Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  I was awake, but I refused to open my eyes. I heard the footsteps across the floor, and the clonk as a cup was placed on the bedside cabinet, the footsteps around the bed, and another clonk.

  “Thanks, Mags,” Ronan murmured, as he shuffled beside me.

  I refused to acknowledge the tea, Maggie, or the fact she had walked in to see Ronan and me in bed together. Regardless, I was sure the colour of my cheeks would give me away.

  A minute or so later, I felt Ronan lean towards me. “She’s gone, you can open your eyes now,” he whispered.

  I laughed and slapped his thigh. “We need a lock,” he said before I could.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I said, sitting up and reaching for my tea.

  “About being in bed with me?” he asked, there was a tone of surprise in his voice.

  “God, no. About being caught in bed with you.”

  “How old are you?” he asked, laughing.

  “Not the point. Funny how she knew to bring both cups in,” I said.

  “She probably went to the other bedroom first. Or maybe she heard you screaming my name,” he said, with a wink.

  I gasped at the thought as panic washed over me. “I did not! Oh God, how thin, or thick, are these walls?”

  “I’m joking. But you did. The walls are thick enough, and their annexe is the complete other end of this monster,” he said, referring to the house.

  I showered—and it was wonderful to have the constant hot water—and then dressed while Ronan did the same. I made the bed, wondering if it smelled of sex and resisted the urge to sniff his pillow.

  I was tying my laces when he walked into the room with a towel around his waist. “All my clothes are in the other room,” he said.

  “I’ll see you downstairs,” I replied, gathering the two mugs and deciding to brave Maggie on my own.

  She was in the kitchen, and once again, the smell of bread made my mouth water. It was as if she was in overdrive. There were pies lined up on a counter ready for baking.

  “Good morning,” I said, as I walked in.

  “And a good morning to you. What time did you both get here?” she asked.

  “It was late. That bread you left out was delicious. I’ve never known how to make bread.”

  “I’ll teach you. Now, all those pies need to go in. The art group are gathering today.”

  “Surely not in this weather?” I asked, looking through at the rain and mist outside.

  “Even in this weather. It’s not that cold outside,” she said.

  “It’s fucking freezing,” I heard. Ronan walked into the kitchen and, as was his way, kissed my temple.

  “You’re getting soft. Too many months down south,” Maggie said, although she pronounced south as sooth. She laughed at her own wit.

  “Honestly, will the arty lot be okay?” I asked.

  “They have a fire—they have shelter. They get too into their art to notice the weather, and we can take them some nice warm pies for lunch,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk around people in the nuddy handing out pieces of pie. But I did want to speak to Saggy…Petal! I wanted her input on a permanent structure for days when the weather was less favourable for being naked.

  “I dinnae want them earth lovers digging holes. I turned my ankle,” I heard.

  Charlie walked in, accompanied by a dog. A lovely dog with big brown eyes, a tongue lolling from his mouth, and a very wiggly tail. I stroked his head as he sat beside me.

  “You need to tell me where these earth lovers are,” I said.

  The room quietened. Maggie started to giggle, and Charlie smirked. “Maybe I’ll show yous after ma chores,” he said with a wink.

  I looked at Ronan, who smiled. “I’ll come, too, Charlie,” he said, but I fully suspected he knew exactly where they were.

  Ronan left with Charlie to help with maintenance work in the courtyard; some of the old buildings needed roof repairs before the winter took hold. I helped Maggie with some cooking. I learned that her pies were well liked that the pub, which I knew to be part of the estate, and some locals bought them from her. She showed me a tin where she kept the money, insisting that it went towards household items that needed to be paid for in cash.

  I held up my hands in protest. “Maggie, it has nothing to do with me,” I said.

  “I don’t know. Our Ronan is pretty keen on you. I don’t know the last time he had anyone stay over with him,” she said, doing that blasted quote thing with her fingers.

  “Surely Demi stayed here?” I said, fishing.

