Despite all evidence to the contrary, there are those in this wide world who would have you believe that I, Lord Likely (Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentleman of Action) am nothing more than a lecherous buffoon, a lewd and undignified scoundrel, born without a shred of decency and cursed with a cold, loveless soul.

To which I say: bollocks.

I have romance flowing through my veins, and frequently dispense large, sticky globules of love from the bell-end of my willy-stick. Loveless? Pah!

To further demonstrate my sensitive side, I have decided to share with you, my dear readers, a selection of my (as yet) unpublished poetry, from a tome I have entitled ‘The Salty Tears of the Love Python’.

I do hope you enjoy them, in a very moist way.

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This year was no different, with the usual avalanche of amourous advances pouring through my letter-box this very morning. My poor post-man found himself so exhausted by delivering my mountain of mail that he collapsed soon after, and had to be rushed to hospital to be revived.

One particular letter caught my ennobled eyeball this morn; an invitation of intercourse from the most desirable Dame Elizabeth Spodgebucket, wife of Sir Hardy Spodgebucket, the renowned entrepreneur and business-man. It seemed that Sir Spodgebucket was having trouble satisfying his lady, leading her to contact with me with a view to arranging a heated night of passion and a rigourous pumping. The nude lithograph of the comely Baroness which she enclosed with her letter sealed the deal, and so I sent her a telegram informing her that I would be delighted to be at her service, and that she should expect me and my mighty Lord Palmerston by six o’clock that evening.

“How do I look?” I asked my miserable man-servant, Botter, as I swept into the living-room fully resplendent in one of my finest suits.

“Very good, milord.” Botter replied.

“Thank you, Botter, although I dare say you could sound slightly more enthusiastic and aroused,” I replied, as I straightened up my neck-tie. “And do you have any plans for this special evening of love?”

“Well I – “

“No, of course you don’t. You are repellent and disgusting, and as desirable as finding a seeping pustule on the end of one’s cock. Now, tell me again – how do I look?”

“Fine,” Botter muttered.

“Gah! You are utterly useless, man! I can see that if I what an opinion worth hearing than I shall have to consult with myself,” I snapped as I strode over to a large, full-length mirror on the other side of the room. “I know gorgeousness when I see it!”

I stopped to admire myself in the mirror, but was not quite prepared for just how admirable my reflection was to be. As I gazed upon my image in the mirror’s glass, I felt my todger twitch with excitement.

It was love and completely hard-cocked lust at first sight.

“Good heavens!” I cried, as I reached out and laid a hand upon my mirror-image. “I am in incredibly fuckable form to-night, I must say! I mean, look at that firm jawline! Behold that luxuriant moustache!” I angled my posterior towards the mirror. “Egads! And I have an arse that simply begs to be covered in honey and licked clean by a thousand hungry whores. I am looking bastard-hot, and no mistake!”

By this point, my Lord Palmerston had become so engorged that he was himself touching the glass, as if he wanted to penetrate my reflection right there and then. I knew what had to be done.

“Botter,” I said quietly. “Leave me. I have some business to attend to.”

“There we are, you ravishing beast,” I purred, as I lit a series of candles dotted about the room. “It is just you and me now. We are all alone.”

I flung myself down on my chaise-longue, in front of which I had repositioned my full-length mirror, to better view my glorious – now naked – form.

“Why, you are surely the most handsome creature upon the face of the earth,” I smiled. My reflection smiled back; adorable dimples appearing in its cheeks. “Good God! You are going to get the pumping of your life, you devil you!” I cried.

I sat back on the chaise-longue and took my throbbing manhood firmly in both hands. Then, without drawing my gaze away from my stunning reflection, I began to masturbate like a fiend.

Oh, dear reader! What a night of onanastic delight it was! I thrashed my todger soundly for hours upon end, and in a variety of different positions to boot. Standing up, sitting down, bent over my desk, lying on the floor, hanging over the back of my couch, squatting over a mirror, up against a stuffed tiger, perched atop a book-case and even two times inside a suit of armour. Truly, this was more than just a quick wank. It was full-blown intercourse; beautiful, impassioned love-making with someone I adored unwaveringly – myself.

As I finished my final ejaculations, Botter knocked at the door to remind me of my engagement with Dame Spodgebucket. I cursed loudly, for I had quite forgotten about the good lady Spodgebucket and her sex-starved quim. I leapt to my feet, bundled up my clothes in my arms, and dashed out of the room.

