Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  “How much is this one?” I asked.

  “Five hundred and sixty-five,” Judy replied.

  “Any movement on that?” Joe asked. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to negotiate. I would have gotten my bank to transfer the money that day if I could.

  “There is, it’s a divorce,” she said. “The wife doesn’t want to leave, but he wants the money.” She sighed and shrugged her shoulder as if it was an inconvenience. I bristled.

  “Is she getting half of this?” I asked.

  Judy shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think you could ask her to speak with me?” I asked.

  Judy frowned, and Joe sighed, knowing exactly what I wanted to know.

  “I love this property, it’s perfect, but before I make an offer I’d like to speak to the owner,” I said.

  Judy pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialled. When the call was answered she explained that a potential buyer wanted to ask a question. I guessed she’d received the required permission because she handed the phone to me. I took it and walked away for privacy.

  “Hi, my name is Lizzie, and I wanted to say, I love your home and, being newly divorced myself, I understand how hard this is for you.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. I can’t stay, and I can’t buy him out, but the one thing I did say to Judy is only the best person can buy the house. I guess that’s pretty dumb really,” she said, with a chuckle.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a really personal question?”

  “I guess that depends what you’re about to ask,” she replied.

  “Are you getting half of the equity from this sale or half of everything? I guess that’s what I want to know.” It was a super cheeky question but important to me.

  She hesitated before answering. “He has agreed to give me three quarters of the property and half of all joint assets. I put my heart into converting that barn, and he recognises that. I also have to house his child.”

  “Thank you for your honesty. I’m going to offer the full asking price,” I said. She didn’t answer, but I heard a sharp intake of breath.

  She thanked me in a voice that cracked with emotion. I said my goodbye and was sure that we would meet before everything was finalised. I’d want a second visit to measure up for things. I walked back to Joe and Judy and handed her the mobile.

  “Full asking price, but I also want a quick turnaround,” I informed her.

  “Lizzie—” I knew that Joe would caution me and want to get a better price, but I could afford it, and I wanted to help that woman.

  I held up my hand. “Full asking price. I’m a cash buyer, and I’ll instruct my lawyer this afternoon to get cracking.”

  Judy tried to conceal her joy, and Joe was shaking his head. “Lizzie, this house, as Judy knows, is overpriced by about fifty thousand,” he said. He would have done his research, of course.

  “That may well be the case, but that’s my offer. Shall we decide which bedroom is yours when you visit?”

  Judy walked out to her car to call her office, and we toured the barn again. The more time I spent in there, the more settled I felt. I could physically feel the weight being removed from my shoulders, the frown lines starting to ease out.

  I couldn’t move the smile from face. “I love it here, Joe. I feel totally at home, and I don’t even have a thing of mine around me.”

  “I know how you feel. It just has that something when you walk in, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded and actually felt sad when it was time for us to leave. I didn’t want to push the owner out, but I did want a quick turnaround.

  Before we left, I gripped Joe’s arm. “Oh my God, Joe. I just bought my very first house!” I wanted to do a dance and clap my hands. I wanted to run from room to room and plan where my furniture would go. “We can’t stay here any longer really, can we?” I asked.

  Joe laughed and threaded his arm through mine. “Let’s go and visit the local pub,” he said.

  We left Judy, who promised to email me later that day, and drove to the pub. It was midweek and midday. The pub was empty save for two elderly gentlemen who nodded as we walked in. They sat on stools at the bar and beside them, on a third stool, was a dog.

  While I had a large glass of wine, Joe toasted me with a pint of Coke. We chatted about the house and my impulse decision. I had no idea about the area, but I wasn’t far from a motorway or train station. I’d google when I got home…I felt like I was betraying the barn when I thought of the flat as home.

  “Have you heard from Ronan?” Joe asked. I was thankful for the sip of wine I’d just taken as I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about him.

