Ireland has an unequalled heritage of producing amazing writers. Think James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift, George Bernard Shaw, C.S. Lewis, W.B. Yeats, Bram Stoker, Seamus O’ Heaney and deviantsusie to name but a few. But the brightest star in this sparkling firmament is undoubtedly Jake Malden (Jaymal). Jake is a Lush Competition Winner, been awarded 11 Editors’ Pick Awards, 26 Recommended Reads, has 20 Famous Stories and 2 Legendary Stories, so being invited to contribute to the ‘Dear Cum’ Series will almost certainly be the highlight of his tawdry writing career. And because he is such a fabulous person about town and really had nothing else worth doing with his time he produced not one, but two letters. Thank you very much, Jake.

So it seems that some of the big swinging dickheads down at Head Office have been getting their knickers in a twist at the lack of penetration in the eighteen to twenty-four demographic, which they’d know was bugger-shite if they spent as much time in their local park as I do because there’s plenty of penetrating going on down there I can tell you. And some smegma-breathed, cunt-bitch (and yes, I am looking at you Janine) suggested that one way of engaging with this loser bunch of narcissistic, self-absorbed, whining, teen-saddos was to run a special ‘back to college’ edition of the incredibly wonderful, empathetic, world-famous, ‘Dear Cum’ column. 

Now I’m not one to complain, but let’s be honest, don’t I have enough on my plate with answering the proper, important, life-affecting letters I receive from contributing, well-adjusted, nice, middle-class saddos without having to listen to the interminable cry-babying of a bunch of ‘I’m so misunderstood and nobody has ever suffered the way I’m suffering’, self-entitled, ‘the world revolves around me’, freeloading, teen-twats. 

It may not be for me to question the decision making of the senior management who are in charge of running this shit show, but have none of them ever heard of the Internet or Snapchat or Tik Tok or OnlyFans? What next? Are they going to expect me to host my own MySpace page? Fuckwits.

But, it’s not the teen-twats fault that I’m contractually obliged to answer their dumb, puerile, bleatings. So, I shall put all that to one side, fix a welcoming smile across my lips, allow my eyes to sparkle with concern and kindheartedness, and prepare to shower them with my incomparable pearls of wisdom. 

And on that clearly fraudulent thought, it might be best if we went ‘to the letter’. 


Yo Cums Ho

I am writing you. My name is Barry and I need your help with some things. Like important things, like. I don’t really write lot but I will try my best and use all the words I know.

I am 18 and in love. The girl I love is Lydia. We both went to Alf Garnett Cademy in East London. She is beautiful and brainy and she has a smile and tits. She is also very sweet and lovely and knows science. Her arse is great two. We used to hang out in my car under the stars and the moon and she would suck me off. She has nice lips and her mouth is wet and warm. She told me we were meant two bees. She didn’t say what we were meant two bees, but it must be something good if she said it.

The problem Cums Ho is that Lydia went off to Uni in Edinburrow, which is in Whales. I’m not big into jography but its long way. I’m not big into any subjects really, though Lydia used to read her science revision books to me while she wanked me in her bedroom so I like science. She’s got very soft hands and little slender fingers that just about go around and she goes up and down really nice and slow. And sometimes she’d suck out all the cream. She is really nice like that. 

My mum talked the school principal into letting me stay and do my A-levels. She talked to him a whole lot, so much that dad got mad because he says she hasn’t talked to him that much in years or maybe ever. Anyway all those endless hours of shouting dirty things at each other and banging the desk in his office over and over after school worked. I’m not a good student but I’m good at sports though and that’s what Lydia noticed. She likes to feel all my bulges, especially my MAJOR bulge  Lydia liked that a LOT. I’m sure you know which one I mean, Mrs Cums Bwitch, wink wink nuff said. 

I was talking about my cock in that last bit. Lydia likes my cock lots and lots. 
So the point is that me and Lydia made a promise to each other to be together forever and never to part, but she’s in Edinborrow and I’m here starting my career in McDonald’s, obvs. Soz, I keep getting grease on the screen from the fryer. I hope you can read it. I know it’s true love and that she won’t be interested in all the horny guys at uni just because their/there/they’re there/they’re/their and I’m here. Even though she hasn’t been in touch or answered any Skype messages in three days. She’s just busy studying, see, cos she’s smart. So am I but I’m the business world kind of smart, keeping track of who wants fries with that, who wants to ‘Go Large’, and who wants a Coke or a Sprite or a milkshake or a water or an orange juice, which is hard.

