My friends and I have a tradition ? every year we give each other presents to a value of about $50.00, but we don’t tell each other who it’s from ? even years later. One year, there were five of us, plus five boyfriends, in the Kris Kringle draw.

When I got my best friend Katie in the draw, who lately had been acting weird and nasty towards me, I set out to find her an el crappo present in $2.00 shops.

At the same time, my boyfriend Paul had started to avoid me. He would only come for dinner or invite me to his house on Sunday nights.

When it was the day to exchange gifts, I suggested that everyone should come over to my house where I would put up a little Christmas tree.

After everyone had put their presents under the tree, I said that we should open them tomorrow because I had a Christmas party idea. In an attempt to get my boyfriend’s attention, I suggested that all the girls come as Santa’s little helpers while all the guys come as elves. This was greeted with very enthusiastic response!

Later that day, I bought a sexy Santa’s little helper dress. Then at night, I thought about the presents and which one was mine. So, I crept out of bed and carefully went through them all. One of the presents was from my boyfriend Paul to Katie. And it had a saucy love letter attached! I couldn’t believe it. Paul was cheating on me with Katie. But I had to find out for sure whether the letter was a joke or not.

Having bought Katie some crappy chocolate for part of her present, I opened up the box and thought of what to put in it. Then I remembered ? I had been trying to go green for the environment. So I went out into the garden and brought back several worms from my compost heap.

They squished perfectly into the chocolates, which I then wrapped up so no one would be the wiser.

The next day, we exchanged presents. Katie, being a chocolate lover, started eating hers straight away ? without noticing the worms! Having received a beautiful gold bracelet myself, I was in an extra happy mood.

When I went up to put my bracelet away in my room, I heard muffled sex noises. I slowly opened the door and saw Katie, in her Santa’s little helper dress, on top of Paul!

So, my suspicions were confirmed. I was thankful that I had put the worms into Katie’s chocolates, but I still had to think of something for Paul. Then I remembered what someone did for revenge in another true confession I’d read!

Paul had a swimming pool, so I poured half a bottle of Chlorine in it. It worked like a charm. A few days later, I saw Paul and Katie with a nasty rash.

I called Paul and left a message that our relationship was over. Paul called me back and said he had been cheating on me. I forgave him, but the relationship didn’t work. So now I’m single and ready to mingle!

Names in this story have been changed.

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My husband Don and I had been married for almost 10 years when our relationship and our lives were changed irrevocably.

We married young — I was only 18 and Don was 19 when we tied the knot. We were very much in love — more with the idea of being in love than each other, in hindsight. But the first few years were great.

We both had good jobs that paid well and we weren’t in a great rush to have kids so we had a lot of disposable income. We travelled overseas — often spending months at a time in France and Italy as well as South East Asia and other exotic places. We surprised each other with gifts on a regular basis and we enjoyed all the spontaneity that life had to offer us.

That was until our luck started to run out. It began with Don losing his job. He always swore blind to me that it was due to the company falling on hard times, but I was told later that it was linked to a sexual harassment allegation against Don that the company wanted to quash as quickly as possible. Either way, it meant that our comfortable joint income was slashed.

We still managed on my salary but it times were a lot tighter. Don didn’t seem too eager to get another job and this caused tension between us. The stress got so bad that what started out as a couple of drinks with the girls on a Friday night to ‘vent’ became a full-blown drinking problem and I also lost my job.

I was at my wits’ end. One night, while in a teary mess, I called my best friend Sandra and went over to her place. I stayed the night and awoke to find her kissing a man goodbye at the front door. When I said that I didn’t know she was seeing someone, she laughed at me.

“That wasn’t a date,” she explained. “That was a client. I had him booked before you showed up so I couldn’t cancel on him.”

I wasn’t as shocked as curious. And my reaction surprised me more than finding out that one of my good friends was an escort girl.

“How much do you make a week?” I asked.

“I can make anything up to $5000 without really working too hard,” she replied in an off-handed way.

I soon realised that I envied this independent and fairly wealthy woman that I had hardly known at all over the years we’d been friends.

Before I knew it, I was swept up in a world of money and prestige that far outweighed anything I’d known before. I had my drinking under control and I felt better than ever.

Sandra was a great guide into the world of the escort and she was good enough to pass on some of her more approachable clients to me until I got used to things and built a client base of my own. I was surprised (after muddling through my first couple of appointments fairly clumsily) how matter-of-fact it all became.

I was earning twice what Don and I had made combined and I felt no real guilt about it. My clients were faithful and respectful gentlemen, not the grimy perverts that I imagined when I’d thought of call girls before I discovered Sandra’s secret.

Some of my clients just wanted to cuddle and talk for an hour or more and I really felt as though I was helping people in some small way. I worked out of hotel rooms and, with some of my more trusted clientele, out of their own homes.

I was given expensive jewellery at Christmas or sometimes for no reason at all and I was often taken to the best Sydney restaurants and events that only the very wealthy ever experience.

I told Don that I had landed a business consulting job working mainly with entrepreneurial types which is why I was on call day and night to cater to their every whim. He had no complaints as he no longer needed to even pretend to look for work.

