Susan Durkin posted this to me today (Sunday), I couldn't resist an answer,
could you?

<<"BTW I love the way you write Queen stories. I keep secretly
hoping you'll write an erotic essay on what a romantic evening with
Freddie would be like!!!">>

Well now, its strange that you should mention it, but .........

In his new guise as fashion correspondent for the "Sun" Freddie has taken to
calling for advice and one night he turned up on the doorstep wanting to
have a "face to face".  There he stood, resplendent in a ruby coloured,
crushed velvet catsuit (I've said it before, but some things even an
alternative life in another time dimension couldn't change) and his Royal
campness was clutching a leather bound volume, looking sheepish and,
obviously in a bit of a quandary.  I had been doing the washing (my smalls,
actually, as if anything in XXL could be described as smalls) and was
wearing only my woolly combinations and a flannelette dressing gown and must
have looked somewhat embarrassed.  He grinned in that, sort of lopsided,
toothy way that he had, lisped that he would like a quickie and would be on
his way in a trice (isn't that a Freddie word?)

So, what does one do when someone like that knocks on your door uninvited -
well if you are sensible and do the things that your mother told you, then
you ask him to come back when you're decent, but what the hell, your mother
isn't there.

In a kind of skip, he's over the threshold and seated, legs akimbo on the
chaise longue (casting couch more like) licking his lips and directing
glances at the teapot.  Earl Grey or Lapsong? "Oh you choose dear, I'm all
in a tizzy!"

Tea is delivered, buttered scones and clotted cream (well it is England and
that's our stereotype isn't it?) placed in front of our Freddie.  He devours
them in a kind of, well a lustful fashion leaving that crumb on his upper
lip till last and then brushing it aside with a flourish.

The Leather Bound volume on his lap is being fondled lovingly, almost
erotically, and he pats the settee next to him and, with those "come to bed
eyes" suggests that you "Come and sit by me dear, I've got something I'd
like to show you."

His lips are moist, partially opened and his tongue darts in and out then he
asks you to stick out yours and close your eyes, "Is this the moment?"  you
ask your self in anxious anticipation.  You hear the rustle of clothing, the
crackle of static, hear a packet being torn open impatiently.  Then feel
something dry brush against of your tongue and slide over the moist,
expectant surface.

"Ooh", he says, gleefully "that's just what I needed to get that stamp stuck
down in this album!"