My Best Friend Has Issues

by Laura Marney

  ‘Sorry, I was worried I’d start coughing again.’

  ‘Jesus. Sorry, Alison. I’d forgotten about that. Yeah, you’re right, you should take it easy. We don’t want that to happen again. I thought you were going to have a heart attack.’

  ‘It was only a cough. It wasn’t that bad.’

  ‘Still and all, maybe you should take it easy tonight until your lungs clear out.’

  ‘Oh, you think so?’ I said taking the joint from between his fingers.

  ‘Look, if you’re going to smoke, put it between your lips, but keep them open at the sides, like this.’

  Ewan demonstrated. He moved close to me and gently held the joint to my lips while I inhaled. He was now studying my lips the way I’d studied his.

  ‘That’ll cool the smoke down.’

  It did. I took a deeper draw than the last.

  ‘Easy, don’t take too much.’

  ‘I’m starving.’ I said suddenly, ‘I’m going to see what’s in the fridge.’

  Ewan smiled benignly. I left him facing into the sea breeze with his eyes closed.

  In the fridge I found a bag of cherries, black cherries, engorged and ripe, the most delicious I’d ever tasted. I had eaten more than half of them before I remembered Ewan.

  ‘Ewan, you have got to try these. These are the best cherries in the world.’

  Ewan still had his eyes closed. He was still smiling.

  ‘The wind’s got up, can you feel it?’ he slurred. ‘It feels good.’

  I stood still and felt a faint stirring of wind across my face. It occurred to me how wonderful it would be to feel it across my belly and before I knew it I’d pulled my top over my head. Ewan’s eyes were still closed.

  ‘Oh, I can feel it, it’s fantastic!’ I gasped.

  I was wearing a magenta pink bra of Chloe’s that I’d found in her drawer. Like the other one, this bra was a bit tight, but it pushed my tits up to just under my chin. The breeze tickled and played across my skin.

  Until the glandular fever my torso had been a sweeping panorama of featureless flesh. Now there were distinct regions: the mountainous peaks of my breasts, the flat plains of my stomach, the twin promontories of my arse cheeks. I was shaking from my shoulders to my fingertips. I had never stripped in front of a boy before. I wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t me. I reached to pull my top back on and Ewan opened his eyes.

  ‘I like you better like this,’ he said quietly.

  I hunched and put my arms across my chest. Ewan gently opened my arms, ‘Look at the shadow you’re casting.’

  I turned and saw my silhouette on the wall.

  ‘See? You’re like a Bond girl.’

  I stared at it and laughed. The shadow had a slender graceful figure.

  ‘Did you have a nice night out?’

  ‘Yes I did, thank you Ewan.’

  ‘You know, I feel a bit bad. I lied when I asked you for your number: it’s not a legal requirement to take a contact number. I wanted to see you again, I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind.’

  Ewan saw the Elastoplast on my arm. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I mumbled, ‘I tripped.’

  ‘Come here you to me, I’ll kiss it better.’

  Suddenly I was aware of a snuffling at my feet. The smell of the hash must have woken Juegita. She and all her puppies were standing looking up at us expectantly. Ewan laughed.

  ‘Puppies!’

  He lifted one of the pups and held her to his face, kissing and hugging her.

  ‘You really do have puppies!’ he said. ‘I thought that was only a ruse to get me here. I thought you wanted to take advantage of me.’

  I leaned over and kissed him, open-mouthed.

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  Then I kissed him again.

  Something was sticking out of his eye, a twig, from a branch. He was blinking and blinking, but his eye wouldn’t close properly, his eyelids meeting around the twig-like lips, kissing, making a puckering, sucking noise.

  He was crying and groaning. Stuff was coming out of his eye, slower and thicker than tears.

  When I was small and I cried, she used to sing a song to cheer me up. She put her finger in her mouth, sliding it across the inside of her cheek and out through her lips. It made such a funny noise that I’d laugh and forget to cry. Pop goes the weasel.

  He found the twig. He touched it and screamed, his hand flailing about in front of his face. And then his hand moved to explore it again.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning I woke up on the couch. I groaned when I realised I had that stupid song Pop Goes the Weasel running round in my head, again.

