FROM NOW ON (CUNNILINGUS)

Penniless and besieged with phone calls and letters from impatient creditors, Leon Tolstoy, the great Russian writer, had been forced to flee from his native country and ...Anyway, that's all I can remember reading one day. Besides, the point that I'm trying to make is that I would laugh myself silly at the thought of penny pinching Angu$ running away from his creditors, darting away as fast as a bullet bam! Ha, ha, ha! Um, well, not precisely because he was a terrific runner but simply because he was such a great miser. As a matter of fact, he was such a stingy and tight fisted bloke that everybody except spendthrift Madame, that is would call him by his nickname, which was $crooge. But then, sure, once or twice a week, everything would be a whole different ball game. Then the moment of truth would come more or less unannounced and before you knew it everyone except Madam, that is, who seemed to be perpetually squandering her husband's money and my God always gorgeously clad in expensive, upscale designer clothing had swiftly mutated into a bloody bootlicker. That's a fair price you charge for the rent, isn't it, Mr Smith? When what his tenants were really thinking was, You swine I hope it's not too long before your head turn as bald as a coot. Or, Why Mr Smith, it's you! When in reality what the postman, paper boy, and the greengrocer had in their minds was, You filthy greedy bastard, how I wish you'd never been born! What about me? I would just follow suit, and therefore, This week's bill for the milk and orange juice comes to 9.26, Mr Smith, when what I really wished was that that milk had contained a generous amount of some heavy-duty rat poison, pleease.

It stands to reason that once our stagy performance was over the curtains would come down. Naturally, it was back to $crooge this and $crooge that. Then with our duplicity neatly folded and tucked away in our pockets, we would go to our local pub where our badmouthing would continue. Everyone drank like a fish hic and sooner or later you would see me victoriously clambering up the table and doing my famous personification of him, saying things like ' Bah, humbug!' and 'A penny saved is a penny earned'. The next day at lunch time, and me still not having recovered from the other night's terrible hung over, we would feel the need for some inexplicable reason to go over some of the gems we had found about him. Not that the evidence had been gathered thanks to an unforgettable afternoon tea party at his place and consisting of the most wonderful assortment of teas and herbals from around the world, fresh home-made buttermilk biscuits, chocolate lady fingers and custard tarts. Yeah right! Because besides being a stingy and tight fisted bloke, he was also one of very few words. But there were a few secrets about his daily routine and personal life that we had been able to uncover all the same.

Angu$ was a man of habit. Every morning he woke up at around half past eight, turned on his sound system, which was older than Noah's ark, and blasted one of his many ACDC LP records. He happened to own the entire collection. Er, it happened to constitute the only one he possessed at all. With the bandleader's rusty voice, the lead guitarist's catchy guitar riffs, and the simple lyrics yet charged with rich sexual imagery, this Australian band had been a legend back in the 70s. Not that Angu$ cared about it. The sole reason he owed all of those records in the first place was because he had inherited them from his cousin and chess master, Charlie, the day this last had finally decided to embrace the 21st century and upgrade his entire collection to CDs.

Angu$ loved to go to the bank. After breakfast, and clad in his characteristic kitschy and gaudy second-hand clothes he had got dirt cheap at a local charity shop, he made his way to the bank, on the surface brimming with pride like an obedient pupil on his way to his first piano lessons, but in actual fact dribbling uncontrollably as if he were a hungry baby and the bank a giant boob. You see, a few years ago he had come into a generous inheritance from his paternal grandfather and so every morning he would go to the bank to ensure the famous seven-figure sum was still intact.

$crooge had nothing against slaving away at nickel-and-dime sort of jobs. Although obviously being in no real need for it, he kept a low paid weekend job as a night porter at a hotel situated in the middle of nowhere and about 1 hours away from where he lived. He was neither afraid of hard graft nor affected by the fact that he was sacrificing his weekends in returns for peanuts. On the contrary, Angu$ was absolutely over the moon about his job. To begin with, the hotel had access to both cable and satellite TV and that meant Wow because from now on he was going to be able to satiate his unquenchable thirst for late night American and British TV shows. For free. But Friday and Saturday night were also the only times in which his sexy wife, nicknamed by him Madame her spiffy haircut now waving at us and my God a full blossom woman just bursting out of her dress didn't need to use her oyster card.

