Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  “I seem to remember that it might be my turn to ask a question,” he said when he returned.

  I couldn’t remember whose turn it was, but I settled back to wait for it.

  “When was the last time you had sex?”

  I stared, open-mouthed. He stared back at me. I blinked a few times and then closed my mouth. I probably opened it again, gaping at him.

  “Well?” he demanded with a cheeky glint in his eye.

  “I’m not going to answer that!” I stuttered.

  “Why? You said we got to ask any question we wanted,” he replied with a smirk.

  “I don’t recall saying that at all.” I wanted to laugh, but his smile was testing my need to be outraged.

  “It was definitely something like that. So, you’re not going to answer? Mmm, interesting.” He tapped his chin.

  “There’s nothing interesting about not answering a question.”

  “Come on, Lizzie, you watched me wanking,” he said.

  I gasped, knowing my cheeks would flame at the memory I was desperately trying to suppress. “I did not watch…forget it. Over two years ago if you really must know. I’m not exactly keeping a diary of it and if you want to know more, then the last time I had a smear I was advised I was at that age where I should think about lubricant and I had vaginal atrophy.”

  Ronan laughed.

  I took a deep breath in. “My turn,” I said as a slow grin spread on my face because I knew he wouldn’t want to answer my question.

  “Who were you dreaming of when you were—”

  “You,” he said, interrupting me. “I haven’t had sex in about a year, but I’ve wanked more in the past month than I did as a teenager.”

  “I don’t…” I started to say that I didn’t know what to say, and I genuinely didn’t.

  He scooted up the sofa so he was closer. “Have I embarrassed you?”

  “Yes, a little. That was rather intimate for friends. Don’t you think?”

  “Well, I’d hoped that maybe we might be more than just friends.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. “You give me whiplash, Ronan,” I said, quietly.

  He laughed, but I detected a slight edge of embarrassment to it. “I give myself whiplash. I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

  I turned sideways and reached forward with both arms. I grabbed two handfuls of his T-shirt and pulled him to me. I kissed him. It was tentative at first, unsure. That was until he placed his hands either side of my head and gripped my hair. He leaned into me, and I settled back against the arm of the sofa. He took charge then. His tongue swept over mine, and his kiss became more desperate. I could hear his, or it could have been mine, breathing becoming more rapid. I could feel his grip tighten in my hair, and the pull caused my core to tighten. A banging on the front door stopped him.

  He pulled his head away slightly. He stared at me as we both listened. The knock came again.

  “Bollocks,” he whispered. “Let’s ignore it.”

  “You can’t, the curtains are open, and we’re in full view. In fact, there’s an elderly lady looking through right now,” I whispered.

  “That’ll be Mrs Sharpe. Wait right there. Don’t move, will you?”

  He pushed himself off me, and I straightened up. While standing facing me, he adjusted his hard cock to a more comfortable position.

  “Put a jumper around your waist, or something,” I whispered, as she knocked again.

  “She’s as blind as a bat. She won’t be looking at my cock, trust me.”

  He strode to the front door and opened it. A breeze blew through.

  “Ronan, I’m sorry to trouble you. I wasn’t sure you were in. I can’t get my boiler going, and I’ve no logs,” she said.

  He invited her in.

  “Oh, you have company. I’m so sorry. I’ll go, and it’s no matter.”

  “It is a matter. Now, this is Lizzie. Lizzie, Mrs Sharpe lives opposite, just up the lane. Tell me what happened to the boiler,” he said, turning his attention back to her.

  “It just stopped yesterday. I tried to call a plumber, but I couldn’t get anyone to come out. I’ve waited all day for someone, and they called, they can’t make it now. I was getting worried because the temperature is going to drop. I’ve got a plug-in heater, but it’s not warm enough.”

  “Mrs Sharpe, why didn’t you call me yesterday?” he asked.

  “Because I didn’t want to trouble you, I knew you were in Scotland dealing with your loss.”

