My Amorous Adventures with Saucy Wenches
Read and relish in my exploits, O my fellow seekers of merriment. Think not that the pursuit of pleasure is vain. On the contrary, the pursuit of pleasure is a most serious enterprise -- For, if more men followed my example, and valued pure and wanton lust more highly than lust for power, land, religious dominance, and designs to control the lives of others, then the world would be the better for it!
TALE THE FIRST
A PRIZE SALAMI
The Duke of Love welcomes you to his castle! Mayhaps you have heard of me? Even now, the ladies in waiting at the courts in Madrid and London write of me in their diaries with bated breath and yearn for my swift return to their bed chambers.
For our first merry tale, I must ensure that you are acquainted with the comely aspects of a fine cut of salami, a most peculiar delicacy of Middle Eastern origin. It is shaped like a long round tuber and exudes a fine, strong-smelling lubricant whose taste is likewise vehement yet pleasing to those of manly disposition. Now, let me begin.
On the fourth of January, in the bitter cold, I found myself approaching the stately mansion of the dowager, Elizabeth of Maple Leaf. I had befriended her via those all-too-mysterious communications made possible by this wonderful thing known to the moderns as the Internet. She had, at long last, invited me to visit her large home and to partake of the delights she had to offer. Only because she promised to ply me with fine drink and extravagant foods did I agree to undertake the journey; but I must confess that the most profound regret arose within my bosom when I beheld her, for mine eyes could do naught save take into account her many wrinkles, her pasty, anemic complexion, and her fluffy wig (which, indeed, was obvious, immense, absurd and completely horrible).
No sooner was I past the front door than I sought to invent ways by which to excuse myself from my incredible error in judgment. How much wine must I have consumed, before agreeing to service this wanton Paphian? Meanwhile, she was instantly having ideas of her own, for as I was trying to feign illness, she was disrobing and beckoning me to the divan. Utterly driven mad by the seeming hopelessness of my predicament, I ran at full pace up the stairway. "What shall I do, " I thought to myself? Halfway up the stairs, I began to look for an appropriate doorway, thinking to lock myself inside a room. Yet, when I reached the upper floor, I stood transfixed and frozen by a vision of divine loveliness -- for there, in flowing and sheer laces, stood a young blonde girl, who appeared to be about 20 years of age. She put her finger to her lips to request my silence, whereupon she led me to her chamber. And there I passed the night, oblivious to the shrieks from the elderly lady which emanated from outside the bolted door.