Owing to how insistent he was, for this reason I made my way to the inn wherein the lass in question was staying.

What I can tell you, dear friend, is that I had some trouble believing that this most elegant, beautiful of women was in any way related to that Minister, a fellow whom, whilst agreeable as a cupboard-load o' orgasms, is nonetheless a right rancid bugger insofar as any kind of physiological criteria might be concerned. But not this woman, no.

Victoria, for that is her name, she bid me welcome, and proceeded to get ninety sortsa wild on an amalgam o' poitin and Benzedrine concocted, so she informed me, by a friend of hers from the former Soviet Union.

"It tastes like Bach" she said, and I nodded, and I said about my Diet Coke was very nice also.

Now, all of this is fantastical enough in itself, but what elevates the whole scenario to the realms of the most deranged o' delirious fancies is what followed far side o' the second or third hour in her presence.

Dimming the lamp by the bedside she asked me, she said "Tell me, are you a fan of the cinema?"

"As a tool for the distribution of film" I mused, "It's almost thrice as good as the novel and only slightly behind Broadband Internet."

"Do you want to see a film" she asks?

I shrugged. "Sure" says I, hoping it might be Monster House or maybe The Terror Of Tiny Town, about midget cowboys in the olden days.

"Me too."

So saying, y'unnerstann, she disrobes, stood afore me naked as the drunken Noah lain spread-eagle front his youngsters.

It would be fair to say I found the whole affair somewhat titillating, but late my tit none, she all but said, for what I have to offer is not filth but a film by Jean-Luc Godard about The Rolling Stones sit around writing a song and some Black Panthers read out loud from paperbacks concerning Blues and Ragtime and a fella sells pornographic magazines for the price o' a slap to the face o' a long-haired duo all bleeding and bandaged and bearded.

Perched on the edge of her bed she parted her thighs. "Look here" she says, gesturing to yon most celestial hidey-hole.

What I saw, old chum, it near pickled the teeth pink in my skull.

There, on the crest o' the labia, a tiny screen was visible, and upon that screen an image projected from behind, from somewheres close to the cervix I dare say.

By leaning to the left-hand side Victoria set the image in motion, and soon, with the vulva glowing round about, I was watching Sympathy For The Devil by that aforementioned Frenchman flickerin' from twixt her legs.