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Darling Michael, Prince Harry has made it frightfully trendy to be seen with a rugged ginger man about town (more fashionable arm candy than an "it bag" or tiny doglet even!). Come over here sweetie and sit on my knee, now tell me, do you own a pair of combat trousers and perhaps some kind of body armour and a second hand motor bike at all?...

Swaggers in, dressed in a medlee of camouflage, Browning automatic stuck in waist band of trousers (hence the Kevlar cod-piece) and SA80 cradled in arms. Killer sun-glasses adorn face, sun bleaced ginger barnet is offset by deep desert tan. Steely thews bulge from TIGHT cut combat trousers.


"Hi Chicks, my weapon needs oiling. Wanna help?"

At least in here I am appreciated.


Effortlessly lifts the swooning DM into muscular arms and carries her to sofa. Notes tempting glimpse of alabaster skin beneath the sheerest of gowns.


"Here dear lady have a small snifter of the finest brandy. As a distressed maiden, may I relieve you of at least one reason for your distress?"

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