Dave met her at the bus stop. She smiled. Sidled up to him and sniffed. The sniffing worried him. If only he'd had a shower that morning instead of liberally spraying on liberal squirts of that new deodorant he'd bought in Boots.

Then, interrupting his thoughts, she asked if he lived nearby. 'Two stops away,' he replied.

'I'm parched,' she said.

Rare courage caught hold of him and he asked, 'Do you fancy a drink in that pub over there?'

She shook her head. 'Rather go back to your place.' Stunned, his mouth dropped open and moving in closer still, she introduced herself as Tracy without the E.

Later, back in his one bed flat above a fish and chip shop and after they'd drank two cans of lager, Dave, anxious not to delay what might be a momentous occasion, nipped into the bathroom and almost emptied the aerosol deodorant over his plump body.

When he emerged, Tracy was lying naked on his single bed and Dave, nervously getting in beside her, wondered what to do next. She giggled. Pressed her body against his and began to stroke her fingers over his bare, hairless chest.

Then, whispering seductive suggestions, she stuck her studded tongue into his left ear but a small worry threatened to quell Dave's rising ecstasy. Had he, he silently asked himself, removed all ear wax with cotton buds the night before?

But as her hand travelled downwards over his spotty beer belly, his concern soon vansihed with the thought, "God! That Lynx deodorant certainly does bloody work!"