Widdecombe in Latino Lover Denial|
By our poseur without portfolio,
Following the thong-melting news that John ‘Two Shags’ Prescott has been playing away from home, we have received a press statement from the office of Ann Widdecombe MP, strongly refuting rumours regarding her own personal life
When we expressed surprise that a Tory MP widely respected for her liberal views on homosexuality, teenage sex and immigration, should seek to deny that she has put it about a bit—a spokestypeperson for the staunchly Catholic spinster (59½-36-56), told us: "Miss Widdecombe is a complete stranger to intimacies with the opposite sex—or indeed, any sex. The fact that some unprincipled journalists choose to associate her robust views and mannish appearance with those of a repressed, cock-hungry, closet lesbian who enjoys being spit roasted by complete strangers in a public toilet, is a sad reflection on our immoral times."
"So there is no truth to the rumour that she has repeatedly invited the members of the 1922 committee to munch on her engorged lady lips while being flagellated by a three-line whip?"
STATEMENT FROM THE OFFICE OF THE HONOURABLE ANN WIDDECOMBE MP
'Miss Widdecombe denies absolutely the suggestion that she has had a torrid affair lasting several years with a well-muscled Latino lover called Michael. The suggestion that they regularly met at the Holiday Inn near Barnstable, often shutting themselves in the bridal suite for days at a time and subsisting on a diet of raw oysters and Champagne is similarly untrue. Despite what you may have read elsewhere, Miss Widdecombe is, in fact, severely allergic to baby oil and so would not have been able to use it in prolonged and highly skilled bouts of sensual massage aimed at reinvigorating her lover’s flagging member.
My client vehemently denies being brought to a fever pitch of unbridled sexual arousal after being given one of Edwina Curry's novels on the 18.36 London to Maidstone express. Eyewitness accounts that allege she went on to strip down to her sodden, thong panties and pleasure herself to no less than seven shattering orgasm while an unidentified, Latino assistant sat on her face, are entirely groundless.
Likewise my client has never stood upon two plastic buckets in order to enjoy a knee trembler with Michael Howard under the pier at the Tory Party Conference. Her screams of ecstasy, as Mr Howard exercised his member’s privileges, could not be, and never were, heard rising to a passionate crescendo above the amplified sound of Kenneth Clarke’s conference speech. Upon reading this Miss Widdecombe has asked me to add, for the avoidance of doubt, that she has never enjoyed a knee trembler with anyone. Not that she has anything against knee tremblers—always provided they are conducted between consenting, married Catholics in the privacy of their own home with the curtains drawn and the lights out for the sole purpose of procreation.
The suggestion that Michael Portillo used to rub her all over with honey and baked beans before taking her repeatedly from behind in the showers of the Houses of Parliament gymnasium whilst shouting ‘Take that Margaret—you filthy slut, you know you like it!' is as far-fetched as it insulting to both parties. My client’s naked body has never arched with pleasure under the firm touch of Mr Portillo’s strong, manly hands. Mr Portillo’s hugely empurpled throbbing member has never, to my client's knowledge, been anywhere near her moist and inviting love tunnel and certainly has never paid a visit to her gaping tradesman’s entrance—as may have been suggested in some of the week-end tabloids.
Other points which I have been asked to clarify are:
My client hopes that this statement has cleared up any uncertainty and that this will put an end to speculation over what is essentially a personal matter; a matter which would in no way impinge on her political or parliamentary duties. Not that there is anything going on, but if there were it would not be any of your business anyway.'