  Every time I tried to lift my head two things happened: an invisible mallet dropped on my skull and an invisible horse blanket of shame was thrown, heavy and suffocating, over me.

  Stupidly I continued to try.

  Not only was it incredibly painful but it didn’t even have the benefit that hangovers were supposed to have: I could remember everything.

  Last night, after a snuffle and a hug, the dogs had gone back to sleep. Ewan and I had advanced from sitting in the plastic chairs to lying on the terrace floor looking at the stars. We had kissed some more. At some point my jeans had been removed and Ewan had taken his shirt off. It was still very hesitant. But we had all night, we weren’t going anywhere, and I was loving the sensation of being stoned.

  I asked Ewan to roll another joint.

  ‘Eh, excuse me,’ Ewan said, pointedly, ‘I think you’ve had enough.’

  ‘Eh, excuse me,’ I retorted, ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Easy, you’re already monged.’

  ‘I’m not monged! Whatever monged is, I’m not it.’

  Ewan laughed.

  ‘Of course you are. Your green eyes have turned a lovely shade of pink.’

  I giggled. ‘Which one?’

  Ewan sniggered, ‘what d’you mean which one? Both your eyes are pink.’

  I hooted with laughter and slapped the ground. ‘No, not which eye, you idiot, I meant which shade of pink?’

  ‘Magenta. You idiot,’ he replied sourly.

  ‘The same shade as my bra!’

  I started to pull myself up, curious to find a mirror and see what my eyes looked like.

  ‘Hey,’ said Ewan pulling me back down, ‘don’t worry, they’re still gorgeous.’

  He leaned forward to kiss me. At that moment this struck me as a preposterous thing for him to do. I pushed him away and giggled.

  ‘You’re off your face, girl.’

  He lay back and didn’t try to kiss me anymore.

  ‘Ewan, don’t get all serious.’

  I leaned over and slid my fingertips across his chest.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m not monged, I feel nice,’ I whispered, but even as I whispered, I felt the impulse to laugh. Everything I said sounded ridiculous.

  Ewan looked me in the eye. He lifted his bum off the ground and pulled down his jeans. As he tugged his jeans past his crotch, his penis sprang out and bounced a few times against his belly. I bit into my cheeks and managed to resist laughing but I shouldn’t have looked down. There, fully erect and weirdly asymmetrical, was his hilariously misshapen penis.

  How could I not laugh?

  I must have been monged after all, how else could I explain the irrepressible waves of euphoria that washed over me at the absurdity of a penis? That and first night nerves.

  It had been no stifled titter. It had been a pretty intense attack of the giggles: shoulders heaving, slapping the ground, pointing. I groaned again at the mental replay: pointing.

  I’d seen a naked penis before. In magazines admittedly, but nevertheless, I knew what they looked like. Cosmo had run a feature celebrating the fact that no two were the same. They had photographs of long ones, thin ones, long thin ones, pointed ones, tulip-shaped ones, bent ones, short stubby ones that resembled doorknobs, ones that veered to the left or right or curled
back or forward, tiny ones difficult to detect with the naked eye, huge ones like hoover attachments.

  As I lay groaning on the couch I wracked my brains to think which category Ewan’s fitted. On reflection it seemed like it was of a reasonable length, a bit bell-ended and definitely curly. It was the curliness that had started me off laughing, the way it curved outwards and sideways, like a friendly puppet that lived in Ewan’s pants. Apart from the curliness, it wasn’t that bad. It was certainly no reason to ridicule the poor guy.

  It was first night nerves, I told myself, simple first night nerves, but Ewan wouldn’t have known that.

  He’d stormed off to the bedroom last night, perhaps thinking that, despite my hysteria, I’d follow him. I would’ve if I’d not felt so ashamed; if I’d not been so nervous about actually doing The Deed.

  As my hangover began to lift I thought of ways to get back on track with him. I’d bring him a cuppa. The only tea I could find was some foul-smelling herbal stuff. That would have to do. There was no milk, I hoped he could take it black.

