After guzzling oysters, he invited me to the drawing room for an armagnac. A roaring fire roared in the hearth. It was a hearthy fire.

I became dizzy as I walked around, contemplating all the priceless artefacts in the room. All the while he stood in front of the fire, looking me up and down. He did shift position occasionally to avoid singing his powerful buttocks but not enough to distract my attention from the opulent vista.

Suddenly I came a cropper, tumbling backwards over his elegant 15th century chaise longue. It was impossibly soft! My bottom became wedged between two musty cushions but the champagne made me powerless to resist. Or to dislodge the coins which had become embedded in my cleft.

He stood there, contemplating me. My Manolo Blahniks dangled in mid-air as he approached.

Without warning, he whipped them off and threw them over his manly rippling shoulder. They hit his shelf-like muscular bottom on the way down before hitting his freshly-waxed parquet floor with a kah-wallop sound.

My feet were clad only in my Hungarian fishnets. Without warning he began to nibble on them. My head tilted back in sheer ecstacy. Sweet nectar flooded my mouth.

Fuck! I had forgotten my headcold. I did a quick reverse-snort and just got away with it.

Suddenly he stopped. My toes wiggled feebly in protest. A low, guttural moan escaped my deep red lips. He seemed to be chewing on something.

Fuck! I had forgotten my corns.

I covered my face in my fur coat. He exited the residence via the window, operating his jetpack which he kept under his Bolivian tuxedo. My diamond-encrusted Dolce & Gabbana phone rang.

Fuck! I had forgotten to pick up my cat.