Dear Peach,

Midweek Sport - - SEX HEALTH -

SO I’m pound­ing at her gap­ing gash with four fin­gers of the best of Bri­tish, when this dusky lass im­plores me to stick the fist up.

Yes, I’m on my sunny hols in the Costa and the c*** is ripe for pick­ing.

This tasty piece was clean­ing my room at the ho­tel when I of­fered her £20 for an ex­tra bit of dust­ing.

But in­stead of the fist, she gets my juicy Cum­ber­land and there’s enough room to get the old chest­nuts up as well.

We had a lovely time and when she’d done she made the bed – what more can a man in Union Jack shorts want? Well, a full English, of course. But this bird didn’t have a clue and tried to get me to eat some­thing called pas­try... with jam. For break­fast!

What’s go­ing on?

GD, by e-mail

Peach says…

MAYBE you can get her to eat your sausage in­stead.

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