One thing nobody knew about $crooge, though, is that, deep down, he had a heart. He was completely besotted with his wife, Dora, not only a bona fife Grade A stunner but also a sensitive woman who accepted him for whom he really was, warts and all. Surely enough, he was a real character and although during the day he played the role of the head honcho with great conviction, at the end of the day it always came down to her: Dora! Oh, Doora! Which is why this time I'm really going to make it up to you, believe me Dora. Let's turn it all around, my gorgeous Madame, ah your beady eyes and your pitch-dark hair! Come on, you know very well how the moment I spotted you at the bakery I fell head over heels in love with you and I swear that from now on everything is going to be different. Fair enough, I'm not much of a romantic but St. Valentine's Day is just around the corner and believe me when I tell you that this year is going to be a memorable one. Forget that pair of tickets I got you last year (er...tickets which I had gotten for free from one of my Air Miles programs). Forget that nice romantic home-made dinner I fixed you the year before that (er...dinner which I then had figured was bound to be less expensive than eating out).

While watching the telly in the wee hours of the morning last weekend at work his fingers flicking listlessly through all hundred or so channels, pressing the keys of the remote control as if they were the keys of his calculator he had come across a rather peculiar programme. It was called Absit invidia (Latin for 'no offence intended') and Dr Max Tirozzi, a scrawny Italian-American linguist and self-proclaimed sex expert in his sixties, hosted it.

(Music: An excerpt from Paganini's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra no. 1 in D Major, Third Movement a virtuoso solo violin passage is brought to an end by the character of the bell as it is imitated in the orchestra brings Absit invidia back from the commercial break).

'Uhemm...' Dr Tirozzi makes a guttural sound in an effort to clear his throat.

'Salve Latin for hello and welcome back. This programme's coming to you live all the way from sunny Miami Beach, Florida and before I move on, I'd like to share a precious thought with you. The Romans rightly used to say 'in vino veritas' There is truth in wine and let me tell you how much I have enjoyed sipping slowly at my glass of cold ros wine during this last commercial break. Now, without any further due, to your emails,' proclaims Dr Tirozzi, his elbows comfortably parked on his desk. Out of a stack of emails lying on his desk, he picks out two, adjusts his thick black-rimmed glasses against his aquiline nose, and begins to read them aloud in a tone of voice that is vehement as well as wise.

Dear Dr Max,

My husband is in his 50s and it seems nothing I say or do will ever make him change his mind. He says he won't perform oral sex on me because and I quote 'blood and pee come out of there'. What do you think I should do? Do you think I should give up the fight? I mean, according to the Chinese calendar it's the Year of the Dog and maybe you CAN teach an old dog new tricks, right?

Love your show!

Desperate wife in Los Angeles

Dear Dr Tirozzi,

My best friend says it's the Year of the Dog and I'm so excited about it! At long last I've got the perfect excuse to convince my husband to do it doggy style all year round! My question is: does is matter which way I'm facing in bed? You see, I'm a bona fide practitioner of the art of feng shui and I simply have to know.

Absit invidia rules!

Naughty girl in Alabama

'Uhum, well, to begin with, uhum, uhum, allow me to once again resort to that marvellous language used by some of the greatest minds of all time, including Horace, Ovid and even Asterix: 'Nil desperandum' - No reason for despair; never despair. And since 'Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur A wise man speaks little allow me to address the first email as concisely as possible.' Vehemently moving his large bony hands, he continued:

'This world of ours would be an entirely different place to live in if all women were given the attention and pleasure they rightly deserve! What is more, our world would be a much happier place if men dared to know the truth, dared to face the truth: the clitoris is every woman's ultimate core! Listen to me carefully: the clitoris is the secret key which unlocks the hidden door to her body and soul! I said: to her body and soul!'