“Botter,” I said as I passed my bewildered man-servant, “I am going for a quick bath before I head on out for the rest of the night. In the mean-time, you might like to grab a mop and a bucket and clean up the living room. I am afraid I got rather over-excited, and have rather plastered the room with my peer-paste.”

I finally made my engagement with the delectable Dame Spodgebucket at eight-thirty, and immediately fell into bed with her and gave her a jolly fine pounding. But, although she was most desirable and well worth a good, hard rogering, all the time that I was with her, I was thinking of me.

Good crikey, I really am a damned fine piece of arse.

What with it being the season of love and romance, I should just like to take a moment to give a few honourable mentions to those fine ladies I have recently encountered, and whom I have deemed to be entirely exquisite and with whom I would very much like to procreate with, given half a chance.

So, in no particular order, here are those fine filleys upon whom I would like to spread my love:

Nurse Myra; the delightful Claire; Chelle, The Offended Blogger; Dame Beenzzz; JD of I Do Things; Diane Aldred from Much of Muchness; the ever-radiant Paula; the delightful Valerie Morrison; and dear Lady Terri (just do not tell Lord Lobo!)

Heavens, simply writing that list has made me stiffen to attention like an old war veteran. Truly, they are all most trouser-moistingly magnificent.

The lucky recipients of my love may like to place this delightful little pictorial award upon their respective web-logs, if they so desire, thus garnering them instant respect and admiration from their readers:

- Lord Likely.

Those of you who have not masturbated so regularly so as to diminish your eye-sight completely, will have noticed that there have been a few aesthetic changes around here, as well as the introduction of an astonishing new About Page. Please do take a moment to admire the fresh decor, and do let us know what you think. As long as your thoughts are firmly in the positive, that is.

The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely has been the recipient of another smashing little review this week, courtesy of Blog Fiction, which confirms what we’d all suspected for a long while: that his lordship is fabulous.

Also many thanks to Renal Failure for bestowing a fine award upon his lordship. He is naturally very grateful, and wishes to pass it on to his feisty female friends highlighted above, in the hope it should lead to intercourse.

Next time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: something astonishing, no doubt.

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While Botter was enjoying his romantic liaison with The Bear, I was busying myself by creeping into Ivan Romanov’s office, gun at the ready.

The office was large and spacious, with a large, dominating map of the world affixed to the wall. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that most of the globe had been coloured in red, with ‘Russia’s Glorious New Empire’ scrawled upon it. I sighed. Romanov really was off his bonce.

“Admiring my new world order, Likely?” came a voice from behind me. I spun round to see Romanov, pointing a gun at me. I cursed myself for letting him get the better of me, and lowered my weapon.

“It does not look like order to me, Romanov,” I said. “It looks like chaos.”

“Ha! The ignorant always fear change, Likely. I, on the other hand, fully embrace the new.”

“Then I hope you will fully embrace your new life as a one-testicled man,” I quipped, referring to the injury I had kindly bestowed upon the Russian earlier. Romanov scowled.

“SHUT UP! You babbling fool, Likely. That mouth of yours will get you into trouble, you know.”

“Believe me, I know,” I replied.

“I am going to delight in your demise, Lord Likely. And then, when I have finished you off, I shall go and punish that fool The Bear for letting you go. I can be very unforgiving on those in my employ who betray me, you know. Take Miss. Nipples, for instance. I sent her to kill you, she backed out and…well, you know the rest. A terrible shame.”

“Bastard,” I cried, recalling the lovely Miss. Nipples’ tragic demise. “You sir, are a cock-knocker of the highest order.”

“Hmmm. Well, enough of this pleasant chit-chat. I am a busy man, Likely. Places to go, people to kill, Empires to build. I am sure you understand. It is time for you to die, I’m afraid…”

Romanov put his gun to my forehead. My mind raced through all the possible escape routes, which amounted to precisely none. Then, suddenly, Romanov was lifted aloft before me, and held in a vice-like grip that I was all too familiar with.

It was The Bear.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANCE, YOU IDIOT!” screamed Romanov, his legs flailing helplessly in mid-air.

“I am afraid your accomplice here has fallen madly in love with my man-servant,” I explained. “I know, I fail to see the attraction myself. Still, the upshot of all this is that The Bear now seems to be willing to follow Botter’s orders rather than your own. It is a peculiar thing, is love.”

Romanov wriggled frantically, and hurled a string of Russian obscenities at his humongous henchman, but to no avail.

