Arthur was no stranger to inventing his own fantasies, but Molly's ultimatum had surprised him: he wasn't to think of her. So angry with him was she that he was not to touch his todger with her bits in mind. The problem before him (and "beside" him, what with its turgid bobbing) led him into the garden . . . to her, a buxom redhead bearing no other resemblance to Molly.
Arthur secreted himself behind some bushes and reached for his zip. "Oh, Merlin! That's so good. Oh, Helgawiggles!"
The bushes exploded. "'Helgawiggles'?"
Arthur grinned. "Yes, but not as good as you wobble."