Young Fox Story- The Trial

"How do you plead?" the Judge asked sternly.

The frightened woman looked up at him and collected herself as best she could.
"Not Guilty, your honor," she said, realizing she sounded defensive and
hysterical.

There were angry mutterings and curses from the benches.

"Not guilty to the charge of shrewishness," the Judge repeated as the court
reporter noted it.

The defendant stood naked from the waist up, her hands cupping her large, firm
and rather conical breasts. Splaying her fingers just so, she pointed her
bosoms up and outward, the nipples hard like little arrows, so they were
directed at the judge's face, where he sat high up on his bench. It was a mark
of respect all women in a courtroom were expected to show.

"And the last charge, of child abuse by a parent discouraging sex, how do you
plead?"

The woman was a brazen hussy, he thought. He knew she was guilty. It was an
open and shut case. Would she lie again?

"But your Honor, they're only...."

BANG went his gavel. "You will answer the charge Mrs. Jones," he instructed.

The defendant was flushed and anxious but mustered herself and said in a loud
clear voice "Not Guilty, your honor."

At this the courtroom erupted in roars and catcalls. "Hang her!" "Shame!"
"Lying bitch!"

The judge banged his gavel and bellowed "Another disruption like this and I
shall clear the court!"

The defendant's barrister jumped to her feet, holding her breasts up and out
with practiced ease. The judge had always liked this woman's bosom, the
individual breasts about the size of large oranges, and the nipples a chocolate
brown on small aureoles. "Your honor, I move for a change of venue," she said,
"As you can see the populace in this community has condemned my client without
the trial properly starting."

"What say you to that motion?" the judge asked the Prosecutor, Lord Happenhome.
He was a tall, spindly man of middle age, wearing the flat pony tailed wig
popular with government attorneys.

"I object, your Honor, despite the eloquence of my heavily breasted opponent.
She would confuse the court with her fine nipples and plump bosom when the real
issue is the defendant's guilt. She would get no different reception anywhere
in this great nation."

The judge said, "Motion denied. Now let us get on with it. The Prosecutor
will call the first witness."

"The State calls Mrs. Abigail Paige," a functionary intoned in a loud, orotund
voice.

A 60ish woman in a blue polka dot dress and white sun hat stepped to the
witness box. Women of her age were exempted from the display of breasts.

"Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?" the bailiff asked
her, making her place a hand on the King James Bible.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, with a curtsy and a toothy smile.

"I do would suffice," the judge said. "Duly sworn," he went on, moving some
papers. He looked over his reading glasses while the Prosecutor interrogated
her.

"What is your occupation, Mrs.. Paige?"

"Yes, sir. I am housekeeper to Mr. and Mrs.. Jones."

"And the address of your employment?"

"Yes, sir. It's 621 Harrod Rd, sir."

"You have worked there how long?"

"Yes, sir. Ten years it is, sir. Ever since the lovebirds married, yes.
They're a lovely couple, sir."

"Yes, yes, quite so. Now, Mrs. Paige, do you know the children? Tell us about
them."

"Oh, but of course sir, I mean yes! Right after they got married, Mrs. Jones
popped a wee one, Deborah. A beautiful little girl, sir. My word, yes. And
then a year later Eugenie."

"Have you ever observed the children ask their father for sexual intercourse?"
the state's Prosecutor asked the witness forcefully, removing his eyeglasses
and folding them between two fingers of his hand.

"Yes, sir. Of course I have. Little Eugenie especially. She's very fond of
her papa's dingly thing, you know how girls are."

"Dingly thing?" the man repeated. "I would be obliged, Madam, if you'd speak
more plainly, in English preferably, not dialect."

"Yes, sir. I meant his penis."

"Very good. And the older girl, er....Deborah? What of her?"

"Well, she's not as vocal, sir, if you understand. But I'd often see her
sitting on Mr. Jones' lap, without clothes, you know, kissing and whatnot. I
just assumed they were, you know, diddling."

"Excuse me?"

"Having sex. Intercourse. Fucking is what they called it when I was a girl
like her."

The courtroom broke into laughter and whistles, a few rowdy types stamped their
feet. The judge banged his gavel. "I believe they still do," he observed
dryly.

"Now then," the Prosecutor Lord Happenhome droned on, "Have you ever witnessed
Mrs. Jones, the defendant," and he pointed dramatically at the heavy-breasted
women in the prisoner box, "have you ever seen or heard the defendant complain
to her husband?"

"Yes, sir. I am sorry to say that I have. She's a dear woman all the same,
sir," Mrs. Paige added with the gushing good nature of a woman long in the
domestic service, smiling brightly at the scorned woman standing a few feet
away from her.

"An example please."

"Well, sir, I heard her say once to dear Mr. Jones, if you'll pardon me sir
this is very difficult," and Mrs. Paige lowered her voice and began whispering.

"Speak up, speak up," the Judge interposed, "I'm not getting any younger, Mrs.
Paige, my hearing isn't that good. Speak clearly."

"Yes, sir, your honor, sir. She, the defendant that is, sir, I once heard her
tell Mr. Jones that it wasn't right for him to, you know, uh, well, I guess you
said it's okay to use this term, she said, 'It isn't right for you to be
fucking our little girls.' I'm sorry, your honor, but that's what I heard her
say, sure as my name is Abigail Paige, by my honor."

The room threatened to break into riot. Women made catcalls and threw broken
flowers at the defendant. The judge stood, angry, and banged his gavel once
again. "I warn every last one of you, this is an outrage! You must restrain
your emotions. I realize this case is a national embarrassment and that things
will be said that will upset the squeamish, but by our King's laws, I control
this court room, and I will have order! Is that clear?"

The Prosecutor said, "I have no further questions, your worship."

The Defense barrister, Miss Bumpole, rose, after plucking her nipples to
suitable arousal.

"Mrs.. Paige, have you ever observed the defendant actually physically
interfere with her husband's parental rights with his children?"

"You mean, missus, like pull his diddly thing out of the girls?" Mrs. Paige
asked.

"Well, yes, that. For example. Or anything like it?"

"No, missus. Can't say as I ever have, no indeed."

"No further questions," she said, sitting down.

The next witness, a handyman named George Smithers, submitted that he had seen
the defendant argue with her husband once but he could not remember about what.
The third witness, Tina Jones (no relation), a minor, told how she came by one
afternoon to ask Mr. Jones for sex, and that Mrs. Jones looked at her
"malignantly." There were a few groans from the hallway, where the testimony
was being played over a P.A. system. Tina Jones' further testimony would be
deposed later, as she was a minor, and details could be suppressed from the
public record at the request of the minor's parents.




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