Tagged, once again

I've been tagged by Raynwomaan and this story is my fifteen things you didn’t know about my sex life (hey, I don't set the questions). So, for once, this is not (quite) fiction.

The Prime Minister looked over the pieces of paper scattered haphazardly over his leather-bound desk and groaned. One day in the job and this is what it came down to: pushing paper. He wasn't making the major decision he thought he would be nor was he meeting with the leaders of the world, people he'd aspired to meet since he'd first took an interest in politics aged 14. All he was doing was pushing paper.

Oh well, he thought, I might as well make a start. He pulled up the first piece within reach and started to read it. After a second or two, he started to read it again from the beginning. This wasn't the usual ministerial rubbish about budgets and warfare or the proletariat uprising that was (forever) imminent in the country. This was something completely different; personal - in actual fact it was extremely person as it dealt with the Prime Minister's sexual activity.

"It can't hurt to fill it in," he said out loud, plucking a gold pen from the inside pocket of his hand-stitched wool jacket.

It hadn't taken long for the Prime Minister to fill in the questionnaire. He felt good, something had been achieved. The first day in the job and he had already answered questions about being on the job. It wasn't quite what the public thought he should be doing, but if that Cluntin could get his dick sucked in the Round Office then he, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, could take time out to do some light-hearted questionnaire.

As he sat back and reflected on his success (albeit on something he would not want broadcast to the nation) a knock came at the door. He called out and the door opened. A flunky - the Prime Minister tried in vain to recall his name - pushed through the door and took a sharp intake of breath.

"Why, Prime Minister, what are you doing amongst all that paperwork? No, no, no, this simply won't do!" he exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" asked the Prime Minister. "Don't I do paperwork?"

"Of course not!" The flunky was almost incredulous in his tone. "You sign things, sir, meet world leaders, etc, etc. You have a huge team of civil servants that'll take care of all this," he indicated with a sweep of his hand.

"Oh," said the Prime Minister, crestfallen. Suddenly, his minor achievement seemed immaterial.

The flinky gathered up the papers and stuffed them into a folder, which he then held between his arm and body. The Prime Minister almost expected him to salute, but he didn't. Instead, he simply turned on his heel and was out the door.

Several seconds passed until the Prime Minister realised his questionnaire was amongst the papers now stuffed into a folder, carried under the arm of a flunky who's name he didn't know.

-–---–-–-–-–-–-–-–-–

The next morning, it soon became clear that he'd been set up. The questionnaire had been planted, specifically to give the Daily Snail a scoop. They printed up his answers in bold. He groaned again. Prime Minister's questions would be Hell personified. They would ridicule him endlessly. He'd never live it down.

The telephone rang. Another groan was emitted from the Prime Minister's mouth. He didn't really want to answer it, but he couldn't hide away, take a day off. No duvet days for world leaders. A tinge of regret passed over his mind, but the ringing phone brought him back to reality.

"Hello?"
"Prime Minister, this is the Queen. I must say, I read your interview twice. I'm most impressed by your candid nature. I never liked the God-loving one; he also had a fondness for war and idiots with plans to take over the world. I much prefer you. Toodle-pip."

Before he could say anything else, the Queen had hung up. Cradling the phone in his hand, the Prime Minister sat back in his chair and glowed. Now, he welcomed Prime Minister's questions.

Lifting the Daily Snail off his desk, he read through the Q&A session once more, a satisfied look on his face.

-–---–-–-–-–-–-–-–-–

Q&A with the Prime Minister

Q1
How old were you when you lost your virginity? Who was it to? Describe the event.

I was 14 and it was to the daughter of the man I worked for at weekends for extra money. It was a disaster, as these things generally are. Second time was better if not longer.

Q2
What is the strangest place you've had sex?
In a woodland, on a pathway. I was 18 years old at the time.

Q3
Who would you consider 'switching teams' for?
As a Prime Minister, do you think I'd switch teams? Of course, back in the old school days...

Q4
Do you prefer to give or receive?
Give, as long as I get to receive sooner rather than later.

Q5
One night stands - what the protocol? Stay the night or get the Hell outta there?
Never had one. Really.

Q6
Favourite body part/parts of the opposite sex?
Eyes. That alone can make the difference. Not what they look like but what they show.

Q7
Quickie or long and slow?
Depends on a number of variables that I can't go in to here. Suffice to say, whichever is most suited to the time and place.

Q8
Noisy or quiet?
Quiet.

Q9
Ideal amount of sex per week?
At least three times. Preferably more, definitely not less. Right now in my life that is. Ask me again when I'm eighty - do they ask an ex-PM about sex?

Q10
What's your number one sexual turn-off?
Selfishness.

Q11
Number one arousal trigger
That 'look' - you all know the one I mean!

Q12
What constitutes bad sex?
Any that requires cash payment.

Q13
Celebrity you'd most like to shag right now?
None - I don't love any of them.

Q14
Define sexy?
Well, it's not George Bush in spandex, let me tell you! I suggest you try a dictionary.

Q15
Remember the best sex you've had - what made it special?
Knowing I'd never forget it.