I sit here at my Dell workstation, beavering away at a terminally dull report, and all the time images of future debauchery swirl around my head. It is so difficult to ensure my face and body langauge say "serious thinking going on here" when my brain and nerves are swimming in a pool of nudity, rough sex, frantic kisses and screaming orgasms.
Should have a big neon sign above my head that says, "Very naughty boy at work". But I'm being good, staying focussed and not slipping out for a skinny latte to release the pressure; I'm holding out for my very own Belle de Jour (Deneuve not Piper) with a touch of Bardot.