At first, Angu$ could simply not believe his ears. He was completely shocked.

'Bullocks! What a load of rubbish!' he said to himself with a mixture of anger and disbelief. He was just about to change the channel when he heard the magic word.

'Uhum, to recap...' said Dr Tirozzi, staring at his audience with a frowning look, his erect index finger defiantly pointing at the camera as if ready to fire a shot at anything that got in its way.

'...You the sterner sex out there watching this programme: want to take a free advice from mee? He spoke in a lowered, confidential tone, in an attempt to add a new dimension to what he was about to make known.

'Allow me to...uhum...say it in Latin, the quintessential language of love: Cunnilingus...cunnilingus the oral stimulation of the vulva or clitoris I tell thee!'

There, the self-proclaimed sex expert had spoken and it was only then that everything began slowly to fall into place inside Angu$'$ stingy mind. He was thrilled to bits.

When the evening of St Valentine's Day finally arrived Angu$ and Madame's bedroom could not have been hotter. It was a room on fire and dimly lit at the same time. Nonetheless, it was dim enough to discern the wrinkled and worn out price tag which was dangling from the tall floor lamp Angu$ had got dirt-cheap from a local charity shop a few months ago.

He was over the moon: oh he had been blessed with the perfect gift for his gorgeous Madame! And...and...I swear that from now on everything is going to be different Dora, he said to himself as he clumsily pulled down the blinds with a big grin on his face. Mustering all his strength and courage, he took off his clothes with a sense of determination he had never experienced before. Then he valiantly positioned himself in the middle of the room, his naked body facing the bedroom door. Now, I am ready. Oh, yes, you bet I am. Er, which I guess is why I can hear my heart and ears pounding boom boom boom and...and...the sound of Madame's high heels on the stairs clicking click click click. I'm telling you, the moment she comes in, zaaas, everything will go according to plan, especially after those great lines he had been lucky enough to get his hands on thanks to that wonderful programme called Absit invidia, lines such as 'Baby, tonight I'm going to give you the ride of your life' and 'O! Plus! Perge! Aio! Hui! Hem!' Oh! More! Go on! Yes! Ooh! Ummm! Angu$ was standing there in the middle of the room and in the altogether, covering his manhood with a bight red rose he had pinched from his neighbour's garden, when Madam abruptly opened the door.

'You alright honey? You might catch a chill.'

'Ahhh...Dora, there's something I have to tell you...but...but...I just don't know how...'

' Honey, is that a rose you are holding between your legs?'

'Ouch! Er, yes. Do you...do you know what day it is today?'

'Angu$ Smith, I must say don't recognize you at all.'

'It's St Valentine's day...a very special day as you will know...and...and...'

'Oh, honey! That's soo sweeet of you.'

'Well...but...oh, hang on a sec. I forgot the music!' he said to her as he dashed to his old sound system, put on an ACDC LP and cranked up the volume.

('Highway to Hell' lyrics)

Living easy, living FREE

Season ticket on a one-way ride

Ask nothing, leave me be

Taking everything in my stride

Don't need reason, don't need rhyme

Ain't nothing I would rather do

Going down, party time

My friend are gonna be there too

CHORUS:

I'm on the highway to hell

Dora cupped her hands to her mouth and in the midst of all the confusion generated by that loud noise shouted:

'H-O-N-E-Y, I THOUGHT WE WERE CELEBRATING ST VALENTINE'S DAY!'

'Whaaat! I can't hear you!' replied before turning down the volume.

'Shit. Wrong track!' he said as he clumsily changed the record.

(You Shook Me All Night Long' lyrics)

She told me to cum but I was already there

'Cause the walls start shaking

The earth was quaking

My mind was aching

And we were makin' it and you

CHORUS:

Shook me all night long

Yeah you shook me all night long

'H-O-N-E-Y, I THOUGHT WE WERE CELEBRATING ST VALENTINE'S DAY!

