07 May 2011
The Likely Letters – Part Two
For the previous chapter, please click HITHER.
MORE DAYS passed as I continued my convalescence, nursing my poor mangled manhood back to health after it was so cruelly injured by a wicked, wicked whore a couple of weeks or so previously.
At one point, a doctor paid me a visit to check on my progress, but soon had to seek medical help himself, after he gazed upon my proud Lord Palmerston, and promptly passed out through the shock of having seen such a mighty organ. You would think a medical man would have seen it all, but then again I cannot deny that I am a most impressively endowed specimen.
My man-servant, Botter, continued to fuss and fret over me, like some kind of hideously malformed nurse-maid. Back and forth he went, bringing bowl after ruddy bowl of soup, explaining that it would help me ‘get my strength back’. I tested his theory by hurling the umpteenth bowl directly at his head, which smashed satisfyingly upon his wretched bonce. “It seems you are correct, Botter,” I chortled as my man-servant dashed off to tend to his facial burns.
When not hurling broth at my man-servant, I kept myself amused by continuing to trawl through the huge sacks of post regularly delivered to the house. I was eagerly anticipating a reply from Mr. Startleburst Phingerphuckk, whose wife had gone missing, a case I had agreed to take on even while confined to my sick-bed. That is how astonishing I am, dear reader.
There were all sorts of letters in the post that week, from Nigerian businessmen offering me hard cash in return for my banking details, to advertisements from apothecaries claiming they could make me ‘last longer in bed’. I snorted. I had already been in bed for a fortnight, the ignorant arse-pipes.
There were some far more interesting items of mail, however, such as this fascinating missive:
Dear Lord Likely,
I’m writing to bring to your attention a matter of great importance. I do not wish to alarm his Lordship during his convalesce but I’ve come to believe that your country may need you.
This afternoon, whilst taking afternoon tea in Hyde Park I was most put out to be approached by what can only be described as a ‘woman of ill breeding’. I can’t confess to understand what she attempted to impress upon me, but the words ‘pleasure’ and ‘boudoir’ were used and despite my lack of familiarity with modern repartee, I felt the exchange to be most improper.
Though I’m a lady of exceptional background and breeding, I’m no fool, and despite having no interest in such things, I will admit that I have from time to time been forced to listen to tales of your erotic exploits and indeed admit I have also been forced to read about your exploits via your repugnant journals too. Simply to learn enough to ward myself against bounders such as yourself you understand.
Now, I find your adventures both depraved and morally repugnant, but when I listened to this young lady of questionable heritage describe how she’d enjoyed carnal pleasures with your manservant Botter, I decided that enough is enough.
I don’t like to talk of such things, and I trust on your good name that I have your confidence in this matter, but I have it on good authority that Doctor Cockfosters Penile Erection Kit is an excellent tonic for your malaise.
The sooner you apply the tonic to your Lord Palmerston the better. I’m no snob, but the lady folk of England are fornicating with the likes of your manservant Botter, and if this state of affairs is to continue I feel I shall be forced decline your invitation to the annual Likely Estate Summer Ball.
This is quite the shame, because I so very much enjoy your balls.
I shuddered. The thought of that blasted bilge-bucket Botter tending to ladies in my absence was enough to make me physically ill. Well, iller. I’d have to have words with that bounder. Words such as ‘I’m’ ‘going’ ‘to’ ‘shatter’ ‘your’ ‘legs’.
I made a note of the sender’s name and the return address. I would have to let this good lady enjoy my magnificent balls one day.
The next letter also raised my spirits somewhat:
Dear Lord Likely,
You seem so familiar. Have we met before? Was that you on the beach in Kiribati? I was, I have to admit, a little beyond drunk at the time, so I can’t be sure.
Is my assistant with you by any chance? I lost her while traveling through Central America. If you don’t have Zoe with you at the moment, do you think you could help me find her. She dove into a stranger’s carriage and disappeared into the night. While the lack of a forwarding address means that I don’t have to send her a paycheck (which I like) the insurance company isn’t too pleased as Zoe is the third assistant I’ve lost (after Morgan and Lynn both quit abruptly).
I thank you for any assistance you are able to give,
Crystal, fellow adventurer.
I racked my brain. Had I met this Crystal before? It was difficult to be certain. And what of her assistants? Had I come across them before? Or in them? I really could not be certain, so noted down the lady’s name and address in the hope thet I could thoroughly assist her later.
I tore open another envelope.
My Dear Lord Likely,
It has come to my attention that you have been gravely wounded by a former employee of mine. I run a respectable business and do not tolerate such action.She went out on her own to get business for herself, because of that and your treatment she has been relived of her position.
Therefore, I extend to you, my dear Lord Likely, a heartfelt apology and an open invitation to visit my establishment and be personally taken care of by me. At no cost to Lord Likely.
With heaving and tingling breast
Yours For The Taking,
PS: In my haste I forgot to tell you the name of my establishment, it is Russian Belles. We maybe prostitutes but we are ladies.
I smiled. I was certainly glad to hear that the strumpet who sabotaged my sex-truncheon had been given the boot! Hit her where it hurts, in the purse, the money-hungry harlot. I noted the name and address of the Countess. I would surely be ‘Russian’ to take her up on her kind offer, I chuckled to myself.
Next came an offer of aid:
Dear Lord Likely,
News of your injury has spread quickly throughout London. Indeed, the very lack of your presence among the ladies of the night these past few days has lead some to wonder as to your early demise. If indeed your Lord Palmerston has been mangled by an irate member of the world’s oldest profession, I shall be happy to design a harness of sorts to at least make you more ambulatory during your convalescence with a minimum of pain. If there is a contagious element to your affliction, that likewise can be treated with a my patented formula injected by a very large needle, driven directly through to deal with the matter at its source. Such treatment is not for the faint of heart, of course.
In any event, I bring you wishes of a speedy recovery, and a not-so-subtle reminder to stay far, far away from my dear daughters.
In Good Health,
I felt myself wince at the description of this procedure, and decided there and then that I would NOT be seeking to have anything sharp and pointy near my precious pleasure-pole. I did, however, note the name and address of the good doctor, in the hope that I may be able to offer my own special aid to his daughters.
And so I continued to rifle through the mail-bags, seeking more correspondence from Mr. Phingerphuckk, but there was seemingly nothing to be found. But then I found a rather bulky-looking envelope, which seemed to contain more than a letter inside. My curiosity piqued, I tore it open.
Out fell a lock of hair, and a rather menacing note:
KeEP aWay FroM tHe PhingErPhuckKs. Or SHe WiLl DIE.
I lowered the letter slowly. I was fairly certain this ‘friend’ was not a friend of mine at all; I know no-one with such poor grammar. But whomever this cur was, they would regret threatening me.
– Lord Likely.
To Be Continued!…
Write To Likely And Appear In The Next Chapter!
Yes, dear readers, you read that correctly! Compose a letter to his lordship, and if it passes muster he shall read it out in the next chapter of this exhilarating epistolary escapade, along with a hyper-link to a webbed-site of your choosing should you be successful, as those lucky people in this week’s chapter were! It can be whatever you like, declarations of love, sales-pitches, requests for his services or letters demanding his blood – just write, write, WRITE, DAMMIT!
Send your missives to firstname.lastname@example.org, or leave them as a comment below! We look forward to hearing from you, chums!