A piglet squeals

I’m going to nominate Britney Spears’ former bodyguard for the ‘Sissy of the Year’ award. He has recently been telling tales about Britney in court, claiming that she pranced around naked and made him watch her play with herself. He believes this entitles him to sue her for “sexual harassment” and obtain ridiculous damages. If I were Britney’s lawyer, I would ask the jury one simple question: How could a man who protects people for a living behave like such a snivelling wuss? 

Now I don’t dispute that Britney did behave like a sex-crazed vixen in need of a good seeing to. One wouldn’t expect anything different from the woman. Nor am I saying that the fellow should have jumped on top of her the minute she wiggled her naked butt-cheeks – that sort of behaviour is for the goats and baboons. But a man who expects to be financially compensated for being propositioned by a nubile woman has forfeited the right to own a pair of testicles. 

There is always a polite way of declining a woman’s favours without making her feel like a heifer whose udders are unfit for milking. When holidaying in England, a few years ago, I had the privilege of reading the memoirs of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff of the Royal Navy, whose journal was an heirloom in a stately home I visited. In its pages, there is a description of an incident that occurred during shore leave in Naples, when the Contessa di Napoli invited Wagstaff to her palace to examine some artefacts of the late Lady Hamilton. 

When Wagstaff arrived, he found a home empty of servants apart from a maid, who gave him directions to the Contessa’s bedchamber before leaving herself. On arriving, he found that both the door and the Contessa were wide open. As the latter sprawled naked on her bed, arching her back like a pussycat about to be stroked, she addressed her guest as follows: 

“Here I am and this is what I offer you.” 

Like a true officer of the King’s Navy, Wagstaff composed himself before responding to the challenge of an enemy vessel. Taking a deep breath, he said: 

“My lady! Your body is an exquisite temptation which causes my sturdy loins to surge with manly desire. Yet I cannot succumb, for I am betrothed to a woman who at this very moment clasps my portrait to her tender, yearning bosom!” 

“I see,” said the Contessa. “Shall I dress and show you the palace?” 

Wagstaff chewed his lip and frowned before replying to this question: 

“Rather than dressing, my lady, let me join you in your unveiled simplicity as we tour this majestic domicile, that you may witness your effect on my manhood. You have shown me yours, so I must show you mine.” 

So the Lieutenant and the Contessa walked around the palace as innocently and as nakedly as Adam and Eve on their first day in Paradise. The Contessa was satisfied that her physical charms had not been scorned, and Wagstaff had turned what might have been an untoward incident into a triumph for British diplomacy. 

Is there a man alive today with the manners and discretion of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff?

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