Why?:I'm In court, Mum
I hope you and the boys are well. How's the new baby? I trust you've resisted the urge to smother it this time! And dearest Papa, how is he? Is he still suffering terribly from his HIV? Well, we must all look on the bright side - at least he will never pursue his silly, fanciful dreams to become the Pope anymore. And I'm sorry that we did not have a proper party for my twenty-fifth birthday, it's just I went out with my friends for a meal.
I attach with this letter a soiled condom, Mama, to prove that I am using contraception like suggested. I also saw the most delightful pink dildo, that you have ever seen. I purchased it and have sent it by recorded post. I do hope that it will find you well!
Now, Mama, oh sweet bosomy Mama, I have written to explain why you will receive a letter from the courts soon. I have been arrested on the suspicion of some terrible things. I seem to be suffering from bad luck and bad circumstances, Mama. I will relate to you the true story, and I know you will believe me. It truly is a sad story of misunderstandings.
A boy with loverly blonde hair lives with his Old Papa. I suppose the correct English would atually be "lived with", but that is irrelevant. The sweet boy is about nine. They live in number 13, opposite me. Personally I have taken a dislike to the sweet boy - believing him to be a scoundrel. At 3pm I heard noises coming from the back of my house and found the sweet boy in my garden. I asked him politely what he was doing there, but all I got for an answer was "YOUR MOM HAS BIG TITS! I COULD SUCK ON THEM ALL DAY" as he picked up his football and began to scramble over the fence.
It was the nastiest of things he said and I was deeply upset. I pulled him from the fence and tossed him to the soil. He looked at me with utter distaste and shouted "WHAT THE FUCK?!?" at me. So startled was I, that I almost fainted right then and there, Mama. I asked him again - shaking, now, though - "What is your business in my garden, dear boy?'.
He stood up, punched me in the stomach with a fist clenched as strong as iron. My beautiful white shirt was so horribly creased and it got my blood up, oh it got my blood up, I can tell you, Mama. The doctors told me that I had some minor internal bleeding, later. You know I'm hardly ever annoyed, so. I pulled him from the fence again and pinned him against the garden shed with my body. I attempted several times to reach for my telephone without letting him go. I tried everything, Mama. I tried to use my hips to pin him down, but I just could not reach the telephone.
He started wailing a bit and wailed "FUCK ME, you're a retard!!!". At that point I thought that his suggested course of action seemed the most appropriate, Mama. It would make him happy and it would make me feel like I'd punished him sufficiently. Hopefully I would drill some manners into him. That is what I honestly thought as I began to carry out his request. I tried to do it gently, Mama.
He started crying loudly and screaming "STOP!!!" - but I'd decided that he was a child who needed discipline, so I took him inside to avoid worrying the neighbours. I do hope you think I did right, Mama! I laid him on that darling little white couch that Aunty Shipman bought for me last Christmas. Carefully I sat on top of him to finish his punishment - this way I assumed both of us would be in relative comfort. I know what is good for children.
I think we were on the couch, rising and falling, for about an hour. He screamed throughout and, oh, it was so dreadful for me. He just wouldn't stop his screaming. Sometimes he yelled for his dog and sometimes he moaned in pleasure. I just didn't want him trespassing on my property, or anyone else's - that was all.
I pled with him to say he was sorry so I could stop, but he insisted on shouting "FUCKING RAPE!!" right back at me. His spittle was oh so awful, Mama! He refused to apologise. My Johnny and my sack were so terribly chafed after an hour - you know how they're so tender. So I slowly sat up and released him from my grip.
But he just lay there on the couch rolling around and sniffling to himself. It was so dreadful - like those films where people go insane. Then he started yelling at the top of his voice. He started calling out to the neighbours, among other things.
Oh Mama, I had to think very quickly. I could not think of anything but shutting him up, in case the neighbours came to find out what was going on. So that is what I did, Mama. I needed something to gag him with, but the only thing I could think of was my big boy. I had to be quick, Mama, so I forced my bishop into his mouth, to gag him. The little wretch started gnawing on it, though, trying to free his mouth. I decided that I had probably punished him enough and could send him on his way then, so I removed my dong from his mouth, picked him up, gave him a gentle nudge on the back and sent him back home.
I must admit that I nudged him on the back with my nailbat - you know the green one that I adore, so - because I was holding it at the time and had forgotten. Once he'd left my house I could here him walking off crying and muttering things about me, so I hurried out of the front door, after him, Mama.
People were beginning to stare, and so I was left with no option but to fuck him up so as not to disturb anyone. I happened to have a crowbar handy, as well as my nailbat, which I used to aid in silencing him. When the silencing was complete I decided I should take him directly to his Old Papa. However, when I knocked on the door no one answered. Oh, I was so traumatised by then, Mama. I decided, that as a patriotic citizen I should look after him until I could contact one of his relatives.
I have no spare rooms or beds in my small house, as you know Mama, so I had to lock him in Poly's birdcage. I'm sorry, did I forget to tell you? Polly died of breast cancer two months ago, it was terribly sad for everyone.
When he broke the birdcage I had to improvise, so I took him to the cellar and locked him in a dusty mummy-like object from Uncle Donald's collection. Do you remember the few things he left me in his will? Those odd, mediaeval things. The object I chose to keep him in is what is apparently known as an Iron Maiden, or so I'm told. Supposedly they have spikes on the inside - which must have been terribly uncomfortable.
I kept the boy well, Mama. I slipped food through a hole into the so-called "Iron Maiden" and let him listen to the radio occasionally. And sometimes I let him listen to that soothing voice, that enchants me. I did look for his parents, but I could not find them, Mama. And then three weeks later - oh Mama! - I came home to find policemen and women at my house. I would, perhaps, not have been so shocked if there were a few policeman, but as soon as I saw the policewomen, I knew something serious was going on.
And that, Mama, is why I'm now writing this letter. I'm in a terribly cold, awful prison cell. Oh, it's so cold, here - I think my fingers may drop off. And that, Mama, is why I shall be appearing in court. As you can see, it was all one big misunderstanding, and I will have to explain this all to the judge. Maybe I can have a private word with him, before hand?
With the deepest of deep love, Your darling boy, The one with the blue eyes!
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