The first sex tip I received was whispered to me in the school hallway. It was passed down from a friend's older sister who had in turn sneakily read it in a magazine under her duvet with a torch. It was all very hush-hush, illicit, secretive. We had sex education classes in school, of course, but these were scientific; they taught you the definition of sex with the end goal being a baby, and "pleasure" a secondary, if ever mentioned by-product.
As I grew up I would, like every other person born in the nineties or noughties, search corners of the internet for guidance. For a time, I foolishly thought pornography could offer some sort of enlightenment (it could not). Finally, I received my first sex tips from a "pro" in my mid-twenties, when a well-meaning maid of honour booked one for a hen do. It was a blow job lesson or, more accurately, an hour-long exercise in embarrassing the bride-to-be with a series of photographic moments involving a banana, a condom and some whipped cream. I can't remember any useful tips from that session but I can recall the instructor advising us to use popping candy for added drama.