  I stood up, subtly readjusting my top. “I’ve got a good idea. Why don’t I make Mrs Sharpe a nice cup of tea, and you take some logs up for her?”

  “I don’t want to trouble you,” she repeated, but the subtle shake to her hands and the watery eyes suggested otherwise.

  “Let me get my shoes on, and a jumper, and I’ll run a wheelbarrow full of logs over. Give me your keys, Mrs Sharpe. I’ll put the heater in your bedroom and get the fire going in the living room, how’s that? I’ll also call someone to get here tomorrow morning and repair the boiler.” He reached for his mobile as he spoke.

  Ronan left and Mrs Sharpe followed me to the kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Please, don’t apologise. You should have come over earlier,” I said. I hated the thought she could have been sitting there freezing. It was cold out and, as she said, the temperature was due to drop. I made her a cup of tea, and she wrapped her hands around it for warmth.

  “He’s always on the go, but every time he’s home, he makes sure I’m okay. Ever since my Matthew died, Ronan has made sure to check on me.”

  “That’s lovely to know, Mrs Sharpe. How long were you married?” I asked as we sat at the kitchen table.

  “Sixty years, Lizzie. We fell in love a few years before that, of course.”

  The smile on her face as she recalled those years was wonderful to see. She told me about her husband and some of the many trips abroad they had taken. She was a well-travelled woman who didn’t seem to miss those days. I guessed her memories were enough to keep her going.

  She had finished her tea when Ronan walked back into the cottage. “You’ve got a fire lit, and the heater is in your bedroom. I found a couple of blankets that I’ve put on your bed just in case it doesn’t warm up enough. There’s a pile of logs beside the fire that should keep you going tonight. I’ll be over first thing in the morning to relight it. How’s that?” he asked.

  She stood and placed her hands on his forearms. “Thank you so much.” She turned to me. “You’ve got yourself a wonderful human being here, Lizzie. Hang on to him.”

  Ronan walked her back to her cottage, and I thought on her words. I’d like the opportunity to hang on to him, but somehow, I wasn’t sure how a relationship would work. I was soon to live in Kent, he had a cottage a village over, but the majority of his time would need to be spent in Scotland.

  I decided to take my overnight bag upstairs. I wasn’t sure what time we would be eating out, but I wondered if Ronan wouldn’t mind me taking a bath. I climbed the stairs to find three doors off a landing. I loved that the floor was uneven, tilting to one side. I opened the first door to find the bathroom. I was pleased to see a roll top, claw-footed bath under the window. There was a separate shower in the corner. The second door I opened would have been a spare bedroom, I imagined, except it just held wardrobes. Ronan was using it as a dressing room. The third room was, obviously, the bedroom. A large bed stood against the back wall facing the windows. Other than two bedside tables with lamps, there was nothing else in the room.

  I wondered where I would have been expected to sleep on our sleepover. I smiled as I placed my bag on the bed. If it was separately; he was taking the sofa. I grabbed my toiletry bag and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I didn’t want to get it wet.

  I walked back to the bathroom and ran the bath. I sat on the edge, wafting my hand through the water, testing it, and laughing as I remembered the dog shampoo. I had thought to pack some bubble bath in my
bag this time, so I poured a little in as I heard the front door open and close.

  “Lizzie?” I heard.

  I turned off the taps. “I ran the bath. Is that okay?” I called down.

  “Of course it is. Do you want a glass of wine before we go out?”

  “That would be nice, thank you. I won’t be long.”

  I stripped and climbed in the bath. I had just lowered my shoulders under the bubbles, thankfully, when he walked in. He sat on the edge of the bath and handed me my wine.

  “Shouldn’t you knock?” I asked.

  “In my own bathroom?” He smirked back. “Do you want me to? I can’t see anything, which is a shame.”

  I laughed and reached for the wine. “I don’t get you sometimes.”

  He shrugged. “There’s not much to get, I guess. Like we’ve said, neither of us has dated in a long time who knows what we’re supposed to be doing. Is there dating etiquette I’ve missed?”

