Overnight thunder, lightning and torrential rain kept Timothy Michaelmas-Daisy MP PC* awake, as did Fenella Cholmondeley-Featherstonehaugh, the first – and probably only – woman Tim had ever spent a night with and, although he had only a perfunctory knowledge of heterosexual relations, gleaned mainly from his early reading in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Fenella had experience, desire and a combination of superior size, weight and strength, to be able to overcome his lack of those, and ensure that her needs were met; surprisingly, for him, there was considerable pleasure in being able to satisfy her – it was a change from Julian or Sandy, and also – and more particularly – Kristof, his regular partner of the past three years: Kristof was a barman in The Hispaniola Club, an immigrant from Poland who lived in Brixton with his West Indian wife and their five children, and he treated Tim in bed as he would a woman, which Tim, secretly, found both demeaning and deliciously satisfying, because it enabled him to let go of his pretensions to any aspect of manliness and simply enjoy being the recipient of what he supposed was love – something never alluded to in his family, since his father had died when Tim was five, "of a heart attack at the hands of Mistress Whiplash," as Tim's mother used to refer to the incident, in a bitter, fellifluous voice, and he was then packed of to his first Prep School, assuming that he was being punished for some reason, never explained, like Josef K in The Trial – rather than duty; he had been nervously excited on the first occasion when, after a rather late night at the Club, Kristof came home with him – calling his wife and telling her that he was working at an all-night Poker School – and Tim caught his first sight of the Pole's penis: even in repose, nestled in the extravagant curls of his pubic hair, it was much larger than Tim's own could achieve even when erect, although that was only ever managed after laborious masturbation by someone else and not many people cared enough to expend the energy, so when he was straddled by Kristof and it grew to it's full engorgement, it quite took his beath away – literally! through time, Tim had accepted that his only true role in sex was to be accommodating, to be a vessel into which was poured – or, rather, shot – the ambrosia produced by Kristof''s hyperactive balls, two billiard-sized organs which, depending on his position, either battered Tim's chin or his buttocks; but Fenella was quite another matter altogether: she knew nothing of Tim's private (that is, sexual) life; he was not as flamboyantly gay as Quentin, who made no secret of his husband, Dan, but nor did he pursue any of the secretaries as some of the more louche Cabinet Minsters were wont to do, so he had acquired a shroud of mystery and it was this that Fenella tore away; by the time she had used, or even exploited, Tim's cock, he was utterly spent and when she rolled off him and settled her bulk against him, Tim was in a welter of confused emotions and had no time to reflect when Fenella started giggling, but he was greatly relieved when she asked: "did you hear Boris's Acronym, for Dunkirk, Unite, Defeat, and Energize? it's such a shame that he can't even say Dude, without pronouncing it as Jude! seems his Mojo just ain't workin' right, hee hee! he's such a hapless quakebuttock, maybe now he's at Number 10 someone'll get a safety-pin to his shirt-tail, stop it blowing in the wind, ha ha ha," and they both dissolved in laughter.