'What's wrong honey?'

'Can't you see what you are doing? You ruining it!'

'Honey, but I thought you liked this band.' he replied, gyrating his hips to the music.

'Angu$ Smith! Why do you always have to be such an anti-romantic fool!'

It was now or never, he said to himself.

'Dora, I...I...I'm absolutely gagging for it.'

'Whaaat!' retorted Dora not believing what she had just heard.

He heard his voice telling her out of its own volition:

'And...and...Honey, tonight I'm going to give you the ride of your life.'

One minute later she found herself lying on their queen size bed the same way she had been brought into this decadent world of ours: sinless, uninhibited and in perfect harmony with mother earth. In short: butt naked. Strategically positioned in front of a full-length Italian design mirror Angu$ had grumpily fitted onto her mahogany wardrobe, she took all the time in the world to gaze at the sensual glory of her reflection. Lost in contemplation, she said to herself that she was, at long last, in full command of her throne. She ran her fingers along her smooth alabaster curves, first along her gorgeous waist, and then along her full and fleshy rounded hips. As soon as her Barbie doll hands had reached the tender contour of her divine ass, she decided to pause for a moment. That's when the interrogation began.

'Darling, what do you think of this wide load of mine?'

'Um...I...I...don't know what...what...exactly you mean by that.'

'I mean what do you think of my peachy bum?'

'Oh, that. Oh, well, I think...it's just beau...beau-ti-ti-tiful.'

'Ha,ha,ha. You're so funny honey! You really crease me up!'

'Oh, I see.'

'And what about my Naughty Little Boys?' she asked cupping her hands and placing them under her breats.

'Naughty what?'

'I mean Lulu and Lala'

'Naughty Lalas?'

'Nope. Billy and Bob'

'Oh God please don't harrow me no more.'

'Ha, ha, ha. Honey, are you blind? Don't you think my boobies are beautiful? I think guys are infatuated with my breasts. They always stare at them.'

'Um, oh, I see. Er...you meant...'

She then gave him a smouldering look and said:

'It's time for your fingers to do the talking baby.'

Five minutes later, Angu$ found himself flicking his tongue in and out of his wife's clitoris like a tiny lost snake. Needless to say, Madame was in cloud nine, breathing heavily, giving little gasps of delight, moaning and moaning. Then suddenly, Angu$ stopped. Obfuscated by a totally unexpected and rather unpleasant smell, he raised his head and asked:

'Er, honey, you had any sushi...I mean...stale...sushi for lunch today?'

'Whaaat?' retorted Dora in a feeble and almost inaudible tone which was brought to an end by a little moan.

'What about clam chowder? You had any of that today?' he asked again, and as there was no answer he saw no other choice left but to back down again, not without thinking on the way 'Ah, well'.

And by the way, just in case you are wondering what the moral of this at times rather smutty little tale actually is, well, just hang on in there, sit tight, because we're almost there. And I guess this is it, our hero said to himself as he smiled a contented smile. He walked to the bathroom, yawning and stretching his arms widely, humming one of his favourite ACDC tunes. He opened the cold tap and took a brief look in the mirror, mechanically and without expecting anything unusual. With the precision of a Swiss made watch, his mouth dropped opened and only then his eyes bugged out. He was horrified at what he saw: his lips and chin were smeared with blood. And there was no point in beating around the bush: he truly looked like a disoriented clown. Angu$ raised his arms above his head and screamed:

'BUGGER ME! I'M BLEEDING TO DEATH!

'Oh, honey. There is just one teeny weeny detail I forgot to mention.' replied Dora from the comfort of her bed.

'I SAID I'M FUCKIN' BLEEDING TO DEATH!' he kept hollering and stamping on the floor.

But hoots of laughter were all he could hear from her.

'Oh, honey, I forgot to tell you I have the curse!' and added before cracking up again, 'God, you really crease me up!'

'Bloody hell! All I wanted was to save myself a few quid and ride along her holy of holies and look where I ended up: in bloody holy week!'