  ‘I’ve brought you a cuppa,’ I said as chirpily as I could.

  Ewan grunted. He opened his eyes and sat up.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said.

  There was no rancour in his voice. Perhaps he’d been as stoned as I was; perhaps he’d no memory of last night. More likely he was as embarrassed as I was and preferred to forget it.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ yelled Ewan. ‘What the hell is that? It tastes like rat poison.’

  Not being able to understand Spanish, I hadn’t stopped to read the label. I’d assumed it was tea, perhaps it was rat poison.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said meekly, ‘don’t drink it if you don’t like it.’

  We fell quiet. This was embarrassing. I stood beside the bed in the magenta pink bra and pants set. I hadn’t thought about it when I woke up, after all Ewan had already seen me like this last night, but now I felt self-conscious. To cover myself and get close to him I lifted the sheet and slid into the other side of the bed. The bed was so big I was miles away from him. He didn’t object but, by the way he grabbed the sheet around his groin, I could see he was uneasy.

  So he hadn’t forgotten.

  ‘I’m so sorry about last night, Ewan.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he snapped.

  ‘I must have been off my face after all.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he laughed sarcastically.

  ‘But also, I was shy.’

  He didn’t say anything to this.

  ‘I was nervous; it’s not that I didn’t like your penis…’

  This was completely the wrong thing to say. He nearly jumped out the bed. If he hadn’t been naked, he probably would have. He sat up rigid and held on to his bits protectively.

  And then I thought of the perfect solution. I’d give him a blow job.

  I wanted to prove to Ewan that I didn’t think his penis was laughable. I had thought about blow jobs many times. The notion of being so horned up that you were prepared to put a penis in your mouth was fascinating to me. Especially when urine passed through it several times a day. A penis was a pipeline for raw sewage.

  I had to halt this train of thought or I’d be sick while I was down there. Dear Lisa and Lauren, Currently attempting fellatio without vomiting. Man may be unwilling. Wish you were here.

  I lay quiet and slid my hand under the sheet, slowly creeping as close as he would allow me. I heard his breathing change. After a few minutes spent in silence he moved his hand from his cock and lay back, giving me permission. My hand made contact with something warm and surprisingly hard. The skin on it was soft, like a baby’s, and as I ran my fingers up and down I slowly pulled the sheet away. Ewan had a beautiful body, slim manly hips, legs that looked solid and powerful. He could have been a sculpture but his peach-coloured skin was warm and fragrant and soft to the touch. I wanted to get closer to it. I slipped down the bed and positioned my head. I was ready to clamp my mouth around it, to fill my mouth with the size and smell and heat of it when the bedroom door flew open and Chloe caught me with Ewan’s engorged cock inches from my lips.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Well, lookey lookey! What have we got here?’ cried Chloe.

  Ewan yanked up the sheet to cover his embarrassment.

  ‘Chloe!’ I gasped, ‘My God, I thought you were coming back tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, I was gonna, but it seems I was missing all the fun here.’

  She was smiling and her tone sounded jokey but I wasn’t sure if it was sarcasm. I didn’t know her well enough.

  ‘It’s a regular ménage à trois!’ she trilled merrily, and then went out to the terrace, calling to Juegita.

  As soon as Chloe left the room Ewan sprung out of bed and pulled on his jeans. I caught a glimpse of his penis, dangling and even more bent-looking. He pulled on his T-shirt and stomped off to the toilet, locking the door noisily behind him. I had to sort things out with Chloe but my clothes were on the terrace. I was wearing her bra and pants. Hanging on the back of the bedroom door was a pale pink dressing gown. I threw it on, found my flip-flops beside the couch in the living room, and went to find her. The dressing gown was too long for me, it trailed the ground. To stop it trailing I had to lift it and hold it out in front of me, shuffling forward like a Japanese geisha.

  ‘Did you take Juegita out for a walk?’

  I began to reply, trying to come up with something plausible when Chloe spoke again.

  ‘Ah, I see that you didn’t,’ she stated simply.

