The Big Ohhh

by Ashton, Nikki

  “Nope. We did bits, but we didn’t have sex.”

  I turned away from him to hide the streaks of embarrassment across my cheeks, because no one wanted their mates to find out they’d blown like a volcano as soon as the girl had touched their cock.

  “Bits?”

  “Yeah, bits.”

  “What the fuck are bits?”

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t, tell me.”

  “Touching, kissing, that sort of thing.”

  Bomber laughed. “What, like the sort of shit we did when we were twelve?”

  I groaned and gave him a disdainful look. “I didn’t touch anyone like that when I was twelve.”

  “Hmm, you always were a slow starter.”

  I moved to the door of our small kitchen diner, choosing to ignore Bomber and leaned into the lounge.

  “Johnny, grubs up.”

  My brother, who was busy watching some black and white film about the war, raised a hand to acknowledge me.

  “Now,” I growled, knowing that if I didn’t, he’d continue to be engrossed in the film and his lunch would go cold.

  “Okay, I’m coming.” he sighed out.

  I went back to the plates and placed one in front of Bomber.

  “Ooh nice one.” He rubbed his hands together and inhaled. “Nice and garlicky, exactly how I like it.”

  “You’re joking right?” Johnny, my brother, complained entering the kitchen. “I’ve got someone coming over later, I don’t want to stink of garlic.”

  I ignored him, put the other two plates on the table and then plonked myself on the chair next to Bomber, watching Johnny carefully as he manoeuvred his wheelchair up to the table.

  “Who’ve you got coming over?” Bomber asked through a mouthful of food.

  “Serena.” Johnny scrunched his brow and looked at me. “Although she’s probably going to turn around and go straight out again at this rate.”

  “Shut up moaning and eat,” I grumbled, as I picked up my knife and fork. “Be thankful I made you something.”

  “Oh yeah, ‘cause I can easily cook for myself.”

  I didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning. He may well have been in a wheelchair for the last couple of years, but my brother wasn’t bitter. He revelled in the attention that it got him and the shit it helped him get away with. Of course, no one wanted him to be paralysed, including Johnny, but he didn’t let it get him down. He still lived life to the full; went out with his mates, got pissed and used the wheelchair and his good looks to bag himself a different woman nearly every weekend. At twenty-one years of age, he knew he’d got years to spend in his chair, so didn’t want to waste any time by being miserable.

  “You can cook for yourself, so don’t think I won’t make you.”

  “Charming way to treat your crippled little brother.” He winked at me and then picked up his knife and fork and started to tuck into the food – garlicky or not.

  “You know your brother got off with a girl last night,” Bomber offered.

  “Yeah? What was she like – any good?”

  I rolled my eyes at Bomber, as I wished he’d kept it to himself. I loved my brother, but he was a real piss taker and I wouldn’t hear the end of it, with him quizzing me for hours no doubt.

  “He’s not saying. He said they did bits.” Bomber did little air quotes and with his huge fingers it looked ridiculous; like two fat sausages waving in the air.

  “What the fuck are bits?” Johnny asked before inhaling a forkful of food.

  “Kissing and touching,” Bomber explained.

  “What are you, twelve?”

  “See,” Bomber cried and pointed at me. “I told you. Twelve is average age to feel a girl up.”

  I looked at them both and sighed. “You’re so fucking wrong on every level, both of you. And for your information, no we didn’t have sex.”

  “You think my big brother is a virgin?”

  “Hmm maybe, although I remember walking in on him and Emma Woods going at it at a party once.”

  “Oh, okay,” Johnny mused. “Maybe not.”

  I continued to ignore them, as I knew full well that if I said anything at all it would only encourage them, and I was right because we fell into silence while we all continued to eat.

  “Lovely,” Bomber finally said as he pushed his plate away. “Although it’ll probably go straight through me. Mincemeat often does.”

  “Well make sure you go home and do it,” I cried.

  “Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “We don’t want you stinking our bathroom out. The smell of bleach and vomit from yesterday is enough to deal with thanks.”

  As he continued to eat, Bomber eyed me warily, aware that Johnny was on shaky ground with his choice of subject and who it was about.

  “We can talk about her and the fact that she puked up again.”

  Johnny’s tone was light and playful, and I had no idea why. I hated our mother for what she’d done to him, but he always played it down that she was the reason he was in a wheelchair.

  “I’d rather we didn’t,” I said and pushed away my plate, no longer hungry.

  Bomber snatched my half-eaten meal and tucked in while Johnny stared at me, a fork halfway to his mouth.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shrugged and carried on eating.

  “This is good, mate,” Bomber said and grinned at me. “You should maybe cook for that new bit of stuff of yours.”

  I groaned. “Please don’t call her a bit of stuff.”

  “Well she’s not your girlfriend, is she?” He dropped his knife and fork onto his plate. “Shit, she’s not is she?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t respect her.”

  “Wow, my big brother likes the pretty girl.”