  “No. Obviously, he had the cottage as well, even when he was single. Before being married to the piranha, he never brought women back here. I know he was worried what people thought of his mum, but he used to say to me that the house was a special place, and he never wanted it tarnished with bad memories.” She winked at me.

  “I think it’s more likely he just grew out of that thought. He is mid-fifties,” I said.

  “Mid-forties,” she corrected me. “Unless I lost ten years somewhere,” she added with a laugh.

  I was sure he’d told me he was mid-fifties, and I wracked my brain to remember when. Had I just assumed he was older than me?

  I shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Mid-forties, I can’t remember what he said to be honest,” I replied to get myself out of the situation.

  We worked in silence for a little while, and I pondered on what I felt about dating—if that was what I was doing—a younger man. I had never been the one to worry about an age gap unless it was huge.

  “That’s them all done, now for tea,” Maggie said as I loaded the last of the pies in the oven. There was a rack of them cooling, and the smell was certainly making my mouth water.

  “I don’t think you’re going to be any good for my figure,” I said, with a laugh.

  “Och, get away with you, you skinny wee mare. Now, apple or cherry?” she asked, waving a knife over the fruit pies.

  I could never resist a cherry pie, so settled on that one. I made tea, she laid two plates on the table, and I fell in love with Maggie and her cherry pies.

  Later, Maggie heaved a large metal tea urn from a cupboard and instructed me to fill a plastic crate with cups and sauces, a couple of teapots, milk jugs, four litres of milk, filled sugar pots and spoons. I added small dessert plates and forks, a pack of napkins and a tablecloth.

  I carried the plastic crate, and she carried the urn and balanced a box of tea bags on the top. Outside the back door was a quad bike. I placed the crate in a large basket that was attached to the end of the seat and Maggie placed the urn beside and a container of water that had been left by the bike. She expertly wrapped a piece of tarpaulin and two bungee cords around the lot to secure it.

  “Hop on,” she said. I stared at her as she cocked her leg over the seat. She patted behind her, and I climbed on, although with some trepidation.

  “Have you driven this before?” I asked as she stalled it.

  “Of course, hold on.”

  We finally got going and bounced along a track through the woods. What Maggie hadn’t mentioned was the mud that got kicked up off the wheels and splattered us. I could hear her maniacal laughter over the roar of the engine. The way she hunched over the handlebars you’d think we were speeding along, in fact, I was sure I could have jogged quicker. All she needed was a leather hat with earflaps and a pair of goggles, and she could have walked off the set of an old comedy show. We were going so slowly, I didn’t feel the need to hold on at all. However, sitting up meant I took the brunt of the mudslinging. Maybe that was why she crouched.

  Whatever it was we hit had us both jolt forward, the quad bounced up and over until it slipped backwards when the engine stalled.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, as we came to a halt.

  “Yes, what happened?”

  “I think we got stuck.”

  I looked down to notice the back wheels in a rut. The muddy water came halfway up.

  “We�
��re going to have to push it out,” she said, also looking down.

  I translated that to mean I was going to have to push it out. I slid one leg off and leapt as far over the rut as I could. I didn’t want to land smack in the middle of the water and ruin my walking boots. I landed with a splosh and wanted to cry. A townie’s walking boots were a precious thing, not really bought to wear in wet weather, mud, or when pushing quad bikes from holes.

  “You know, if you gave it some welly it would drive out,” I said. Surely those bikes were designed to drive in and out of holes and mud.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Just open the throttle and drive it out.” I so wished I hadn’t recommended that, or at least asked Maggie to wait a moment so I could move out of the way.

  I didn’t ask, and I didn’t move in time. Before I could blink, or even close my mouth, I was showered by the contents of the rut. Muddy water sprayed over me. It dripped from my nose, my fringe was plastered to my forehead, and all I could do was spit and then spit some more to get rid of the grit from my mouth.

  “Oh, my. Oh, my,” I heard. I hadn’t wanted to open my eyes for fear of them being polluted. I rubbed at them as much as I could and then opened.

  Maggie sat there with both hands over her mouth. “Oh, my,” she repeated.

