That is brilliant, Orwn. Here is my effort.
He cradled his Byronic head on her blushing and voluptuous breasts. 'Oh God!' she murmured as agony and ecstasy mingled inextricably. Lord Byron was a nineteenth century romantic poet with remarkable good looks and a club foot which his avatar had inadvertently placed on hers. An avatar is strictly the visible manifestation of a Hindu deity but I use it loosely here to mean a lookalike. 'Oh God!' she repeated. Such routine invocations of the Almighty were common in those days when superstition was rife. 'Oh God!' she cried for a third time as love flooded her virgin heart. A virgin was a term used in those benighted times for a person who had not yet enjoyed sexual intercourse. They were indeed dark days! 'My dearest Fanny!' he murmured, using a fond diminutive of Frances which had no vulgar undercurrent then. He was, after all, a peer of the realm.
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