The Letter 50

Jenny

Just a note to let you know I'm OK. I doubt you are worrying about me other than I'm not paying for the house, your next pair of shoes, or the Tesco bill. I don't suppose you're going to stop looking for me. Good luck with that. I don't think you will find me. There are two reasons for that: A. Billy McNeil isn't my real name, and B. I have another identity now. I'm still a self-employed building worker, though I'm not a joiner. If you had paid any attention at all, you'd have known I never was. Chippies always come home covered in sawdust.

I'll let you know the big fuckup in your plan a bit later, and trust me, it was a huge bollock to drop. going back to  when we met, I couldn't believe my luck when I pulled you in the Black Bull three years ago. I thought you were well above my level.

My mates did as well. When I walked out of that boozer with you on my arm, there was only one bloke in that pub more surprised than them, and that was me. When you asked me for a Brandy and Babycham when I offered you and your mate Carrol a drink, I thought this one's going to be an expensive fuck. You were not as expensive as you hoped you would be though. The shoes and clothes were a bit fucking excessive. The thigh boots! Fuck me! They cost over four hundred quid, but I still think they were worth every penny. Considering I got my cheesy nosher up your tight little shit chute, they were a bargain. Then, when you came like a steam train, you were stuck with that, weren't you? Fuck, love, I did love pushing little Billy in your tight brown ring. To be fair, you gave me some wonderful blow jobs as well.

For the first six weeks, I thought you were an angel sent to earth just to be mine. All my mates told me you were just after my money; I didn't believe them. I thought they were jealous. Then I heard you and Carol talking in Costa by the railway station. Just a bit of luck seeing you and following you in. It didn't seem very lucky at the time when I heard you tell Carrol about your bit on the side, how big he was, and how you were going to have to sweat a bit to get his monster in your back door. Fuck, that hurt. You said I would be the only man ever to get in there. Telling her you were going to let him get you pregnant while you shut me off from your puss sort of changed the game plan for me a bit. Mind, you were right; I didn't miss your puss.

Then, after you got the knife in, you twisted it hard. You told Carrol I was a pencil dick! Gerry fills your tiny little puss like you need it filled. Fuck sake, woman, mine is seven and a half inches long, and you used to complain that it gave you jaw ache when you blew me. How fucking big is he, then? If we ever do meet again, don't tell me it will give me nightmares.

Your tiny little puss! For fucks sake, the first time I went down on you, I was scared a train was going to hit me on the head coming out of the tunnel. Sorry to break it to you, girl, but you've got a cunt like a cow. You must need something akin to the hydraulic pit props the miners use to keep the roof up. I don't mind being smaller than someone else in the trouser department. I'm not into all that willy-wavering shit. Mine has never failed to satisfy the most important person in my bed--me!

There were two reasons I split. Well, actually, I was beginning to have scary dreams about Frankincunt. I was dreaming your "tiny little pussy" had teeth! Big yellow fangs used to chase me down the road, trying to eat me. I used to wake up screaming and sweating like a child molester on a school bus.

Your insistence that we kept shagging while you were pregnant was OK up to the seven-month mark, but for fucks sake, Jenny. When I left, you were like a beached whale. Despite what the bleeding-heart sympathetic new man says, it's not a sexy look. You didn't try; you stopped trying to look good as well. I didn't expect you to get into that rubber corset I bought you before you were preggers anymore. Jesus H Christ though, the Turkish geezer started carving the leg of the unknown animal like Hannibal Lecter on speed every time you walked past his kebab shop. You weren't eating for two; you were eating for twenty-two.

Lastly, I've found someone else. She looks a bit like you did before you became Momzilla. To be honest, darling, she is not quite as pretty. But she does have bigger tits; every cloud has a silver lining. Obviously not as big as yours are now; one of yours is propping for England, isn't it?

Finally, Jenny, I'd like to wish you well and a bit more luck in keeping your knickers up in the future. I hope the birth goes well, but please stop telling everyone what a cunt I am leaving you when you are eight months pregnant with my baby. Three of us know for sure that the little bastard isn't mine. You, me, and the doctor who told me five years ago that I'm sterile Not a single swimmer in my man milk Jenny dear. I didn't tell you I had mumps when I was seven years old. Shame really. I'm pretty sure I will get to be a dad with my new girl. Obviously, I won't sire any kids. However. I don't subscribe to forsaking all others bollocks; if you had told me you wanted a rug rat, I would have helped you find a suitable sperm donor and then spent a lot of money on baby clothes, toys, nappies, and bottles.

I'd have given up my man cave in the second bedroom and painted it pink or blue, depending on if it was a boy or a girl. But you tried to pass another man's bastard off as my sprog. Sorry, cheating cunt, that ain't going to work. Life to me is like my building renovation business. If I can't do it I get a competent man in who can.