My late mother was a professional woman.
I grew up in the middle of the Fens with my parents, Jeb and Nelly and my four brothers of whom I was the youngest but only by age. I remember my mother putting us all to bed in the barn which also slept two pigs, a goat, quite a few mice and a donkey called Colin. She would wait for us to go to sleep, put the cap back on the special bedtime medicine and go off to work as a high class prostitute in the streets of Ely.

It was a very open family, we all knew what mum did and she was very open indeed in so many ways. I recall once at the dinner table my mum corrected me for talking with food in my mouth. "Don't talk with your mouth full", she said in a stern assertive manner. She continued, "Which is exactly what Mr Patterson said on Sunday while I was noshing his bell". We all laughed heartily.
My father was very proud of her. In 1968 she won the best prostitute in all of Ely competition run by the parish council and my father was envied. He would walk into the local pub, The Eel and Cow to cheers from his friends who would all say what a brilliant fuck my mum was.
Even my teacher kept me back one night to say that I should be very proud of my mother. He told me, "She could do tricks with her tongue so clever, you could cough your mess across the room". My teacher was a regular customer. I didn't like him very much due to the fact he would bum me whenever he got the opportunity. He told me he had put cock maggots in my drink and if I told anyone they would eat my knob from the inside out until it was just a bloody stump that looked like the contents of a fish gutter's bucket or my mum's cunt during rag week. Well you wouldn't want that, so I kept schtum.

She worked right up to her death two years ago at the ripe old age of 102. She passed away when her teeth became dislodged while giving a blowie to the church warden. She didn't choke but inadvertantly she bit his bell causing a badly torn jappie. The shock and pain caused the poor fucker to thrust forward with such a jolt the entire length of his nudger along with his nut sack and three quarters of an inch of his barse, hammered into the back of my mum's throat. She died of a heart attack and the unconcious church warden had to have his trouser vegitables cut free from her frozen shut mouth. She was burried on the front lawn of Ely Cathedral, at night when nobody was about, and we are now in the process of getting the council to errect a statue in her memory. My brother Stan got the job restoring some of the stained glass windows. As a mark of respect to our mum, he added a little something. If you look closely, Jesus's beard is actually my mum's muff.

My wife has continued in the family trade as have my daughters and hopefully my grandaughters will do too as soon as they are ripe. My daughter is off work following a bizarre double injury with a customer. It seems he was a little overkeen to gain entry and did a diana. This resulted in severe bruising to her flange and carse and the customer suffered a broken cock.
Do a diana?
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Tue 16 Feb 2010, 23:45, 2 replies)

Wow
I really thought that would take me to I love horses.
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 4:25, closed)

Ha!
I thought this would be one from Spanky, at first...
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 17:35, closed)