  I rolled my eyes at Johnny and pushed away from the table, collecting any dirty dishes. I couldn’t deal with his continuously upbeat frame of mind; not today. Just the mention of Teresa, our mother, had brought me down and reminded me of the shit she’d created in our lives and had turned my mood black. I didn’t get how Johnny didn’t hate her or insist that she leave us alone and go and find somewhere else to live. This was his house, a bungalow he’d bought with compensation from his accident, so he had every right to tell her to fuck off, but he didn’t.

  We were lucky he was still able to do a lot for himself, otherwise if I couldn’t be there, we’d need to employ a carer, because I certainly couldn’t rely on our mum. I’d only gone out and stayed at Willow’s because Teresa had been home when I left and swore that she was going to stay at home all night to make sure that Johnny managed to get himself into bed safely. Needless to say, Johnny had informed me she’d disappeared not even an hour after I had left the house. I was so pissing angry; he was a twenty-one year old guy who, despite his injuries, never worried about anything, but he was prone to infection from self-catheterising or hurting himself by falling from his chair or the bed, and I hated to think he’d been alone all night when she’d said she’d be there.

  Teresa didn’t give a shit about him, either of us to be fair, but Johnny should have been her priority. He’d got into a fight, protecting her drunken, slutty arse and it had been her fucking one-night stand that had pushed Johnny off a first-floor balcony and injured his spine, rendering him paralysed. Yet it never seemed to bother Johnny, because as far as he was concerned, the only person to blame was the brain dead, woman-beating, Neanderthal who’d pushed him.

  “You made anything for pudding?” Bomber asked.

  I wondered where he put everything. Yeah, he was a big guy, but two plates of food should be enough to finish off anyone, obviously not him.

  “You may as well finish off the packet of biscuits you started about two minutes before I put your lunch out.”

  I knew I sounded a miserable twat, but that’s what thinking about my mother did to me. Not bothering to turn around, I heard the biscuit packet rustle and knew Bomber was tucking in. After a few more minutes o
f washing the same dish, I felt the wheels of Johnny’s chair next to my leg.

  “Here you go,” he said as he passed his plate to me. “And stop fucking stressing about Mum.”

  I looked down on him and sighed. “I just don’t get it.”

  “Can’t change anything.” He shrugged. “And what was I going to do, stand by while that fucker knocked seven shades of shit out of her?”

  “No, but she shouldn’t have called you, she should have called the police, and she shouldn’t have put herself in that position in the first place. What sane person goes back to the flat of someone who they met only an hour before, particularly when they’re totally out of it and the guy looks like The Rock’s uglier and meaner brother?”

  “You went back to pretty girl’s house last night.” He gave me a stupid grin which I couldn’t help but laugh at.

  “Yeah, but I’m not a woman beater and she wasn’t a fucking mean drunk.”

  “She might have been, you didn’t know that.”

  “I did,” I replied. “I spent three hours with her getting drunk and she was funny and cute.”

  “Cute,” Bomber cried from the table. “Shit, you are twelve.”

  I flipped him the bird and turned back to my brother.

  “She’s really nice, Johnny. I really like her and I’m a much better judge of character than Teresa the lush.”

  He opened his mouth, probably to take the piss out of me, but the doorbell rang.

  “Ah,” he said, a gleam in his eyes. “That’ll be the lovely Serena.”

  He manoeuvred his chair and started to wheel himself out of the kitchen.

  “I hope the garlic doesn’t put her off,” I called after him.

  He waved a hand in the air at me. “She can always suck my knob.” Then he was gone.

  “You know,” Bomber said as his brows met in the middle. “I always wondered how…you know.”

  “He can have sex, Bomb. He gets an erection.” I shook my head and sat back at the table, taking another biscuit.

  “And does he…you know.”

  He made an explosion noise and the action of one with his hands.

  “Have an orgasm?” I asked with a sigh.

  Bomber nodded. “Yeah. I never really liked to ask.”

  “Well that surprises me, you’re so fucking inappropriate most of the time, but yeah he can. It takes a bit longer and he has something to help.”

  I knew my brother wouldn’t mind me telling Bomber, shit, he told anyone who would listen about his ‘male vibrator that helped him go off like a rocket’.

  Bomber nodded, evidently thinking hard about it. “So, he pretty much does everything we do, but spends his life being pushed around.”

  I could tell by the look on his face what he was thinking and dropped my forehead to the table.

  “Nope, don’t even say it,” I muttered against the wood.

  “No, not saying anything, not a word.”

  I looked back up and could see he was still thinking it so quickly took the last biscuit.

  “I’ll make a brew,” Bomber said.

  As he stood up the sound of Johnny’s bed, banging against the adjoining wall could be heard.

  “Oh Johnny, God, yes, yes, yes,” Serena yelled.

  Bomber looked at me and grinned.

  “I guess the garlic wasn’t a problem then.”

  We both burst into laughter and spent the next forty minutes listening to my brother doing us proud.

  The anus is an often-missed hot spot because it is crammed with sensitive nerves. A good move is a well lubricated finger gently slipped into the bottom right as climax hits - so remember the rhyme ‘up your bum, surprise to come’.

  * * *

  Willow

  “Who’ve we got next?” James, the dentist I worked with asked.

  I looked at the computer screen and winced at my feet aching from over three hours of being on them without once being able to sit down. “Mr. Macmillan.”