New clients would only become aware of me via word of mouth. My business card was only to be passed on to trusted colleagues of my existing client base. Even then, my card said “Conveyancer” on it. The potential client would then email me at an address that I had set up for clients only, using terms such as: “I would like to make an appointment to discuss the sale of my property” and we would go from there.

One night, I received an email from my first new client in some time. I wasn’t really looking for any new business but he sounded sweet and polite and I thought, “Why not?” I was to meet him at a well-known hotel overlooking Hyde Park.

He had given me the room number, and I always dress to fit into the places I’m sent to, so I just glided right through the foyer and up to the room.

When I knocked on the door this particular night, I heard the man inside shout, “Won’t be a sec”. My stomach lurched.

I ran back around to the lifts and carefully peeked around the corner to see the man I’d married 10 years before appear at the door!

He looked this way and that for the escort girl he’d ordered — the one who just happened to be me on this night.

I wondered how many others there’d been and the cynical voice in the back of my head laughed at the fact that I’d funded my husband’s infidelity with my own.

Neither of us has confronted the other about that night. Whether Don ever found out that he had contacted his own wife for a clandestine meeting I don’t know. I’m still working, though somewhat less these days. Don has since moved out and, funnily enough, he’s working as a conveyancer!

Names in this story have been changed.

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I married young, and unfortunately realised too late that I had married the wrong person. My husband, who had been sweet and kind while we were going out, didn’t seem to want a wife; he wanted a slave! And every day, that’s what I felt I had become.

The more I did for Ray, the more he demanded, until it seemed that, between the hours of housework he insisted I do every day, and the elaborate meals he wanted me to cook, I didn’t have time for anything else. My social life dwindled, and by our first wedding anniversary, I was absolutely miserable.

I was too afraid to leave as I feared the consequences, for Ray was a very angry man. He hadn’t hit me yet, but his cruel threats and financial imprisonment were just as debilitating. And his family were even worse.

Knowing Ray’s parents, it was easy to see where he got his personality traits from. Nothing he did was ever good enough for them, and nothing I did came even close. They seemed to be at our house all the time, checking up on their son’s wife, and Ray would almost have anxiety attacks over his mother’s pending approval of my cooking and cleaning.

He never seemed to care how I might feel about her constant criticism. If she didn’t like what I had cooked, I was sure to get a serving of his most vicious insults once they had gone. If she did approve, he would claim to have prepared most of it himself.

The worst incident in our marriage was the first Christmas lunch, which I had to prepare. I was a nervous wreck as I basted the turkey, roasted the potatoes and glazed the enormous ham, all without any help, and it showed in the cooking. The food was either overcooked or undercooked as I rushed around in a state of panic, trying to make sure everything was perfect. In front of everyone, Ray said Christmas was ruined, and that it was all my fault. Nobody disagreed.

For 12 months, I awaited the next Christmas with a growing sense of dread. I pleaded with Ray to ask one of his sisters to help me, or for him to help me himself, but he refused, and sneeringly told me I’d better do a better job than I had last year. Then he told me that he wasn’t going to buy me a present until after Christmas, all based on how I did preparing the Christmas lunch.

I knew that Ray would find fault with whatever I did, and that this was just his way of getting out of spending any money on me — when he wouldn’t even give me two cents to buy the things I needed for myself. Something inside me snapped. For the first time, I knew I was going to leave my husband. But first, I was going to make his whole wretched family pay!

A few days before Christmas, Ray came home with a bag of fresh prawns.

“Cook these for entrée, and make sure they’re tasty!” Ray snapped. I nodded silently, forming my plan. I would make them tasty alright. So tasty with chilli they wouldn’t be able to taste anything else for a week!

The same day, I snuck out to a local delicatessen and asked for the hottest variety of chillies they had, and I bought a whole bag. I ground them up in blender, seeds and all, to make a fiery red paste. I would marinate the prawns in this concoction until Christmas, setting some chilli paste aside to add after the cooking as well! I couldn’t wait to see the look on Ray ‘s family’s faces as their tongues were set on fire.

Christmas day arrived, and nothing Ray or his parents said could dampen my spirits, which seemed to make them try even harder because they were ruder and more critical than ever. Beaming with joy, I carried out the steaming plate of chilli prawns, and waited with baited breath. But nothing happened.

“These are actually quite good,” Ray father announced, praise that would have thrilled me once, but today only sickened me with disappointment.

“A little on the hot side,” his mother agreed, “But overall better than anything else you’ve ever cooked. Was this your idea, Ray?”

With a sinking heart, I slunk out to the kitchen to prepare the next course. I was still going to leave Ray, but I would never have the revenge I craved for nearly two years of misery. Or so I thought.

For you see, the strong taste of the chillies also masked the fact that the prawns themselves were not quite right. I’d been concentrating so hard on their marinading, I’d forgotten that they wouldn’t keep in the fridge for quite as long as I’d had them there.

Even before they went home, Ray and his family were racing to the bathroom in what would become two full days of food poisoning. And it was while Ray was in the bathroom that I left, never to return again!

Even though Ray took the credit for the prawns, I’m sure I got the blame for the entire family getting sick, but I wasn’t around to find out. However, it still makes me laugh to think that, though unintentional in the end, I got the best revenge of all by ruining their Christmas lunch for real!

Names in this story have been changed. Picture: Getty Images, posed by model.

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