Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  I sniffed back the snot leaking from my nostrils. “Don’t take the piss out of me.”

  I was an ugly crier, always had been. In fifty years, I could never just daintily dab the corner of my eye and have perfect makeup left. Oh, no. I had mascara dripping off my chin, my lips and eyelids would be swollen, my nose would be red and running, and if I really got going, got to the wailing stage, I’d make faces as if someone had shoved a colonoscopy tube up my arse without lubricant or warning.

  “Hey, Lizzie. I’m so sorry. Let’s get you out of this and then we can talk,” he said, gently. He turned me around and tugged on the zip. It was firmly stuck, glued in place by the mush that had once been talc and sweat.

  “The scissors fell down the back of the loo, and I can’t reach them,” I said, still sniffing and hiccupping.

  Ronan walked into the kitchen and returned with a knife. I screwed my eyes closed in preparation for being massacred while he cut down the line of the zip. As the garment parted, and my body fell into its natural size, I sighed. It was better than the tight-bra-off-after-tits-had-been-in-scaffold-all-day sigh. It was better than the got-the-fucking-Spanx-bodysuit-off sigh.

  “What is that?” Ronan asked, sniffing his hands.

  I looked down to see white gunge all over me. It resembled… No, I wasn’t going there.

  “Talcum powder,” I said, and then rushed into the bathroom. I managed to get the suit off to just below my arse.

  I lowered the loo lid and sat, no matter what I did, I couldn’t peel the fucking legs from my skin.

  I wanted to sob again. “Ronan,” I called out sounding completely defeated.

  “Yes?”

  “I need help.”

  I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around my upper body and nether region bits. When he came into the bathroom, it was all I could do to lift one leg. He crouched in front of me.

  “Lizzie, if I pull you’re going to slide right off that toilet. I need you to hold onto something.”

  There was absolutely nothing for me to hold onto, not while also holding the towel.

  “We might have to do this in the bedroom,” he said. I didn’t want to, but I nodded.

  I penguin-walked to the bed and sat. I wrapped one hand around the headboard post, and the other held the towel shut. Ronan grabbed the sides of the suit and pulled.

  Instead of the suit sliding off my legs, as we’d both hoped, what actually happened was my body flew in the air the towel parted to show off my ‘Hollywood’ hooha. I let go of the headboard to grab whatever part of the towel I could and at that moment I was pulled to the floor. I wasn’t just pulled to the floor. I landed heavily on my bare arse, and Ronan kept pulling me across the room until I felt like I’d left a trail of skin behind me.

  “Carpet burns!” I shouted as he managed to get the suit to my ankles. There was no way it was going beyond those; they had swollen to the size of melons.

  “Stay there,” he said. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere. I had a sore arse and a rubber suit around my feet.

  He came back with the knife and cut the thing from me. I brought my knees to my chest, let my forehead rest on them and cried again. I was beyond the point that I cared what he could and couldn’t see. I cried a little more when he sat and wrapped his arms around me.

  “Hey, come on now. In the morning we’re going to laugh like mad about this,” he said.

  I nodded because I believed we would. “Thank you,” I said, looking up at him.

  He had sat to my side. “Do you need anything for your backside?”

  “I think I can manage. I do need a shower, though.”

  “I’ll go and make some tea. I drove all the way here, and I’m starving,” he said with a laugh.

  “You’ll find some stuff in the fridge,” I replied, leaving him to walk to the kitchen.

  I took a shower, careful to inspect the graze on my bum. In one way, I was quite pleased to have a carpet burn; it had been many, many years since I’d had one. In another, as I started to sober up, the embarrassment hit me, and I was mortified knowing, every time I sat for the next couple of days, I’d remember. I picked some moisturiser to slather on and then my PJs.

  Ronan was eating a sandwich at the kitchen table. The flowers lay on the sideboard in the hall.

  I picked them up as I passed. “Are these for me?”

