I spent a single afternoon with Penny Mordaunt and now I'm gay for her forever

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist slightly to the right of Hitler

SEXUALITY? Straight as a die. No changing teams for me. Until I spent one afternoon with Penny Mordaunt, and now I’m her lesbian love-slave. 

The sheer magnificence of Mordaunt in all her glory – she stands 5ft 10ins in heels, but to me she seemed a 50-foot woman – overwhelmed my senses. I passed out. And when I awoke, the dream was still there.

‘Are you alright?’ she cooed, in a voice as soft as buttery lambskin concealing a core of tempered steel. ‘I love you,’ I told her. ‘I love you with a passion that blazes like a refugee boat set alight by the Navy, under your firm-but-fair command.’

Gracefully, our next prime minister passed over my unprofessional entreaties, instead telling me about her time as a magician’s assistant. The thought of her packed into a spangled leotard is too much for me and I spasm.

‘I was sawn in half,’ she continues, ‘I pulled rabbits out of hats, and now I’m ready to work my magic on the Tory party.’ A soft gurgle of pleasure is my only response.

‘And then, of course,’ she continues like a practiced seductress, ‘I joined the Navy.’ In my mind’s eye she’s dropped the leotard for a captain’s outfit, complete with jauntily-angled hat, and I renounce all other lovers without regret for the rest of my born days.

‘In a way the UK is like a ship,’ she says, in a statement so wise it should be chiselled on stone and worshipped. ‘The captain’s orders must never be questioned, those below decks should stay there, and dissenters should be keelhauled or marooned.’

The straightforward, plain-speaking obviousness of this statement hits me like a revelation. I know now there is only Penny, that she is the way and the light, and that I would crawl through a desert of broken glass merely to lick the back of her knee.

This isn’t like my previous infatuation with Boris Johnson. That was no more than a middle-aged woman’s teenage crush on a bad boy. I know that now. Just as I know that Penny is the captain of my clit and the master of my fanny.

I am gay for Penny. She is my domme and I am her sub. Cometh the hour, cometh the woman. And I came six times.

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Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

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Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

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Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

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Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

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