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THE TALE OF #FIERYFIONA AND THE #FIERYFIONAUPDATE Not for anyone who is upset by content of a sexual nature.



‘Dear Village, apologies in advance for the TMI… believe me, I am beyond mortified posting this, but I need advice rather urgently, please! To cut a long story short, in preparation for a big Date Night (this coming Wednesday), I decided to Veet my legs in the shower tonight. It was all going quite well, until I caught a glimpse of my lady garden… I don’t know what possessed me, but I decided to Veet my lady bits as well.. I was actually quite pleased with the outcome and the little effort it took to achieve the desired results. That is, until I had to pee before going to bed tonight… well, you might as well have wacked me full-on with a hot poker in the nether regions! It was that sudden and that painful. I immediately wedged a damp cloth in between, you know… and upon closer inspection established that my punani is indeed ablaze and raw… and not only that, the backdoor is on fire as well… It is now just after 1am and I am still awake.. legs akimbo, trying to ‘air it out’, so to speak. I’m too scared to apply any ointments, as I have already broken through the pain barrier and might separate body from soul if more pain is inflicted. Dammit, I was really looking forward to Wednesday night, as it would have been the first time I was going to be a bit naughty since my divorce last year. Plans have been made and all that, you know? Advice, please dear village. How do I fix my Fiery Fiona fast??’

The answers were many. In the end, coconut oil was suggested by the Village’s actual Gynae, happily, as it turned out.


” Dear Village, I must thank you all for your quick responses to my dilemma and for the helpful advice given. I unfortunately could not get to a pharmacy, as that would have subjected Fiona (and her closest neighbour) to the friction caused by working the clutch of a 12 year-old City Golf… I had to use something I already had at home… which is how my gaze landed on the jar of coconut oil my adult daughter uses to cook with… I shoved it under my top and would have run to the bathroom, if I could… but instead, I resembled a new cowboy in town… one who had travelled across the Arizona desert, per horse, for three weeks… Once in the sanctuary of the bathroom, I liberally applied the oil and the relief was instant! I was still applying it two minutes later, even though it was not entirely necessary anymore…… I spent the rest of the day wearing an old kaftan-type dress, trying to expose Fiona&Friend to snatches of sunlight… quite a task, considering that the day was cold and overcast… and the fact that I live with teenagers… Then it was time to get ready for my date! I showered and put on a pretty loose-flowy-florally dress (sans knickers) and drove all the way to the restaurant in 1st gear… The food was fabulous, the wine abundant, the company delightful and we soon ended up at his place… Without going into too much detail, I must just mention that he said afterwards that I was the most responsive woman he had ever been with… why, with just the slightest touch of his hand on #FieryFiona, I was squirming and ‘ohmygawd-ding’ all over the place… I must admit that I nearly fled the scene when he whipped out his member and its size resembled a can of Pringles! Just my bloody luck. Thankfully, he was a very skilled lover and proceeded to give Fiona a good old proper seeing-to… There was one awkward moment though… brought on when Mr Pringles accidentally-on-purpose knocked on the backdoor… I jackknifed out of bed and seamlessly launched into a sexy dance routine at the foot of the bed instead… So, taking everything into consideration, I would say that my date night was a huge success. Thank you, dear Village


” It is Sunday morning and I am busy bathing my budgie when my phone beeps. Drying my hands, I glance at the screen, thinking it’s the bloody DA again. It’s not. It’s Mr Pringles. He wants to see me again… Took him forking long enough! I decide to make him wait. Make him sweat a bit, you know. Which is why exactly five seconds later I reply ‘Hi! I’d love that xx’… that’ll teach him. We arrange to meet on Tuesday night. His place. He is going to cook for me! In the build-up to Tuesday, I sense that Fiona is very restless. I keep on having to give her little reassuring pats… Eventually, late on Tuesday afternoon, she opens up and confesses that she fears a repeat of Veet-Gate… ‘No.’ I tell her, ‘That. Will. Never. Happen. Again. EVER.’ To prove my point, I march us off to the bathroom and whip out my new super-dee-duper-toethair-remover-hoover. It’s pink. It’s beautiful. And Fiona loves it. At exactly 8pm, I park my car and we squeak up to Mr Pringles’ front door. It’s slightly ajar and I can hear a Deep House Mix ( ) floating out. As I open the door, I see him. ‘My gawd’, I think, ‘he is beautiful’. And there he is, dear Villagers, completely starkers in the semi-darkness… gently swaying to the beat of the music… wearing only an impossibly naughty look on his face… beckoning me over to him with one hand… holding a can of Pringles in the other…..”

Phew. Happy for all concerned.


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