  “Walking in on your date in the bath before there’s any…Well, that might be a no-no,” I said.

  I regretted the words. I saw his lips twitch, and his eyebrows rise. “Before there’s any, what, Lizzie?” he asked.

  “You haven’t seen me naked,” I said.

  “Then you most certainly have one up on me, don’t you?” He reached in and pulled the plug while taking my glass from me.

  I screeched and laughed. “I haven’t washed yet!”

  I fumbled trying to re-plug the bath. I grabbed the flannel from the side as the water became lower than my boobs and covered them. “This is so unfair,” I said, laughing.

  “It is. I’m sorry.” He reached in and re-plugged the bath.

  I sat forward, not caring that the flannel fell, and took my glass of wine from him. I sipped from it and rested back, not caring that my tits were on show. For a fifty-year-old, they were still fairly pert.

  “Shall I tell you a secret?” he said. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know but nodded anyway.

  “When I had to cut you out of your gimp suit, I saw it all anyway.”

  I let my head fall back to the edge of the bath, and I closed my eyes while I groaned. It didn’t help that he laughed.

  “I thought I’d have a little trim up, although why I bothered, I don’t know, and I found a feminine shaver, but I didn’t realise I had to put a guard thing on it.”

  “So you gave yourself a buzz cut?” he said, trying hard not to laugh.

  “Yes, and then when I started, I could hardly stick the hair back on, so I had to shave the whole lot off, and now it itches like I have a bloody venereal disease. I’ve been trying to subtly scratch my hooha all day.”

  That was it. The noise that erupted from Ronan startled me into a sitting position. He fell to the floor, and I jumped out of the bath, slipping as water sloshed over the wooden planks. Ronan was lying on his back; his hands held his stomach and red wine had spilled everywhere. I crouched down, completely naked, beside him in a panic.

  “Ronan!” I shouted.

  He couldn’t catch his breath. I placed my hands on his chest and pummelled. He opened his mouth and sucked in air, and then he laughed. He made strange noises, and I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. Eventually, I understood.

  “Hooha!” he said, screaming the word. He was still lying on his back, still laughing to the point tears were running down his cheeks.

  “You bastard!” I said, but his laughter was infectious. I sat back on my heels. “Are you taking the piss out of me?” I asked.

  “Not you, just your hooha,” he said in a screechy, high-pitched voice.

  “Well, you’re lying in a pool of water and wine,” I said as if that was even remotely comparable.

  He reached out as if asking me to pull him up. I took his hands, stupidly. Before I could take a breath, he had pulled me forward, and I fell onto him. He wrapped his arms around me, and his lips were on mine. His moan made me kiss him back as feverishly. His arms tightened around me, and one hand slid down to my arse. He squeezed. Just as earlier, instead of a knock on the front door, his mobile started to ring. It not only rang but also vibrated against the wood floor he was lying on. We tried to ignore it, but even after it cut off, it started again. I pulled my head away and let my forehead fall to his chest.

  “Fucking hell,” he said. He raised his hips, and I felt his erection press against me as he pulled the phone from his pocket.

  “Mrs Sharpe, are you okay?” he asked. I slid to one side, wincing as my knees hit the wooden floor.

  Ronan sat up and gave me a wink. “Okay, we’ll be as quick as we can,” he said.

  He disconnected the call and stood. He reached down and helped me to my feet then pulled me into his arms.

  “You are gorgeous, and I can tell you now, when we get back from dinner, the phone is off, the door is locked and nothing is going to stop me making love to you.”

  I looked up at him in surprise.

  “That’s okay, isn’t it?” he said, hesitation laced his voice.

  “That’s perfectly okay by me, but…” I stepped back, suddenly very conscious that I was naked. It didn’t occur to me that nakedness wasn’t an issue for him at all.

  He reached to cup my chin and lift my head. ‘But, what, Lizzie?” he asked, gently.

