Reticent Romeo

Some girls merit a second glance and others may even get a third but i have always been most impressed by the girl that requires just one look and one look alone: that mesmerising girl who, once spotted, you simply cannot tear your eyes away from.

A long lingering look that fans the flames of ardent infatuation and leaves me floundering like a sorely impassioned flatfish, dangling like a besotted worm from her casuaully baited hook of shimmering romance.

She pretends not to notice my sudden, smitten paralysis and blissfully continues to look more gorgeous than anything i have ever seen in my entire life with such a seemingly effortless manner that i begin to wonder if she might be just a beautiful figment of my fertile imagination.

She doesn't return my entreating looks and seemingly remains coolly oblivious and wholly aloof, forever an angelic stranger in my grubby little universe.

Endless though it seems as i stare, an unbroken torment of sweetly seething agony, the moment disappears before a single word of introduction can be formed within my constricted throat with which to charm and impress her.

She quietly goes on her way and i remain dumbfounded and tongue-tied long afterwards, almost shrivelling up like a shamefaced slug in my perspiring inadequacy and burning embarrassment.

Silky Sorceress

A woman, any woman, wields her ultimate magical powers to their fullest effect upon the passions of her chosen prey when clad in the mysteriously potent garments of eroticism and fleshly witchcraft, namely her very finest lingerie.

She deploys these most precious of frillies and sheerest of silkies with artful expertise and strategic cunning at precisely the right moment to over-ride the bamboozled male brain, allowing her free reign to strike while his iron's hot.

Whether they be skimpy or scanty, classy or saucy, these flimsy material intoxicants complete her triumphant moment of empowerment and steal the spoils of victory that she has been scheming for all along.

Wearing her favourite lingerie she feels the tingling thrill of her own awesome presence, supremely confident that heads will turn wherever she goes and that men will fall to their knees in stunned admiration and desire.

She remembers how excited she once was at seeing the best Christmas present ever all wrapped-up and ready to explore then smiles safe in the knowledge that, multiplied by a million, that's exactly how he feels as she casually saunters into the room.

Yes, she wears her gorgeous underwear purely for herself and the bedroom wizardry it affords her but the trembling victim falls willingly beneath her spell with an overwhelming relish to meet his hotly anticipated fate.

Katarina The Great

When gorgeous skating Olympian Katarina Witt took her place on the Dancing On Ice judges panel this year, i quickly became mesmerised by her many fold attractions and attributes, quickly becoming an avid fan.

There is, of course, her expert status as a sporting world champion and gold medallist, her forthright views, good looks and sexy German accent but it was neither of these that bowled me over like a slavering hound when first i spied her.

She sat there so proud and upright in her dangerously plunging neckline that i was hers from the word go and as she later said herself: Autsch,didn´t think my outfits would make such big news.

Seldom have i been so completely transfixed by such a magnificent display of sumptuous cleavage as my eyes encountered that evening and never have i felt such crushing disappointment as when i read that she had suddenly vowed to henceforth restrain her beautifully buoyant bustiness.

She playfully tweeted before the Valentine's edition, Love,Love,Love is in the air on DOI tonight & I promise I won´t distract the romance with my outfit.

Katarina's cover up is almost a scandalous crime against nature itself and should be reversed without further delay. As it says in the Ten Commandments: If you've got it, flaunt it so i feel compelled to urge the wondrous Miss Witt to do the decent thing and once again show us all exactly what she's got as my very sanity may depend on it.

An Udder World

When i chanced upon that sweet young maid straddling her milking stool and pulling at a very fine set of udders indeed i couldn't help but remark more than favourably upon her natural girlish expertise and steady dexterity.

Not in the least put out by my sudden intrusion, she flashed me a radiant smile and thanked me kindly for my welcome observation without a moments interruption to her hearty activity.

I must confess that although i found great pleasure in watching her nimble and rhythmic fingers at work i also felt a secret tinge of longing to become the deeply satisfied recipient of her artful talents.

It almost seemed that she could read my racing thoughts like a penny romance because it was at that very moment that she smiled once more and asked if i should like to experience the intriguing process for myself.

Faced with such a welcome offer from such a charming little creature as this then the blissful outcome of our fleeting encounter was already assured...as we reluctantly parted later that golden afternoon, the pretty maid wore her customary smile of bashful cheekiness while i wore the silly grin of one who has sampled and enjoyed a thrilling glimpse into an udder world.

Shaven Not Furred

There is an old country saying around these parts which goes I like my martini shaven, not furred, an expression much repeated and respected by all who see the earthy wisdom within those few pertinent words.

Your martini is your own business, of course, and whether it's as clean as a whistle or as bristly as a yard broom is purely a matter of personal choice although i myself subscribe to the smoothly immaculate rather than the wild and unruly.

Some of us, i suppose, are born adventurers at heart and prefer the more feral side of life.

The gates of paradise, in my humble opinion, are not something to be concealed or obscured beneath layers of dense foliage which can do nothing except interfere with the gleaming majesty and splendour of their true natural beauty.

