The Ardour You Get

Well, it’s been an interesting old week, what with an American billionaire presidential candidate suddenly being declared more dangerous than ISIS or Jeremy Corbyn. And a world champion British sportsman attracting opprobrium for daring to have the wrong opinions. It’s become quite a confusing world; while those whose bile is quick to rise have no problem with the gross hypocrisies of their stances, the rest of us are left scratching our heads at what has become verboten which was formerly ignored. Indeed our supposed leaders no longer lead, instead relying on increasingly flaky barometers of approval before coming to decisions.

Obviously the numbers of people coming in to Britain has to be controlled but foreigners are all off limits for one reason or another – too poor, too brown, too islamic, too European to be subject to scrutiny – so, white British passport holders it is; don’t go on holiday unless you are prepared to pay people traffickers to smuggle you back home... where, of course , you will not be able to return to work as you will have become the wrong type of illegal immigrant to be offered amnesty. These are confusing times and in the confusion it is little wonder people are losing their way. For some the stress is beginning to affect their everyday lives.

A couple I know had become virtually estranged as a result of no longer knowing what is acceptable, he tiptoeing around the ever-vigil, politically correct HR department in fear of his job and she tiptoeing around her increasingly morose husband as he withdrew more and more from the normal business of being a husband. In particular, she confided to her doctor, she was concerned that despite being only in their early forties their love life had fallen off a cliff. No more spontaneous flowers, no more romantic mystery gifts and it had been many months since they had made love. The doctor was not unfamiliar with the condition and prescribed a new, trial version of a popular sexual pick-me-up, guaranteed to make your male ‘ardour’.

In liquid form, it was colourless, odourless and tasteless and ideally added to a drink, the doctor advised, it would quickly bring about the desired effect. Pick your moment, he suggested, find a time when he is relaxed and off his guard and just go with how the mood takes him. She left with the small vial of liquid safely tucked into the change pocket of her purse, a thrill of anticipation in her breast and began to plan her campaign. A week later she returned to the doctor to request another dose.

“Oh, doctor” she enthused, “it was like old times. He was like a lion!” The doctor was suitably impressed as he wrote out a prescription for a regular supply. “And did he suspect that this sudden new awakening of desire was anything but natural?” he enquired “Studies have shown that the effects are somewhat subdued if the patient is aware he has been administered a stimulus.” She shook her head, “He had no idea, doctor. I waited until we were at dinner then, when he nipped off to the toilet, I put the drops in his drink. When he came back it was only a matter of minutes before his mood changed. He took my hands, stared into my eyes, then threw me across the table and we made beautiful, passionate love right there and then!”  

The doctor smiled as he signed and handed over the prescription. “Right there, on the table?” he asked. “Yes,” she replied, “he just swept the dishes onto the floor and then he was on me. We went at it like animals for what seemed like hours! In the end we were both naked and panting and glowing with ecstasy!” Her eyes sparkled as she recalled the event and her cheeks flushed. “Of course,” she added, “next time we’ll not be going to Nando’s.”