  He lowered his gaze for a moment. “An apology, and I know, they don’t go anywhere near how much I need to apologise to you,” he said as he stood. He took the flowers and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into my wet hair. The tingle returned.

  “Let me make some tea. I think I need it,” I said.

  He returned to his sandwich, and I made two teas. I was surprised at how quickly I’d sobered up, yet knew in the morning, I’d probably have a banging headache as well as a sore arse. I placed his mug in front of him and then took a seat opposite.

  I winced as I sat.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, though.” I quickly added.

  He laughed gently. “I imagine you’re only pleased to see me because I got you out of your gimp suit.”

  “Will you stop calling it that? It was a sweat suit, a cheap one, obviously. Now, answer my question.” I smiled to soften my words.

  He took a deep breath in. “Charlie tore a strip off me for not telling you everything. And he had every right to. I was upset because it was the anniversary of Demi’s death. You want to know why I hate my ex so much? She caused that death. She drove her car at Demi’s when she was drunk and high on her medication. Demi swerved and hit a telegraph pole, then rolled down a bank. She died.”

  For a few seconds, I was mute with shock. “Why wasn’t your ex arrested for murder?” I whispered.

  Despondency overshadowed his features. “Because there were no witnesses.”

  “How do you know she did it then?”

  He fixed me with an anger-filled gaze, his nostrils flared. “Because she told me. I went to the police, and she called me a liar. I never told you the whole truth, Lizzie because I still find it hard to process. She told the police that I’d hit her, tried to strangle her. I’ve never laid a hand on her, but I wanted to.” He clenched his teeth. “Oh, God, I wanted to put my hands around her throat when she stood laughing at my tears. That’s why I hate her. That’s why I tried to keep you away from her. That’s why I distanced myself from you because I didn’t want to risk you. That’s why, when I found the photograph broken, it all became too much for me. I didn’t get out of bed for days, not until Charlie threatened to tan my arse if I didn’t pull myself together.”

  My heart squeezed for his pain. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing for now, please. I’m sorry.”

  “Have you been home?” I asked. I remembered him saying he had driven straight to me from Scotland.

  “No, not yet. I wanted to see you first. I have the photos and paintings in the car,” he said.

  My heart sank. “So you came here to give me the pictures?”

  “No, Lizzie, I came here to ask you to forgive me for acting like a complete dick and getting it all so very wrong.”

  I wasn’t sure what part he had got wrong, but I agreed that he had acted like a dick. I yawned, the evening catching up on me.

  “Blimey, it’s nearly two in the morning,” I said, finally looking at my watch.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “You can always stay here,” I offered then quickly added, “The sofa is really comfortable.”

  “That would be good, thank you. I don’t think I could stomach the drive, you’ve exhausted me already,” he said, giving me a gorgeous smile.

  “You really upset me, Ronan,” I said, as I stood.

  His smile turned to a sad one, and he nodded. “I know. Tomorrow… erm… can we go over what you said when I first got here?”

  I could feel my cheeks colour. “No, you know exact
ly what I said. I only wanted to cover you up so you didn’t get cold, and then I had to hide while you… Anyway, you’ve embarrassed yourself, I’ve done the same—we’re quits,” I said, and held out my hand.

  He took hold of it and instead of the shake I was expecting, he pulled me into a hug.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I backed away and mumbled that I’d get some bed linen for him. By the time I had returned, he had kicked off his shoes and was stretched out on the sofa. I handed him a pillow and a duvet, then wished him a good night.

  I woke just a couple of hours later with a raging thirst. At first, I was disorientated and lay still, wondering what the noise was that I could hear. The evening slowly came back to me, and I wanted to groan out loud. I could hear the gentle snores of Ronan in the living room. I slid from my bed and winced as the scabs on my butt cheek rubbed against my PJs. Desperate for a glass of water, I left the bedroom and padded quietly to the kitchen where I opened the fridge to get a bottle. I didn’t want to disturb my guest with the noise of the tap running or the kitchen light, so I stood in the dark with just the light of appliances to illuminate me.

