First, a template change. That orange was whipping me.

My mate and I decided on a new game recently. In it, we award each other points on the basis of theoretical sexual rendezvous. Sort of like the Top 5 list in "Friends". Basically, we decided to award points on the following, should one or the other of us get the chance to sleep with them:

**-1 point if we are able to shag a famous actor/actress, sports star, or minor royalty (this brought about debate. We decided Prince Charles is minor royalty. That, and absolutely unlikely to have sex with me. I said I suspected he would be more likely to have sex with my mate than with me, and he replied that I am being uncharitable. Be that as it may, I suspect Charlie is a bit of a perv.)

**2 points if we bed the heads of state or major royalty. For example, if I were to do Dub-ya then I get two points, according to my mate. And he is sure I would do George. However, I am absolutely adamant that I am more likely to have sex with a beach umbrella than entertain George into my dining hall-and I feel the beach umbrella would have more charisma than George, anyway. (note: before you blitz me with mails about my lack of patriotism, be advised I am only talking about George's sex appeal. Something which he does not need as head of state. I hope, anyway). Now my mate is super-keen on the idea of doing Queen Elizabeth. Not that it would be a fulfilling sexual experience, but just to be able to say "I have had sex with the Queen of England." As he says, "That's one hell of an impressive notch in the bedpost."

We agreed the Queen is a big deal, and he can even have 3 points for her. Top caliber.

You get minus points if you have sex with any of the women from Destiny's Child (this was my determination, since I hate their music so much). And minus points for Bill Clinton. After all, he has been done. All this, and I am a Democrat, too.

Of course, this is all well and good, but will it ever be put into play? Not sure, but I remain hopeful (after all, my dream of getting knobbed by John Cusack will grant me one whole point!) But it has let me venture into more Mitty-ism. I think my number one option (after Mr. Cusack, that is), is Tony Blair. He's a two-pointer, after all.

That's right. I would have sex with Tony Blair. Skewer me at your will, but there is something ridiculously screwable about him. He seems like the kind of guy that can go for a proper spanking. I even have it pictured.

We are at a posh dinner event. Her Majesty is in attendance (and possibly even being hit on by my mate. I am nothing if not generous). I am wearing a lovely black evening gown. Tony Baby is in a tux and tails.

He sidlesup close to me, a gin and tonic in hand. "Hello Gorgeous." he whispers to me.
I see much gray in his hair up close, and it endears him to me. "Hi Tony." Why should I call him Prime Minister? After all, he dispensed with the formalities and went straight for the adjectives as nouns.
"I must tell you, I've been watching you from across a crowded room, and I can't take my eyes off you." he says softly.
"Tony my love, you have GOT to stop reading tragic Russian novels. Lines like that never work."
He looks flummoxed, and then gathers himself up again, taking a sip of his gin and tonic. He smells like Pimms. "OK, then what would work with you?" He looks deep into my eyes. "Don't you understand? I simply must have you. I saw you from across the room, with the elegant neck, the startling eyes, and the child-bearing hips."
"Are you analyzing me for my reproductability?" I reply. This turns me on slightly. How primal, trying to scatter seeds in all fertile grounds.
"Well, I notice these things." he says uncomfortably. "Please, forgive my lack of formality, but I need you. I must have you."
I nod. "How long has it been since you have had sex, Tones?"
"Seven weeks and two days. And even then I only had perfunctory sex with the Missus. I feel the need to test-drive a new model, if you know what I mean."
I nod and take his hand, leading him out of the room. We head upstairs, and an armed guard gives us a glance as he settles outside the bedroom door. I like to think he is envious of Tony.
Tony takes his coat off and attempts to flatten his ears against his head. He lays me back on the bed and looks into my eyes. He reaches into a pocket and takes out a pair of furry pink handcuffs. "Shall I begin, or shall you?" he whispers.
Oh. So it's like that, is it? I can see that if I am at all going to get an orgasm out of this, I shall have to "help myself."
"And I am not sure if we will need these darling, but I brought these, too." he says, and produces a stalk of celery, a mini-massager, and a feather duster.
That's fine. At least he's a 2 pointer.

-H.

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