Sadly, others might ask why they ought to tend their garden so lovingly when nobody ever comes to admire it anyway.

In summary, i would like to say that when i sit down to dessert, i would much rather it were deliciously creamy and smooth and adorned with neither the tufts nor clumps that might otherwise spoil a truly gourmet feast.

Roxy Mitchell, Soap Babe Supreme

Bursting with an unfettered admiration and high regard, it is with great pride that i announce the gorgeous Rita Simons as my all-time number one Soap Babe for her captivating role as hair-brained Roxy Mitchell from Eastenders.

When i think of darling Roxy i picture not only those blonde locks, stunning blue eyes and shapely curves nor just that cheeky smile and flighty ways but also her lovably softer, more vulnerable and often insececure side.


She might well be remembered as adventurous and unpredictable, charming and funny but her eminently watchable screen persona will forever command a special place in my heart where she will always reign as my personal Soap Babe Supreme. 

It has always been the case that if she is in shot, even if someone else is supposed to be taking centre stage, my eyes lovingly linger and dwell upon Roxy and Roxy alone.

Who could ever forget the summer of 2007 when the legendary Mitchell sisters, Ronnie and Roxy, first swept into Walford like a pair of ravishing blonde tornadoes?

And great times such as Roxy's legendary wedding to Sean Slater, the true love of her life, where she looked both breathtaking and impishly naughty at the same time...storming the doctor's surgery in that memorably cheeky pink nurses uniform...all those blazing rows, all those dirty little laughs, all those tears and fond memories far too numerous to mention.

Knowing Roxy has been a genuine delight and pleasure, following her rollercoaster life with the warmest affection; times of happiness and times of sorrow but always bejewelled with special moments of magic gifted by the character of Roxy and the wonderful actress herself, Rita Simons.

The Vicar's Naughty Daughter

As in impressionable young man i was always told to keep well away from the Vicar's naughty daughter, a girl who enjoyed a very bad reputation in the village despite her father's interminable Sunday School lessons strictly forbidding the pleasures of the flesh and the lustful paths of temptation.

So i dutifully kept my distance even though confused by the explanation that she was supposedly such a bad girl purely because she gave all the boys exactly what they wanted, which seemed a very great virtue indeed to me.

Our paths crossed in the lane one evening and she shamelessly flashed her knickers at me before laughing merrily and sauntering off into the sunset, leaving me to wonder if i truly had witnessed such an impertinent display and just why it made me tingle so.

You wouldn't recognise her now, of course, she is a totally different kettle of fish entirely.

Having sown her wild oats far and wide, much to the saintly Vicar's despair, she eventually matured into a fine, upstanding young lady and married a vicar of her own in due course, becoming such a paragon of righteousness that her former self seemed never to have existed at all.

And while many a man might have enjoyed a better aquaintance with her wayward youth, i still remain slightly starstruck by her elusive mystique and inwardly treasure that fleeting knicker flash from all those years ago as a small but far from insignificant token of cheeky affection from her to me.

Slice Of Spice

If girls were as easily customised as pizza then we could always enjoy our favourite temptation to our own precise, mouthwatering specifications which could simply be altered or modified whenever our changeable fancy demanded.

Come saturday night you may be in the mood for something tasty with a thick base, juicy filling and fiery topping, freshly delivered to your door piping hot and just begging to be devoured with passion and desire.

And a little bit of what you fancy does you good, so they say, something spicy enough to raise the temperature and tickle the tastebuds to the edge of insanity.

Something exotic one week, something rather more homeley the next...depending what one craves at the time but each variety would be deeply satisfying, a thought to really get the juices flowing.

The only word of warning being that you should never bite off more than you can chew, which also applies to the ladies as they'll eagerly be choosing between seven-inch, nine-inch and twelve-inch meat feasts.

The Squoob

Fashion is a brainless bird which flies around in ever decreasing circles but as seasonal hemlines rise and fall we are at last truly gladdened to meet again with our dear old historical friend, The Squoob. 

A welcome reappearance indeed from the squashed boob effect so beloved in romantic period dramas as sported by lovelorn heroines with flowing locks, heaving bosoms and palpitating hearts.

With the help of a handmaiden's knee in the back, the corset strings are drawn suffocatingly tight and The Squoob is duly formed as the bursting bustline is restrained almost beyond belief until it becomes a quite breathtaking feat of civil engineering.

Even the most modestly endowed young lady can squash and squeeze herself half to death and proudly boast an eye-catching cleavage to instill passionate desire into the hearts of those who behold her.    

When a pretty maiden parades The Squoob to perfection, she may rest assured that she commands the male attention wherever she goes with the veiled promise that so much as the most innocuous sneeze will bring the whole lot tumbling out before our very eyes like a heavenly avalanche.

Which is perhaps why, in bygone days, gentlemen and scoundrels alike carried little boxes of snuff around with them at all times.