  “It there one for me?” I heard, just as I was about to take a mouthful of water.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I said, as cold water poured over my chin, up my nose, and down my chest.

  I grabbed a tea towel to soak it up before my nipples stood out like coat hooks. Ronan laughed, and I heard him walk up behind me. His bare feet slapped against the tiled floor.

  “You scared the life out of me,” I said.

  He reached in and took a bottle himself. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  “I was thirsty. What time is it?”

  “Five-ish, I think. Are you hungry?”

  I stared at him. “I’ve had, what, three hours sleep? I’m grumpy, for sure.”

  “Get dressed,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Come on, live dangerously, get dressed.” He had that smile that sent messages from my brain straight to my hooha and livened up the butterflies in my stomach on the way.

  “I can’t go out, look at my hair,” I said, grabbing handfuls of it.

  “So put a hat on. Go, get dressed, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder as you are.”

  A standoff ensued. I stared at him; he returned that. Neither of us blinked, and in my head, I could hear the music that played on every western movie when a duel was about to start. He took a step towards me; I took one to the side. He raised his eyebrows; I did the same. I raised him a smirk. He countered that by puffing up his chest and rolling up his sleeves. I salivated at the sight of his muscled and tattooed forearms; it was the distraction he wanted. He lunged, I screamed, he grabbed me, and in a flash, I was hanging over his shoulder holding on to his belt and looking at a tight buttock.

  I grabbed one cheek, digging my nails into his jean-clad flesh and laughing maniacally.

  He walked me into the bedroom, and none too gently laid me on the bed. “You grabbed my arse,” he said. I continued to laugh. “You. Grabbed. My. Arse. Should I be offended?” His lips twitched.

  He walked to my dressing table and opened a drawer. I scrambled from the bed as he pulled out a pair of knickers and threw them at me. He opened another and grabbed a bra.

  “They don’t match,” I said, still laughing. He grabbed the bra from me and replaced it with another.

  He walked to my wardrobe and opened it. He pulled a pair of jeans and a jumper from the shelves. I caught them as he threw them over his shoulder. I rushed into the bathroom and dressed. When I returned, he was sitting on the bed with my hairbrush. He parted his legs and waved to the floor. I frowned but knelt between them.

  He brushed my hair.

  A shudder rolled over me like a wave at his touch. It was so gentle and to have my hair brushed by anyone other than my hairdresser was…odd, but not. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to have him behind me, but somewhere in my brain, I countered that it shouldn’t. I barely knew him. I wanted to punch him when he bashed me on the top of my head with the back of the brush.

  “Oww, that hurts,” I said, as I rose and turned to him.

  “Come on. Breakfast.”

  He grabbed my hand and as he dragged me to the front door, I snatched my keys from the hallway table. I stuffed them in my jeans pocket as we left the flat and quietly made our way downstairs. He continued to hold my hand as we rounded the corner to find his car on a permit-only parking bay and with something stuck to the windscreen.

  “You got a ticket,” I said, my breath condensing in the cold air. I shivered realising I didn’t have a coat or socks on my Converse-clad feet.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” he said. I giggled as he opened the door of the Range Rover he still had on rental.

  “You’re going to have to give this back soon,” I said, as I slipped into the luxurious leather seats.

  “No, this one is mine,” he replied as he closed the door.

  He turned up the heating as the car idled and then he drove. We crossed London to Brick Lane in the East End. We pulled up opposite the busiest bakers I’d ever seen. Cab drivers were queuing, there were people dressed to party, but with heels in hands and sensible flip flops on their feet, there were businessmen on their way to an early start.

  “Best bagels you’ll ever eat,” he said, as he turned the car off. “Wait here.”

  I stayed in the car while he hopped out and crossed the road. I watched as he jumped the queue and high-fived a man behind the counter. He was served immediately and without paying, and then he was back in the car. He reached into the brown paper bag and handed me a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. The dough was still warm, the salmon had the most wonderful oak flavour as if smoked over old wine barrels, and the cream cheese melted in my mouth.