  “I’m driving,” was all I said.

  I walked to the quad bike, and Maggie shuffled back. I slung my leg over like a pro and shot off so fast she was nearly deposited off the back. She screeched and then laughed as we roared down the track to the campsite. All I wanted to do was dump the tea and pies and get back to the house for a bath. The damp was seeping through my clothes, and the cold was biting into my bones.

  I came to an abrupt halt, and Maggie headbutted my back. She laughed again, mumbling something that had the word rollercoaster in it. In front of me was the elderly couple, still naked, but with wellies on, and Eric, bless him, had on a pink woollen knitted hat, the exact same as the tea cosy my nan knitted one time for me. His dick was nowhere to be seen, but his ball sack hung down by his knobbly knees.

  “Lizzie, how nice to see you…are you muddy, dear? Whatever happened?” Petal asked peering closer at me. I guessed, going naked also meant forgoing glasses.

  “Never mind, we have tea and pie for you all,” I said.

  Maggie unhooked the crate and urn, and we carried it to the main yurt. I didn’t want to look to see what was slapping behind me. Inside the yurt was another couple, much younger, in fact, I would have put them at mid-twenties. He was sitting cross-legged, pinching his fingertips with his eyes closed, and she was painting him. And I mean, painting him. Blobs of paint were dabbed onto his skin as he hummed.

  I placed the crate on a large table and then turned to Maggie. I held up the cord of the urn, waving the plug. As if on cue, what sounded like a mini jet engine fired up.

  “Generator,” she said, taking the plug from me and crawling under the table.

  I didn’t speak after that. I laid out the tablecloth, put cups on saucers, cut pie and dished up while the urn gurgled.

  “I am sorry,” Maggie said, and I felt awful. At that moment, her voice was small, and I realised that she was worried that I was cross.

  I gave her a smile despite the muddy water having dried and cracked on my face. “Oh, Mags, it’s okay, honestly. I do need to get back, though. I’m getting really cold.”

  Petal shuffled into the yurt with Eric in tow. “Lizzie, this is awfully nice of you, isn’t it, Eric?” she shouted his name only. He nodded his head.

  “We’ll need to leave you to clear up, if that’s okay? Lizzie is rather cold,” Maggie said.

  “You should get those wet clothes off,” I heard. I turned to see the painted man standing now, and wished to fucking God I hadn’t.

  I heard Maggie take in a sharp breath, and she nudged me on the arm. She didn’t need to; it wasn’t hard to miss the rigid cock that stood proud. I had no idea how long it was, but it waggled around like a sword about to duel. I felt a little pee leak out from the internal howling with laughter that was going on. The only reason I couldn’t reply was because my jaw was clamped so tight to stop the hysteria about to erupt from me. I raised my hand as if to speak, but couldn’t.

  “She’s not feeling well,” Maggie said.

  That was it. I had to leave. I ran from the yurt with Maggie running after me. Eric asking what was going on, and Petal was telling him we had just witnessed Antonio’s cock.

  “Oh my God,” I said, as I skidded to an abrupt halt, causing Maggie to collide with my back, and pushing us both into a pile of freshly turned over mud. In front of us was a woman with her arms wrapped around a tree. She, obviously, was naked but she’d dug a little trench, a moat filled with more muddy water.

  “What is she doing?” I asked, quietly. “No, don’t tell me, I think I have a good idea.”

  I turned on my heels and navigated around the moat back to the quad. I got on the front, and without a word, Maggie climbed on behind, and I drove us back. It wasn’t quite breakneck speed, but we got back in a quarter of the time it had taken us to arrive. I pulled into the courtyard and waited for Maggie to climb off. She was still laughing at our encounter, to the extent that Charlie and Ronan walked out of one of the outbuildings to see what was going on. Both stood still and stared at me.

  “What the…?”

  I held up my hand to stop Ronan’s question.