  I still hadn’t received a reply to the email I’d sent, and I was beginning to get pissed off. Maggie had texted a couple of times, asking how I was and when I was returning. She made me laugh with anecdotes of saggy tits and her husband, limp dick. It seemed that they might have been charged with keeping the art meeting going. They had set up a ‘clean up’ party, Maggie said. With Charlie’s help, they were tarting up the glamping area. Saggy tits—and I really should have stopped calling her that—was looking forward to my return as well, according to Maggie.

  “So, everyone is missing me, except him,” I said, breaking my vow not to talk about him.

  Joe’s gaze was filled with pity. “I don’t know what to say. I wish I hadn’t recommended you to help him, but I thought he really liked you and it would be a good opportunity to spend time together.”

  I sighed. “I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m pissed off at his silence, but I also understand his grief. I’ve been there. I’m wondering if I’m just an easy target, Joe.” I took a sip of my wine as a wave of sadness washed over me.

  “You’re not, Lizzie, and we’re not having a pity party here, okay?”

  Joe wasn’t necessarily one who dealt well with emotion. It was often because he held himself so tightly, protecting his heart like a suit of armour, that when someone close had a flip out, he didn’t cope.

  “Anyway, we need to get back,” I said, draining my wine.

  Joe smiled, and I was sure it was because he was pleased I was dropping the subject. I guessed it made him feel awkward.

  We chatted on the way back about the barn, how excited I was, and the possible art exhibition. If Ronan didn’t reply, I’d have to get Maggie to deal with it, assuming he would still want to sell the art, of course.

  I waved to Joe after he’d dropped me off, with a promise to let him know what Judy said when she made contact.

  “Hi. You look happy today,” I heard. Danny came through the main front door just behind me.

  “I just bought a house, well, a barn conversion in Kent,” I said, still excited, but wishing I hadn’t told him. I didn’t want him to know too much of my personal business.

  “That sounds great. I’ve always fancied a conversion of some sort. You’ll have to invite me over for dinner when you move in,” he said, opening the stairwell door.

  I stood, expecting him to let me walk through first, but we collided as he barged through.

  “Excuse me,” I said, obviously not sarcastic enough when he smiled in return.

  Danny walked up the stairs in front of me, as there wasn’t the room to walk side by side, not that I would have wanted to. I had to admit to myself, despite his crass and rude manner, he did have a nice bum. Tight buttocks in tight jeans wiggled in front of me as he took each step.

  “How’s Pat?” I asked, I wasn’t remotely interested in the pest; it was more for something to say.

  “Ah, he’s not too well. I dread the day he dies, to be honest. I’ve had him years.”

  “Be a shame, I guess.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “You might like to take him with you to your new barn, Lizzie. He’ll be great at getting rid of the mice.” I wished he would just hurry up the stairs.

  I gave a snide smile. “I’m a dog person myself. I also don’t intend to have mice.”

 
; “That’s a shame. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to Pat if I have to move.”

  For someone who was so much in love with his cat, he seemed quick to try to palm him off. “What about Mrs Dingle? She’d love him,” I offered as we reached the top.

  “I could speak to her, I guess.” As before, he pushed through the door in front of me, this time letting it slam in my face. He didn’t even say goodbye as he opened his flat door and walked in. I heard him call Pat as he shut it behind him.

  “What a prick,” I said, to myself of course.

  I picked up the mail the postman had shoved through the letterbox and marvelled that he’d bothered to walk the stairs. Often he just threw it on the floor in the main hall. It contained a couple of bills, some junk mail, and a handwritten envelope. I recognised the handwriting and left it on the hall table. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to read what it said. My ex-husband had my mobile number, if it was important, he could call, and I suspected it was nothing more than a new address card. I sat at the kitchen table and laid the bills to one side. Instead, while I waited for the kettle to boil, I flipped through the junk mail.

