A lifetime ago a friend confided in me that his wife couldn't reach orgasm unless she farted.
Right now I really wish he hadn't.
After almost four decades, I am reunited with a lost love who is about to explode inside me and I absolutely need to fart! The forgotten engraving my friend's story carved on the back of my eyelids is back in vivid neon as I desperately try to prevent my most embarrassing moment from colliding with my most romantic one.
Inevitably after years of yearning, my past blast, my gas blast and I abandon ourselves to an explosive climax which, according to the latest neon eyelid picture, is sufficient to project two spherical ballistic missiles on a trajectory towards a prize portrait of my whole family!
He collapses, fulfilled, on top of me, enabling me to see the family, still smiling and unharmed, from across the room.
"I really ought to have turned that picture round," I say, almost to myself.
"What is that smell?" is his response. I look at him and smile, "A friend of mine once told me..."