Obviously enough, if a proudly-upstanding gentleman wishes to partake of a milkshake then he should make haste to the milking shed and there allow himself to be taken in hand by a brace of dairymaids who will soon make sure he gets the full hands-on shake, something he will remember to the ends of his days.
I doubt if any of you gathered here to peruse my organ will attempt to gainsay, or even pooh-pooh such an observation, but there are some it seems, most likely those that find themselves entrapped in the dourness of the urban environment who would cast doubt upon the erotic nature of the rural environment and its environs.
However, as we all know, there is nothing like getting a few lungfuls of fresh air – ideally not downwind from either a farmer muck-spreading or Old Feebletrousers engaging in his annual sock-changing routine – to get the sap rising.
Therefore it is not unusual to see rural villagers out and about in the fields and meadows, all eager to take one another behind the hedgerows for a quick refresher on what can be best described as country matters, before getting back to going about whatever business it was they were previously engaged upon.
That is also why village hall orgies rarely start at the time advertised on the notice board by the village orgy steering committee, as usually participants have already met one another down some winding country lane and have taken each other in hand for a quick perk-me-up whilst on the way to the orgy.
It is not unusual to find that once the village orgy is underway, several of the participants have already marked each other’s orgy card and are often ready to move on to the half-time tea and cream cakes whilst others are still out in the vestibule struggling into their best orgy wellies.