  I chuckled as something caught my eye. It was a rubber slimming suit, similar to a wet suit but designed to make you sweat off the pounds. The accolades were amazing. One woman had lost half her original body weight in the catsuit. I left the junk mail on the table with the bills and made my tea. I checked my phone regularly for any communication from either Ronan or Judy. I received neither, but I had a text from Maggie:

  Just checking in. Charlie had a fun day with Saggy Tits, and he made a list of repairs for the cottages. They are going up for rental. We are interviewing for a new estate manager next week. Hopefully, you’ll get to meet him as well. Mags xx

  I sighed and giggled at the same time. We’d have to stop calling Saggy Tits that and find out her name. She was a nice old dear, and it was pretty insulting of us, even if we did mean it with fondness. I felt a pang of sadness at Maggie’s text. I missed her, and even Charlie if I was honest, and I’d only really known them a short while. I missed Ronan, but I couldn’t get past how horrible he’d made me feel. My ego was bruised enough; I didn’t need his kicking me to the kerb added to that. I texted back:

  Hey, Mags, great to hear from you. All good here, I bought a house! I’m so excited. I’ll send you some pictures. I did email Ronan, but I haven’t heard back. Maybe you could ask him what he wants to do about the exhibition? If he doesn’t want to go ahead, I really need to let Dave know. I’m glad Charlie had a good day, and we need to find out Saggy Tits’ real name! Will speak soon. Xx

  I didn’t mention anything about returning to Scotland. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome if I just turned up. It was up to Ronan what happened next.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I surveyed the coffee table and giggled. One empty bottle of wine and another slowly joining it were sat side by side. It was a nice wine that I’d popped out earlier to buy from a local convenience store known for its bin-ends at reasonable prices. I hadn’t eaten, that was the problem. It had been two days since I’d sent the text message to Maggie. I’d had replies from Judy that I’d passed on to my solicitor, but nothing from Ronan.

  “Aw, fuck him,” I said, waving my half-full glass around.

  Next to the wine was a parcel that I was yet to open. I hadn’t told anyone about the contents for fear of being called out as the sucker that I clearly was. I had practised what I’d say; I’d simply repeat some of the accolades and pretend to know the lady that lost half her body weight. I chuckled again as I placed the glass on the table.

  I picked up the box and walked to the bedroom. I slowly stripped off—the slowness was so I didn’t topple over—and unpacked the rubber catsuit, as I’d renamed it, from the box. I could do with losing a few pounds, and if it was as easy as sitting in a rubber suit while watching the telly, I was up for that. It saved the embarrassment of the gym or the blasted Pilates class that I’d never returned to.

  I made sure to pee, just in case, and I stood naked as I read the instructions. I was to put the suit on, obviously, for an hour a day and carry on as normal.

  As normal!

  I guessed I could do my housework, but unless I could fit clothes over the top, there was no carrying on as normal in a rubber catsuit.

  If I thought getting Spanx on was hard enough, the suit topped that. I tugged and folded, rolled and grunted with exertion. After twenty minutes I got the suit to my waist. Already I could feel my legs pulsing and was worried the circulation was cut off.

  I decided talcum powder would aid getting it over my already perspiring chest. A plume of talc wafted around me as I squirted. I was sure some actually hit my skin, but with my wine goggles on, I wasn’t sure. Everything around was a haze anyway. However, the top part of the suit slid up. I then had to reach around the back to pull on the piece of material attached to the zip. At the point the zip reached my neck the bloody piece of material came away in my hand. I threw it down and shrugged, not for one minute understanding the consequence of that.

  When I unpacked the hood with his slits for eyes and nose, and a perfect circle cut out for my mouth, I began to wonder what on earth I’d bought. I creaked as I moved, the tightness of the suit made my arms hang away from my body, and I walked as if I’d pissed myself.

  “I just have to watch a movie for an hour,” I said aloud.

  A rubber catsuit on a leather sofa, more specifically, the noises that were produced as I tried to sit and get comfortable made me howl once again. With tears running down my cheeks, I grabbed my phone to take a selfie.