  “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

  “Neither have I. Hopefully, it will be like riding a bike, never forgotten,” he said, and then chuckled. “Now, a log has fallen off the fire, and although it’s not about to burn down her house, Mrs Sharpe is worried about the scorched carpet. Let’s get ready, go to her, then the pub for dinner.”

  I leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him briefly. “Give me five minutes,” I said.

  I walked back to the bedroom with him following, and although my hands itched to cover my arse, I kept them firmly by my side.

  “I can’t believe we’ve seen each other naked the way we have. And with the lights on!”

  He stopped walking. “Lizzie, every light in this bedroom is going to be blazing so I can see each inch of you and every expression that crosses your face.” That tingle was like an electrical current connecting my ears, my brain, and then flowing straight to my hooha.

  I watched as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. “Do me one favour?” I looked at him. “Please, don’t say hooha again.” I threw a cushion at him as he laughed again.

  I dressed in jeans with a white shirt. I brushed my hair. I grabbed my makeup bag and, although I’d never taken that long to apply my face, I was done in a couple of minutes. In fact, I was pulling on my boots before Ronan had even finished buckling his belt. I could have kicked myself. I had been concentrating on getting ready, and I hadn’t taken the time to admire his naked form, again.

  We were in his Range Rover within twenty minutes of the call.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mrs Sharpe was tearful, and I didn’t think we should run in, sort out the fallen log, and then rush off. I agreed to the cup of tea that she offered us. She was clearly very lonely and seemed to me, to be overly-disturbed by the loss of her boiler. Ronan explained that he had arranged for someone he knew to visit the following morning. He made her a flask of tea and took that up to her bedroom. He suggested that, if she were anxious with the fire, he’d put it out, and that maybe she could read in bed. He even offered to carry her television up so she could watch her soaps. She decided on a book.

  I helped her upstairs, but she waved any further help away. I made sure that she had her telephone beside her bed and she promised she would call if she needed us.

  Ronan locked up and we, finally, headed off to the pub.

  “I’m sorry about all the interruptions,” he said as he held open the car door.

  “I think she’s a lovely lady. It’s nice that you do a lot for her,” I said.

  “I like her. I don’t mind helping her, to be honest. But I do think that she might need a little more help than I can give. She seems to be getting anxious a lot, scared in the eveni
ngs, even though she knows I’m just a walk away. It worries me that she has no one when I’m in Scotland.”

  As Ronan didn’t have a pub near him, we drove to the pub that would soon be my local. It was still early, a family was sitting at one table and an elderly couple at another. We chose a bottle of wine and to sit on a couple of leather chairs around a coffee table next to the fire. We were told by a friendly bar lady that we didn’t need to book a table and just to give her a wave when we were ready. She handed us two menus to browse.

  I felt awkward, and I wasn’t sure why. I guessed the two kisses that we had shared had been pretty spontaneous, but there we were, drinking wine, having a meal, knowing how the evening would end. My stomach tightened with nerves. I felt like we were making small talk, there wasn’t the natural flow to our previous conversations.

  Ronan reached over and took my hand. “What’s wrong, Lizzie?”

  “I feel nervous all of a sudden,” I said, with a smile deciding to be honest.

  “Does it make it better if I say I feel the same?”

  “A little.” I smiled. “What is it when you get to this age? It’s not like we haven’t done this before, even if it was so long ago.”

  “When did you date someone last?” he asked.

  “You are my first, no…second. I dated my husband when I was fifteen and married him soon after.”

  “Then it’s pretty okay to be nervous, isn’t it?”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I took a large gulp of my wine waiting on his answer. He nodded, keeping eye contact with me.

  “I haven’t had an orgasm in over ten years. I’ve faked many, though.”

  He didn’t reply immediately, and he took a sip of his wine before speaking. “Can I ask one favour of you? Don’t fake anything with me, please. You might not orgasm; I might not get it right. I think we’re going to be like a pair of fumbling teenagers, even though this conversation already has me hard as stone. If you don’t, it’s okay, we just keep going until you do.” He finished with a wink.