I think maybe I need to learn some sexy games to play with her, like I can wank on screen and be sure to wipe it off afterwards and she can show me her arse and other romantic stuff. You know, send her pictures of me in my work uniform with my cock out and maybe stick it in a McFlurry. Do you think that’s a good plans Mrs Cums Cunt? What else do you think I can do to keep our love alive?


Barry Botkin.


If that isn’t a life-affirming letter then I don’t know what is. Whoever said that romance is dead has obviously been looking underneath the wrong stones when all they needed to do was pop down the old East End to feast upon a mushy slice of traditional Cockney lovey-dovey, sentimentality. Cor blimey, doo-wop, guv, wot a luverly Pearly King and Queen, it sure do make yer horse and cart weep. And, no, that isn’t a small piece of grit in my eye.


Dear Bazza Bottykins

Words cannot express how moved I was by your plight. There you are home alone with a major bulge and no nice, warm, wet, clingy, moaning, tight, teen cunt to stuff it into. It’s an insufferable situation, and I hear that she had a great arse and great tits too. What more could any young man want in a bitch-ho?! I mean what’s with all this educating young women nonsense. It’s not something our parents did or our grandparents, and if a life of domestic drudgery, menial low-paid employment, and drunken, grunty sex when the pubs closed was good enough for them then it ought to be good enough for today’s uppity young ladies. 

Now all those other useless, not-to-be-listened-to, agony aunts will regale you with a load of phish and piffle about demonstrating your love for her every day with a constant showering of saccharine sweet, sensitive and tender messages of devotion. But let me tell you what young ladies want. What they really, really want. Zigazig Ah.

Dick pics. 

All we want is to be constantly reminded of your huge, drool-inducing, cock. The more, the better. And not just simple everyday ‘down your trousers’ pics or swinging free mid-thigh in front of the mirror pics or proudly erect and bursting at the point of cumming pics or even flaccid post-ejaculation pics with your cum tribute splattered across your favourite polaroid of her arched and naked body quivering in hope of the rampant fucking she’s about to receive. Though, of course, all those are worth sharing. 

No, what’s really going to make her cunt drip and her heart flutter are ‘action’ dick pics or even better videos. 

‘Hey sweetie, here I am turning a large vanilla milkshake to mush with my john thomas imagining it was your sloppy hole’. ‘Hey babe. Let’s see how many onion rings I can fit on my man-dick. God, they’re tighter than your clingy arsehole’. And don’t stop at foodstuffs. Try a little dress-up, give it a cap and some stars and have it persuade customers to ‘Go Large’. Get some colleagues involved and play hunt my penis amongst the chip dispenser. Or organise a blindfold tasting session with various condiments and whichever slut-whores are on shift that day, and don’t forget to have them moan ‘we’re lovin’ it’ as they lap you clean. At the end of the workday sweep the floor and wipe down the tables with it whilst dancing to Beyoncé’s’ Single Ladies’. 

Because let’s be honest, if that stuck-up, lesbian, feminista bitch is going to show herself deserving of your bulging major then she needs to put a cock ring on it toute suite. Hoes like her need to be kept on a short leash, Bazza. A short leash with the handle firmly wrapped about your tumescent manhood so that the heated little bitch knows where to feast and doesn’t get lost or distracted by any other tasty lollipops on her crawly journey to pay homage to your stupendous spunk-stick. 

Oh, and whilst I’m here I’ll let you in on a little secret. What gets us girlies hotter, wetter and more bothersome in our nether regions than absolutely anything else are videos of men-folk doing childish, mindless, pointless, macho stunts. Definitely naked and preferably with the guarantee of serious bodily harm. Think Jackass meets The Red Hot Chilli Peppers and your pretty much there. And yes, I know they’re oldies and you’ve never heard of either of them, but look them up. That’s what Goggle is for. 

And if you do feel in need of any artistic guidance then do send me any pics or videos you have and I’ll do my best to test their cunt-drippyness. 

Yours in soggy expectation, typing one-handed. 

Cum Girl (Mrs) 



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