Tracy liked to smoke. And she liked to fuck. And she liked to smoke and fuck. And fuck and smoke. In fact, she loved smoking and fucking so much that fucking without smoking just wasn’t quite the same. Though smoking without fucking was still pretty fucking good. The only problem was, Tracy’s boyfriend Charlie didn’t like smoking and fucking. Don’t get me wrong – he liked fucking. But he didn’t like smoking. And he didn...

  ‘Number One Ladies Detective Agency’ – so it actually exists, mused Tracy as she read the brass plaque on the door. Wasn’t there a TV programme or somefink? Oh, what the fuck… She rang the doorbell. It was answered by a strikingly attractive black woman – older than Tracy by a few years perhaps, but slender, glamorous, and with large breasts straining at the jacket of her rather fine red skirt suit. “Tracy? Come in. I’m...

  Charlie had had a productive day, by his standards. He had finished sequencing another song, and was now sitting at his desk in his study sorting out some sundry paperwork. He was surprised Tracy was wasn’t back yet – it was nearly five o’clock. And after all she had been fired from her last job, hadn’t she? And it was just a job interview this morning, wasn’t it? Oh yes, she’d been in a bad mood first thing, hadn’t she...