Myrwin just shot his uncle a _look_. "I thought we'd agreed to not talk about that, uncle dear." he said with a waggle of his finger and while passing the drink back. "Gods be good, it's been _years_." he said as the liquor warmed him and, as promised, put some serious oak in his penis.
He was definitely going to have to find a bawdy-house after this party. That was, of course, assuming he couldn't get some court-bed flower to hoist her skirts for him.