  “Haven’t we seen him before?”

  “Yes, but that was ages ago, he’s been going to the dentist on Dean Street for a couple of years.”

  “It’s two years since I’ve seen him?”

  James came and looked over my shoulder at Mr. Macmillan’s record. “Shit, where the hell did that time go?”

  “Um, I believe you were travelling the world, trying to find yourself.” I turned and poked him playfully.

  “Oh, you mean when my boyfriend dumped because I didn’t dare tell my parents I was gay.”

  James had been deeply in love with Gareth, so when Gareth dumped him because James wouldn’t tell his parents they were a couple, James took it badly and needed some time away. Thankfully, he’d come back from six months of travelling realising he didn’t want to live a lie any longer and told his parents, who said they weren’t surprised. Unfortunately, it was too little too late for Gareth, who had moved on.

  “How was your date by the way?” I asked about the date he’d had with a guy he’d met online.

  James shrugged. “Okay. He was a little boring to be honest. All he wanted to talk about was cars.”

  “So, you’re not seeing him again?”

  “No, don’t think so. What about you, how was your weekend?”

  I couldn’t help the grin that lit up my face as I thought about Charlie and how he’d given me a sweet kiss when he’d left my house the morning before.

  “I met someone on Saturday night, and he’s asked me to go out with him again.”

  James’ eyes went wide. “No way. What’s he like?”

  I told him all about Charlie, how he’d thought I was waving at him, how we’d talked and got drunk together and finally that he’d walked me home.

  “Woah,” James said. “I think you really, really like him.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “I do, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. You know what my family is like, James, I moan about them often enough.”

  “He’ll like you for you, love, even when he does meet them,” he replied. “And they’re not awful, they’re just a little bit…well, weird.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well that’s the other thing, I’m nothing special and he’s gorgeous.” I caught sight of myself in the huge mirror we had on the wall and noticed how my tunic was getting a little tight across the middle and that my hair, which I usually spent time and effort on, was pulled back into a frizzy ponytail.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.” James’ eyes went to my hands which was clutching my ponytail. “Well nothing that a good hair conditioning treatment wouldn’t sort out.”

  I slapped him on the arm. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

  “I’m not.” He laughed and flung an arm around me. “I’m being your friend and it’s true, your hair does need sorting out. What did you wash it with this morning, washing up liquid?”

  “How rude are you?” I then took a closer look in the mirror and burst out laughing. “God, it does look shit, how the hell did I manage to get Charlie to look at me in the first place, never mind stay the night and ask me-?”

  James appeared in between me and the mirror.

  “You never said he’d stayed the night.”

  It was true, I hadn’t, but if I’d told James he would have him assumed that Charlie and I had had sex and I didn’t want to tell him why we hadn’t. I knew it was probably a one off, we had drunk an awful lot of vodka, but I wasn’t sure Charlie would want anyone knowing that he’d come in his boxers. Thinking back though, I couldn’t help but smile because the lead up to that point and even after, had been lovely and sweet, yet unbelievably sexy too. Charlie knew how to get me going and I was sure when, or even if, we had sex, it was going to be awesome.

  “Nothing happened,” I replied. “I was too worried my parents might hear, so we just kissed and so on.”

  “Well kissing and so on is good, obviously good enough to make him want to stay over.”

  “Well, you know I’m worried about my family?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah.”

  “He already met them.”

  I didn’t miss the wince from James, and I began to worry that his words of encouragement a few minutes before had been simply to appease me.

  “See, you think it’s the death knell, don’t you?”

  James held his hands up in surrender. “I never said that. I think maybe it’s a lot to meet any family on a first date.”

  “Yeah well it gets worse,” I groaned. “He met my dad first and he was completely stark bollock naked.”

  James’ mouth dropped open as he stared at me.

  “My dad, that is,” I clarified. “He found Charlie getting a drink in the kitchen, and then he met my brothers and my mum later, when we went down for breakfast.”

  I sagged, the happiness I felt at Charlie’s desire to see me again had disappeared quicker than a seventeen-year-old boy’s virginity on holiday in Magaluf.

  James looked sympathetic and patted me on the shoulder. “It might not be so bad. He did ask you out again.”

  I dropped my face into my hands. “He’s going to cancel, isn’t he?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  I looked up at James and pouted. “No, don’t say anything else, I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Okay, let’s get Mr. Macmillan in instead,” he said, cajoling me as though I was a small child.

  I nodded and with a heavy step went to get our patient.

  A few minutes later, with Mr. Macmillan reclined in the chair, James asked him to open up and started his examination.

  I knew something was wrong when James remained silent as he peered into Mr. Macmillan’s mouth.

  “I see you’ve had dentures since we last saw you, Mr. Macmillan?” he said. “We thought it was a standard check-up you were having, so are you having problems with them?”

  “No, I haven’t,” he replied with a shake of his head. “And this is just a check-up.”

  “But these are dentures.”

  James looked at me and gave a slight flick of his head for me to go and look. I stood next to him and looked down. I leaned in further before looking back up to James and raising my eyebrows and shrugging my shoulders.