“Evenin’, milord,” chirped Botter as he entered the room. “Sorry about the delay. I was just packing my arse in ice.”

“Botter, I could kiss you if you were not quite so ghastly and riddled with pox. Now, excuse me for one moment, I just have to do something…”

I walked up to Romaonv, and flashed him a broad grin.

“Augh-are you going to kuh-kill me then, Likely?” Romanov gasped.

“Oh, no. I shall let the relevant authorities deal with you. But I shall certainly do my best to prevent you from breeding, and foisting another Romanov upon the world. With all your talk of Empire building, I think it is only for the best.” I said. “Never let it be said that I leave a job half-finished.” And then, in one swift motion, I kneed the Russian right in the balls.

Romanov howled in pain, spat out a string of curses, then passed out. I dusted down my knee with a handkerchief, then returned to my servant.

“Botter,” I said. “Our work here is done. Would you be so kind as to secure Romanov to a chair or something? Then, get hold of Inspector Spunkleford and tell him we have captured the real killer of Miss. Eileen Nipples. “

“Righto, milord,” said Botter.

“Jolly good. But first, could you administer some first aid upon me? I seem to have lost rather a lot of blood, and would rather keep the remainder inside my body. There’s a good chap.”

Botter nodded, and toddled off to get some medical supplies. I watched him depart, then collapsed into a nearby chair.

- Lord Likely.

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Having clapped eyes on Miss Eileen Nipples, I quite forgot about the missing Russian ambassador, and chose instead to pursue this most ravishing of creatures.

I straightened my top-hat, took a swig of whisky out of my hip-flask, and advanced towards Miss Eileen Nipples.

“Excuse me, madam,” I said, making sure to doff my hat in her presence. “I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment.”

She eyed me cautiously.

“I hope, sir, that your intentions are decent and true, and that you are not impeding my progress merely to ogle my wondrous breasts,” she said.

What a woman, I thought. How both my heart and my penis rose in her company!

“I can assure you, my dear lady, that my reason for stopping you is entirely free of any lecherous advances. Though, if forced, I would quite happily gaze upon your beautiful knockers for an age, until my eyesight deserted me, or the boobs sagged, whichever came first.”

She sighed, and strode on.

“My apologies, madam!” I said, chasing after her. “I was trying to pay you a compliment, but alas I fear my words must have sounded coarse and lewd to your fair ears. Please, do let me explain why I have trespassed upon your time.”

Eileen Nipples turned sharply to face me.

“Fine, then continue. But you only have the next thirty seconds of my time.”

“An ample window of opportunity to allow me to impart my information to you with both clarity and – “

“Twenty-four seconds, sir,” Miss Nipples snapped.

“Understood. I am here to question you with regards to the recent, mysterious disappearance of Ivor Romanov.”

Miss Nipples’ expression lightened.

“You are rather well turned-out for a policeman, Officer,” she said.

“Oh! You have misunderstood me, as I have failed to clarify myself adequately. I am not a policeman, I fear,” I adjusted my tie. “I am a Lord.”

There was a pause.

“Is your title supposed to impress me, sir?” said Miss Nipples.

“I had hoped it would inspire at least some awe and wonder, yes,” I said, downheartedly.

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you, milord.”

Oh! What a ferocious young filly this woman was turning out to be, I thought. I would have immeasurable fun trying to tame this wildcat!

“Pay it no mind, my dear,” I said. “Let us continue onto business. If I may, I would like to commence my interrogations.”

Miss Nipples sighed again. “Then begin, if you must.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly conduct my interview here, in the noisy, crowded streets of London Town. It would be a terrible disservice to my cause, and to one as refined as yourself. May I suggest that we adjourn to a nearby eatery to better facilitate the inquisition?”

“Well -”

At this point, like a stinking, human hyphen, Botter intruded upon our conversation.

“Milord, Al…uh, Inspector Spunkleford, was wondering if you’d care to examine the crime-scene, at all?”

“Botter, you ignorant little bastard, can you not see that I am talking to Miss Nipples, here?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Botter looked Eileen up and down “Cracking tits, love.”

Miss Nipples let out another sigh, then as quick as a flash, delivered a kick to Botter’s groin, sending him tumbling to the ground in pain.

“Let us depart to a restaurant, then, your lordship,” said Eileen, dusting off her boot daintily with a hankie. “Just be sure to leave that little shit behind.”

My heart soared, and I twatted Botter in the back of the head with the end of my cane, to celebrate my sudden good-fortune.

- Lord Likely.

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