  Joe, look! I bought this fat suit thing. It will make me sweat off pounds. Don’t I look cool? Ha ha ha

  I deleted the text before I sent it, realising, even through the wine fuzzed brain, it was a stupid idea. Joe would more than surely show the image to everyone he knew. I loved him, but I didn’t trust him.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d sat. I’d watched part of a movie, and when the commercials started, I realised how hot I felt. My cheeks were burning, and I began to feel very uncomfortable. Not that I’d ever had a panic attack in the past, but I could feel my heart racing, and I became agitated. I stood and tried to pull the rubber away from my throat. It moved a little but not enough to waft any air down. I reached around my neck to the zipper, and although I could touch it, I couldn’t push it down, and my arms were just not flexible enough to reach up my back to grab it.

  “Oh fuck,” I whispered, anxiously. I looked around the room hoping that a hook on a stick would miraculously materialise.

  I had thought that if I took a shower it might loosen it, but then images of a shrink-wrapped piece of meat came to mind. What if the hot water caused it to tighten? A cold shower then, at least it would cool me down. It did the opposite. With my head freezing, my body temperature was creeping up. I grabbed a towel and tried to dry myself off.

  It appeared that water was causing the catsuit to shrink, or my body was starting to swell under the pressure. A thought popped into my head: if the swelling had nowhere to go, I’d soon have feet the size of dinner plates or cheeks like a hamster storing food. I started to laugh, and then the worst thing happened. I needed to pee, really bad.

  I managed that cross-legged walk back to the bathroom with an idea of what to do. A wine-fuelled idea that was genius. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a hole between my legs taking great care to suck in as much as I could to avoid a nasty nip on the hooha.

  I fell on the toilet and the relief of being able to pee made me sigh. The trouble was, when I fell on to the loo, I also dropped the scissors behind it. Even without the restriction of the suit, I would never be able to angle myself enough to reach behind. Whoever had designed the bathroom had never had to use it, clearly. The loo was positioned between a wall and the sink unit. There was barely enough room to get a mop around the back, let alone my arm.

  “I need help,” I said.

  Had I not drunk nearly two
bottles of wine, I would have managed the situation, and I most certainly would not have been considering walking from the bathroom, grabbing a towel to put around my waist and cover my exposed bald hooha, then heading to my front door. I knew Danny was home because I’d spied him through my spy hole when he’d returned earlier. I didn’t like him, and I knew he’d make fun of me, but all I needed was someone to lower the zipper.

  I froze as I heard a knock on my door. It wasn’t as if I could even check my watch for the time—it was stuck up my arm and under the rubber sleeve. I knew it was late, though. I put my eye to the spy hole, and all I could see were flowers.

  “Who’s there?” I called out.

  I highly doubted it was Danny, he’d never have the foresight to present flowers for any reason, and I sort of hoped it might be Mrs Dingle, not that she had any reason to bring me flowers, either.

  “Lizzie, can you open the door? It’s me, Ronan. I’m…can you open the door?”

  I froze, for a second time, and the panic set in. What was he doing at my apartment door with flowers at that time of night?

  I didn’t have a choice. “Ronan, I need help,” I called out.

  “Lizzie? What’s wrong? Open the door,” he shouted with an extremely worried edge to his voice, before pounding on it.

  I grabbed the key to unlock and pulled back the bolts. As I pulled, he pushed, and I tumbled backwards landing on my arse. Thank fuck the towel stayed put.

  “What the…?”

  I held out my hand. “Don’t laugh at me.” The suit was so tight, I thought I’d never get up from the floor.

  His smirk was getting broader. “What are you wearing?” he said.

  I started to cry. “It’s supposed to make me lose weight, but I drank wine, and then I got stuck and I dropped the scissors, and you’ve been so fucking horrible because you didn’t know that you were wanking and all I did was try to cover you over when the photograph fell…”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Lizzie, pause, take a breath. I got some of that, some I hope I misheard. First, we need to get you out of your…gimp suit…you look like you’re about to explode.”