A sharp-dressed, slender man runs at great speed through a dark part of the city, besieged from all sides by rough-looking big, muscular men, armed to the teeth, the bullets and throwing stars flying all around him.
He dives into a narrow alley, losing part of his pursuers in the process, but still hears footsteps behind him. Suddenly a viciously grinning man appears with a sawed-off rifle in front of him, the weapon already pointed at him, so going straight is not an option. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an even narrower alley, and just as the deafening gunshot hits, he takes a dive. It is dark in the alley, pitch dark, but at the end he sees a door, light shining through the cracks. He decides to gamble that there are not still greater horrors behind that door and jumps towards it in a smooth movement. It turns out to be unlocked, he quickly steps inside and under heavy panting closes the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief.
He is welcomed by a sultry voice near his ear, and soft, bare arms wrap around him.
'Finally, Mr. Bond, you're late, we've been waiting impatiently for you.'
He looks around in amazement and sees a room full of busty, scantily clad, mostly blond ladies. Am I in Heaven? he thinks in bewilderment, he has to be, he loves this type of woman.
'No time for martinis, unfortunately, Mr. Bond,' he hears the voluptuous lady whisper in his ear, 'we've lost so much time, we have to get to work right away.'
'Ooh,' it sounds disappointed from a sofa in a corner of the room. A half-naked strawberry blonde lady pouts.
'No, Martine, I said martinis, you'll get your turn with Mr. Bond.' A delighted look immediately appears on Martine's face, he notices.
His hostess beckons one of the other ladies, a chubby blonde with wide hips and large, firm breasts in a tiny dress. 'Brenda, if you'll take care of Mr. Bond's needs, you'll remember what he likes from the briefing.'
'With pleasure,' Brenda lisps, pushing him into a waiting chair and crawling on top of him, nearly drowning him in her cleavage. She's just sat down on his lap, fiddling with his fly, when he wakes up with a feeling of panic from a noise that sounds like a gun being cocked.
He looks around confused, he's sitting in his office, a bit slumped in his leather office chair, behind his heavy mahogany desk, he feels a hell of an erection. He sees that one of the secretaries has just entered, notepad and pen in hand. Her name is Martine, he knows, very pleasing to the eye, curly blond, busty, always cheerful. She looks a bit like Marilyn Monroe in her younger years.
'Ah, Martine,' he says, still a little shaken, and still half in the dream, 'will you be going to sit on my lap and take notes?' It just pops out, he puts a hand over his mouth, this is só wrong!
'If you wish,' she says cheerfully, not a trace of embarrassment or offence. She turns and closes the door carefully. Then she walks over to him and, much to his amazement, crawls onto his lap, pad and pen at the ready.
'Oh my!' she exclaims pleasantly surprised, 'you have your own pen, I can feel.'
He pinches himself, is this a continuation of the dream he had just now? Ouch! Obviously not. What is happening here?!
'Martine, what are you doing, it was just a joke.' She looks at him sweetly.
'I was told this is the only way to ask for a raise here,' she lisps coquettishly, and seeing him about to protest, she quickly continues, 'and besides, I really like older men, like you, I can't help myself.' She looks at him seductively.
That's right, she can't help it, it's just the way it is. She knows it's probably some kind of father complex, but that doesn't change the fact that she's always been particularly attracted to men like Mr. De Bruin.