  “Mmm,” I said, grabbing a tissue to dab my mouth. “That is gorgeous.”

  “We supply the salmon,” he said, taking a bite of his bagel.

  “No way! From the loch?” I asked.

  He laughed. “No, there’s a river that runs through the land, we fish them, although never on a Sunday.” He laughed, but I wasn’t sure what was funny. I frowned at him. “One of those silly laws, no salmon fishing on a Sunday,” he clarified.

  I finished my bagel and fished in the bag to see if there was another.

  “Still hungry?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’m trying to lose some weight, remember? So, even if there was another, I shouldn’t eat it.”

  “Lizzie, you’re perfect as you are,” he said, as he wiped his mouth.

  I startled as someone knocked on the window. Ronan lowered the glass, and two takeout cups were passed through.

  “Man, thank you,” Ronan said, grabbing them. Another paper bag was handed over.

  Ronan had a quick chat, and the guy left. He held aloft the paper bag. “Now, if you eat this, are you going to do something as stupid as you did last night?” he said.

  I laughed as I reached out to snatch the bag from his hands. I looked to see two doughnuts. I took one out and swapped him the tea for the bag.

  “Oh, we’re going to be neighbours, sort of,” he said, sipping his tea.

  “Sort of neighbours?” I wondered if Danny was moving out soon.

  “I bought the renovation property.”

  I stared at him. “How did you know about that?”

  “Joe knows I like to dabble in property, so when you decided on the barn, he sent me the details.”

  “Oh, okay. Is it somewhere you’ll live?” I asked.

  Inside, I was mildly annoyed. Joe had known how upset I had been with Ronan’s silence, yet they seemed to be having yet more cosy chats behind my back. Of course, Joe could be friends with whomever he chose, but I would have hoped my friendship with him would have been worth more than a small commission for finding a buyer for a property.

  “I don’t know, I guess. It depends on how it rebuilds. I don’t live that far away from your barn
anyway,” he said. “As the crow flies, it’s probably only three miles. Maybe you’d like to come for dinner tonight? Stay over. I ought to return the favour,” he added.

  “That would be nice, but I should tell you, I’d be absolutely no good at getting you out of a gimp suit.”

  He laughed. “No gimp suits in my house.”

  He screwed up the paper bags and placed his tea in the cup holder. He then started the car, and as the London traffic began to get busier, he drove back to my flat.

  “We need to get the pictures over to the gallery,” I said.

  “Here’s a plan. Why don’t you grab an overnight bag, and we’ll drive to my place. We can take a walk, I’ll show you the area, and then we can chill out before dinner. Tomorrow, we can drop the paintings off to the gallery.”

  With only three hours sleep, I would have rather climbed back into bed, but I liked him. I wanted to spend time with him, so I nodded. He parked in the same spot that he’d received the parking fine without a care and we walked to the flat.

  I gathered an overnight bag and filled it with items I thought I might need. I kicked off my Converse and pulled on some socks. I then sat at the dressing table, redid my hair and applied some makeup. I found my walking boots and placed them in a plastic carrier bag—they still had mud on the soles from the last time I’d worn them.

  I picked up my handbag, making sure I had my purse, phone, spare knickers and panty liners, all the usual things required for a daytime bag. Then I was ready.

  The journey to Ronan’s house wasn’t any longer than Joe and I had taken to view the barn. I suggested that we might drive past so I could show him. He took a lane to divert from the route, and after weaving through another couple, we exited onto the village green. For a moment I was stumped, but Ronan seemed to know the way. We slowed as we came up along the barn.

  “I just walked in and immediately fell in love,” I said as I stared from the car window.

  “I felt the same when I bought my cottage. I think you always know when it’s the right house for you,” he said.

  I hadn’t wanted to ask him what he intended to do now he had the house in Scotland as well. He had indicated he wasn’t someone that agreed with those that owned property and only holidayed in their manor houses, or castles, or whatever it was they had.