There's also the 'oops pardon'...which I freely share as possible game with neighbours or visiting guests.

A really good friend had a Friday late afternoon gig at the local college and needed a place for both her and her 4 month old baby to 'crash'.

I gave her the spare bedroom and a key and promptly went to work and, as it was a busy day I really did forget about her when I got home...besides 'Helen' had arrived and we were going out dancing.

So, in my underwear and shirt I was quickly ironing my pants...it was the early 80's and a crease was important then.

From behind me, she deftly reached under and between my legs, and being Australian said while fondling, 'Ah, ya dag, I can see yer gettin' a bit stemmy. '

Of course I was.

I rested iron on board and removed said restricting underwear in a deft-defying single move.

Before tossing underwear, I furrowed my brow.

"Hold that thought!" I said. "I'll be back."

You see, often when a man gets an erection, the need to empty one's bladder becomes imperative in order to reach 'full enjoyment'.

Once in the bathroom of course one cannot simply stand back and let 'The Cobra' start urinating. One's aim, which must be near perfect, is difficult when fully engorged.

Think arching fountain and lots of splashing. Well, more than usual.

Therefore, I had perfected a move I entitled, 'Putting The Hammer Down.'

One sits...carefully...gently puts the hammer down, and that part of the porcelain, which never gets the attention it craves, is satisfied.

Win win I'd say.

This time, once done and flushed and seeing that erection is still bobbing around like one of those 'drinking bird' toys, I opened bathroom door, ready to pounce on Helen, who started the whole thing in the first place.

I heard a noise in the kitchen. Executing a move I once saw Mickey Rooney perform as Puck in 'A Midsummer's Night Dream', I scampered forward thrusting and swinging.

"Where are youuuuu?" I playfully chortled. "Giddy up horsey!"

I might have, I am ashamed to admit, even slapped horsey's backside.

I stopped the prancing mid-gesticulation.

There framed in the door well, my friend, and baby daughter, Madonna and child no less, looked first at my knight's lance and then at my startled face.

"Oh," she said. "Is that for me?"

"Oh no...no...heh heh...oops, pardon," I stammered while covering my rapidly diminishing manhood, 'The Cobra' quickly returning to its basket.

Since I didn't wish to expose my buttocks to Jeanette, adding further insult to a false offer, I backed up toward the laundry room.

Now I must make a blanket generalization. Aussies are known devious pranksters and the lovely Helen was no different.

I backed up into her expertly placed thumb, which of course made hands drop from their barely adequate job of marble oak leaf to once again flash my friend.

Helen's response?

"Oops, pardon."