|Testosterone

     “Let’s go through to the kitchen, we can talk while I make us something to eat,” said Divine, as they entered the flat. “But first let me fix you a drink. Vodka Martini, isn’t it?”
     “Shaken, not stirred.”
     “Naturally.”
     She mixed generous Martinis for Bond and herself and they took them into the small but well-equipped kitchen.
     “What would you prefer? A sandwich perhaps? Or I have some quiche left I think.”
     “A little er….cold, perhaps. Bond was still feeling the chill of the early morning air from the short walk from Divine’s parking spot to her flat. “I’m a little cold.”
     Divine was concerned, protective. “Then what you need is something hot inside you.”
     “As the bishop said to the actress,” smiled Bond, making deft use of one of the multipurpose one-liners with which Q had provided him.
     She laughed easily, comfortable with the crude innuendo. “Pasta perhaps? Or I do a mean omelette?”
     “An omelette I think. Shaken but not stirred. I enjoy pasta but find it a little heavy on the stomach when making love is also on the menu.” He took her in his arms. She melted into them at once. “You will make love with me tonight, will you, Divine?”
     “I’d love to, James,” she whispered, huskily. Bond’s heart leapt. Testosterone rushed to his loins as though a tap had been opened. “But unfortunately I’m having my period.”
     Bond’s heart leapt back and the testosterone rushed back to from whence it came faster than shit off a shovel. He remembered Pisa Vass and, not wishing to demean himself further by asking for and being refused fellatio, simply let go of her and walked out of her life forever.