  “Don’t ask, just…don’t ask. I saw a man being painted who had the largest cock I think I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen that Photoshopped one that went around Facebook. I saw a woman kissing a tree… Kissing. A. Tree,” I repeated, and I think that was more for my own clarity than anything else. “She had built a moat around her and her tree. Saggy tits and limp dick were lovely, although Eric wore a woollen hat and both had wellies on. It was surreal, and I think I just need a bath to warm up. Maggie, you can explain how I came to look like this.”

  With that, I stomped off, not caring that laughter sounded behind me. “Oh, and someone needs to go back and pick up all the dirty crockery,” I shouted as I kicked off my boots and walked into the warmth of the kitchen.

  I was soaking in the bath with real bubbles that time and my eyes closed when I felt Ronan run his finger down my cheek. I opened my eyes to see him kneeling beside me.

  He smiled, and I started to laugh. The more he just smiled, the more I convulsed and became worried I might waterboard myself again. I clung on the sides and howled with laughter.

  I tried to speak. “You should have seen his…his…oh my God, his co…” I just couldn’t get my words out coherently. “And she was…tongue in a hole in the tree…” That was it, at that thought, I knew I had to get out. I was either going to piss myself in the bath—and I didn’t fancy washing in pissy water—or drown.

  I reached out to him. “Help…” Thankfully, he understood. He leaned in, placed his hands under my armpits, and he lifted me, as one would do a child. I swung my legs over the bath and stood while he wrapped me in a fluffy white towel. He watched as I peed, and I really didn’t care about that. With tears still streaming down my cheeks, he guided me to the bedroom where I sat, not caring what got wet, on a chaise that was probably hundreds of years old.

  In the end, I had to put my head between my knees for fear of fainting from lack of oxygen. It had been hard to catch a breath between laughing. Even though he wasn’t there, and I doubted he understood a word I’d said, Ronan laughed along with me. When I was done, when all the chuckles, giggles, guffaws, and screeching had been expelled, I slumped back with utter exhaustion. Who knew something so funny could be so draining?

  “Now, do you want to start at the beginning?” he asked.

  I waved my hand like I was swatting a swarm of wasps away. I shook my head and closed my eyes. I took some deep breaths in until finally, I was calm again.

  “I can’t, not yet.”

  Ronan stood. He carried me to the bed and laid me down. I w
as still wrapped in the towel, and instead of slipping under the duvet, he placed a woollen blanket over me. It was surprisingly warm, and I was thankful for it. Ronan climbed on the bed, and I curled into him. Every now and then, as I thought back, I emitted a little chuckle, and he would match it.

  “Did I tell you my mum was bohemian?” he whispered.

  I wanted to roar again, but I refused. I clamped my mouth and nodded instead.

  Oh yes, she, and the whole place, was a throwback to Woodstock, I thought. I drifted into sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  I could hear a crackle, and the smell of burning logs jolted me awake. Ronan was crouched by the open fire in the bedroom that he’d lit to warm the room. I looked out of the window to see darkness, although that didn’t give me a clue what time of day it was. The nights rolled in super early in that part of Scotland, an hour earlier than down south, I was sure.

  “Hey,” I said, pushing myself into a sitting position.

  He stood and walked over. “I molested you while you slept. I hope you don’t mind,” he said, with not a hint of a smirk on his face.

  “That’s okay, just as long as you didn’t bite my…you know, like you did before. That wasn’t a nice thing to do,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest in mock indignation.

  “I wondered if you’d notice. It wasn’t intentional, a spur of the moment thing.”

  “Yes, well, don’t do it again,” I said.

  “No, ma’am. Now, you missed lunch, but dinner will be in an hour. I can bring something up, and we can eat here if you want?”

  “No, you shouldn’t have let me sleep so long. Poor Maggie would have been left with all the clearing up,” I said, pushing the blanket off me.

  “Charlie did all that. I don’t think Mags could stomach Big Cock, as she now calls him, by herself.”

  I started to chuckle, thankful the earlier hysteria didn’t return.

  “I hope you earn well out of that art group,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Not much, but it was my mother’s project so, I guess it’s a legacy to her.”