,” commented Lisa as she opened the family pack of Minstrels and we all settled on the sofas. “Imagine getting pissed at uni, having some dodgy Polaroids taken and years later when you have a respectable job on TV, they turn up to haunt you. Why would anyone have photos of themselves taken like that anyway? Weird!”

Kim and I gave each other shifty glances and shuffled on the sofa self-consciously. Lisa had led a very sheltered life. She hadn’t tasted avocado until she was 25, and it had taken an Italian boyfriend to introduce her to salami (and that’s not a euphemism).

“Ahem, well, talking of weird – did you see that popstar, Tulisa, getting slapped in the face with a cock?”

Lisa choked on her Minstrels. Kim looked incredulous. Admittedly, it wasn’t a sentence you heard every day.

“Slapped in the face with a cock?! What? By accident?”

“No, Kim. On purpose! Who gets slapped in the face with a cock by accident?”

“Umm, who gets slapped in the face with a cock on purpose?”

“It’s a ‘thing.’ Apparently. You know, a ‘thing.’” I insisted.

“Not a very useful or pleasant ‘thing,' I’d imagine’”

For just a moment, everyone looked distastefully contemplative.

“Well, it’s certainly a ‘thing’ I’m not familiar with.” Kim got her phone out again. “What website was it on?”

We all crowded around Kim’s phone and watched the evidence:

“OMG he’s wearing jogging bottoms and no pants! Eww. He doesn’t even take them off! Just pulls them down!”

“She’s wearing a skanky tracksuit as well! Hardly sexy get-up!”

“Look, you can see the washing machine in the background. Are they doing it in the utility room?! Surrounded by dirty washing?!”

We all sat back snorting with laughter until tears poured down our cheeks; and it didn’t stop there.

“Oh, have you seen the film, ‘Nymphomaniac?’ I was looking for something on YouTube the other day and came across the weirdest clip.”

“I’m not going to ask what you were looking for. I’m sure GCHQ have a whole folder on your browser history.”

Ignoring the slight to my upstanding character, I found the scene on my YouTube phone app and cast it onto the TV (I’m such a techno wiz). We all watched in various states of bemusement as Charlotte Gainsbourg shoved spoons up her snatch in a posh restaurant in front of Shia LaBeouf, who appeared to pay her a fiver for the privilege.

“Jeez! Who would do that? Would you do that?!” Kim looked aghast and crossed her legs tightly.

“Not for a fiver! Maybe a fiver per spoon though.” Lisa may have led a sheltered life, but she was no mug when it came to making a quick buck.

“And not even teaspoons!” I pointed out. “They were bloody knickerbocker glory spoons for god’s sake. The long handles on them! Eww!”

We all winced.

“And they fell out when she stood up! Her pelvic floor muscles must be crap and she’s only young.”

Automatically, we all squeezed in a couple of Kegels in unison. It’s like yawning. Just the mere mention of a pelvic floor makes you do it. You’re probably doing it now, aren’t you?

Another hour passed where we perused the internet for the butter scene from Last Tango in Paris; the ubiquitous Pam and Tommy Lee clips; excitedly tried to pause the precise nano-second Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ nob is on view during an early film clip, and generally googling anyone we could think of who might have had a sex tape leaked on the internet. Much hilarity ensued, much chocolate was consumed, and before we knew it, it was time for Lisa and Kim to hit the road before the Friday afternoon traffic kicked in. It had been a fun Friday of lunch and porn, and I couldn’t help but think that had we been men, the connotations would have been altogether much more seedy. But we weren’t men. We were three women in their 40s spending a quiet few hours watching comedic porn off the internet, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

After all, if you can’t laugh at Tulisa getting whopped around the chops with a todger whilst her washing machine is coughing through a spin cycle, then you’ve obviously lost your mojo ;o)

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