  The evidence was right in front of us. Juegita had left a massive turd pile in front of the yurt. Chloe had re-filled the dogs’ water bowls and as she put them down Juegita and the pups rushed forward to lap from them. I should have re-filled the bowls last night when I came back. That must have been why Juegita and the puppies had woken up. They didn’t want my drunken kisses, they needed food and water.

  I hung my head in shame.

  ‘You’ve been holding out on me, Alison. You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,’ said Chloe.

  ‘He’s my brother’s friend.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ she nodded and folded her arms. ‘And do you blow all your brother’s friends? Is this, like, an old Scottish tradition?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know it looks bad but…’

  ‘And are they all such brutes?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Well, come on Alison,’ she dropped her voice to a whisper and pointed towards the bedroom, ‘honey, he has red hair!’

  ‘So?’

  My own hair, a darker auburn shade, but none the less unmistakably red, fell across my face as I posed this question.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, holding out her hands in a none-of-my-business gesture, ‘maybe you like that stuff.’

  I was confused. Why was Chloe being so unpleasant about Ewan? I was the one who had neglected the dogs. This was nothing to do with him.

  She was on her way to fill Juegita’s food bowl.

  ‘Nice bra,’ she sniped as she passed me.

  The dressing gown had fallen open enough for Chloe to catch a glimpse of her magenta bra. I groaned, remembering the white bra and pants set. Now she’d seen me with her magenta bra, she’d no doubt link me to the disappearance of the Victoria’s Secret box.

  I followed her to the kitchen.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, I needed to borrow some clothes, I had to wash all my stuff,’ I said.

  ‘So I see,’ said Chloe, pulling my stuff out of the washing machine.

  I’d been out all day yesterday. What with my job interview and phoning mum and disposing of the white bra and pants and robbing Chloe’s cash tin, I hadn’t had a chance to hang up my clothes.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll get that,’ I said, taking my wet jeans from her.

  As I said it I heard the front door open and close again quickly. Ewan. He must have ducked out. What if he heard the things Chloe said about him?

  ‘I’m sorry Chloe, I’ll be back in a minute,’ I said, thrusting the jeans back in
to her hands and running out. I ran down the stairs, my flip-flops clacking on every step.

  ‘Ewan! Ewan!’ I wailed.

  Although it was bright sunlight outside, the last flight of stairs was dark as usual. I could hardly see where I was putting my feet.

  ‘Ewan, wait!’

  As I ran I held the dressing gown up around my knees with one hand while the other hand skimmed the handrail. On the last flight, as I turned a corner, my right foot slid in the flip-flop and I lurched forward. Instinctively I put out both hands, let the dressing gown fall, and tripped over it. I fell three steps and cut my little toe. It bled copiously. Another blood-stained stairwell.

  ‘Ewan!’ I screamed.

  He turned when he heard me. I caught up with him halfway along the street. I limped as fast as I could, and ran straight at him. Trying to keep the street dirt off my bleeding toe, I stood on one leg, a pink flamingo, buffeted by the crowds of workers and tourists moving through the narrow lane.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ewan, what a mess. The whole thing was my fault,’ I blurted. ‘I was scared, first night nerves, that’s all. I’ve never done it before. But I’m a quick learner.’

  Ewan gave a sneering laugh. ‘Yeah, right,’ he snorted.

  ‘Yeah, right!’ I insisted, my hand on my hip.

  ‘Come on: you’re a virgin? But you must be, what? Twenty?’

  ‘I’m twenty-two,’ I moaned.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Ewan, putting his hand on his head.

  He turned and began walking away. ‘Look, just forget it, okay?’

  ‘Ewan!’

  He kept on walking.

  ‘No Ewan, don’t tell me to forget it, you forget it!’ I shouted after him.

  A middle-aged couple stopped beside me.

  ‘And you were so nearly the lucky man!’ I screamed. He was far away from me now, darting through the crowd. I was losing sight of him. ‘But you blew it, d’you hear me? You had your chance, Ewan, and you blew it!’

  More tourists had stopped around me. They stood grinning, as if they were watching a street performance on La Rambla.