Her Majesty’s Back Garden

*Note: this story was written long before the queen passed away.

From the moment Gavin whispered the saucy suggestion into my ear, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It was both highly inappropriate and incredibly risky, but that’s what made it so deliciously appealing.

I tried not to let my excitement show – the last thing I needed was for my body language to appear skittish or suspicious. The number of CCTV cameras and security guards around the palace meant I’d be thrown into the Tower of London in the blink of an eye if they thought I was dodgy. Okay, well maybe not the Tower, but whatever it was that HRH Queen Elizabeth II’s highly trained security personnel did to people they believed to be a threat to the monarch’s safety, and that of her property.

I was no threat to anyone, never mind the Queen. I happen to really like the Royal Family – I wouldn’t have paid to come on a visit to Her Majesty’s official residence otherwise, would I?

Based on Gavin’s devious plan, the worst I might do is tread on a couple of plants, or break a twig, or something.

For the remainder of our visit around Buckingham Palace, Gavin and I acted normally, albeit with the occasional grope and salacious wink when no one was looking.

By the time we arrived at the exit of the grand house, I was seriously horny. I took Gavin’s hand, dragged him past the tearoom...