Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  I smiled at him. “It’s a good thing to do. They seem to enjoy themselves, although I wonder if you should add some form of anti-bacterial soap to the bathrooms you need to install.”

  He frowned. “I wasn’t aware I was installing a new bathroom block.”

  “Stops them shitting in the woods, or wherever naked artists go. I told you, we’re going to make a business out of that,” I said, with a laugh. I was still up for the idea of the naked spa, which reminded me of something.

  While I got dressed, I asked Ronan about the hotel Joe was advising on. I was sure that Joe had promised me a weekend there.

  “It’s on hold at the moment. I think my priorities need to be here for now.”

  I understood what he meant. If he could get on top of the house and its associated businesses then he’d be free to get back to his other activities.

  “Maggie said there was an estate manager starting…or did she say you were interviewing? I can’t remember now.” I finished dressing and slipped my feet into my Converse.

  “Yes, I’ve got a couple of people lined up for interviews. I’ve also got a couple of students from the farming college that I’m going to take on as part of their course. A little like work experience, I assume.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  Ronan told me that although a lot of the land was rented out to tenant farmers, there was the deer population to deal with —I didn’t want to get too involved in that conversation—the salmon fishing, stone walling, and general maintenance that had gone to pot while under the care of Manuel. He said the next project for him and Charlie had been the felling of some trees, but before they could do that, they needed to reorganise the log shed. The new logs would have to go towards the back to season. He asked me if I wouldn’t mind working on the estate office.

  We had gone through paperwork, there was still a lot to be archived, and the room needed a complete refurb before it could be called a workable space. I looked forward to the task. Although there was so much to deal with, a plan was being formulated which gave Ronan some direction. All that was needed was the funding for it all.

  “So what do you earn from the puppies?” I asked as we sat around the kitchen table eating the most delicious steak and onion pie, mash potatoes, and vegetables.

  “Those ones, when they’re ready to leave Mum should fetch about three to four thousand pounds each,” Ronan said. He looked to Charlie for confirmation and received a nod.

  “You’re kidding me? That much?”

  “They’re from good stock. A pup recently sold for over fifteen thousand—not one of ours, sadly.”

  I had no idea that a good sheepdog was worth that much money, but then I remembered an old TV show when I was young, and the work that went into a dog was enormous. If it was an award-winning dog, the price could triple.

  I knew there to be seven pups, and although that would bring in a nice sum, once the care and vet bills and all the other things associated with puppy breeding were taken into account, the profit would be swallowed up in an instant. Ronan had agreed, though, that the funds from the puppies would be used for the art retreat and it was my job to source the best quality log cabins and yurts for the cheapest price. Ronan and Charlie could do the groundwork, and he decided he would call upon his contractors to spend some time on the project as well. If it was going to be done, it was going to be done well, although a project simply in memory of Verity.

  While I had been back home, he’d drawn up some plans, and I had to ask if he’d actually drawn them, they were as close to an architects spec as I’d seen. He showed a tarmac road leading from one of the gates to a car parking area. From there, a path led into the woods and to the existing clearing. He had a log cabin for socialising, with a kitchen area and log-burning stove. A second cabin needed to contain toilets and showers, with a space for lockers for personal items. There would be seven yurts, and he’d estimated that we only needed three new, two existing ones were beyond repair, and the rest could be worked on. He’d certainly thought it through.

  “You’re not going to do all that while they’re here, are you?” I had images of builders and tree kissers not quite mixing well.

  “No, they don’t come back until spring now,” Charlie said. “Unless the tree lover gets lonely, then she might sneak in every now and again.”

  “Each to their own, I guess.”

  I couldn’t understand why anyone would be in love with a tree, and I was curious, but not enough to seek her out and ask. I didn’t want to put her in a position of having to explain. She was comfortable with what she was doing, and she was with a group of people that obviously understood her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For the next few days, we were busy and it was nice to watch Ronan in the workshop from the estate office window. He wore jeans that fitted into his work boots. Some days he had a T-shirt on, even though the weather was abysmal, and sawdust would be stuck to his muscular arms. Other days he wore a long waxed coat with rain running down his forehead. All days, he got more and more sexy. I’d been surrounded by the suited dicks from the city for many years, but there was something about a man willing to get his hands dirty, able to create and repair and mend, to carve a little figurine into a wooden tent pole that only we’d know about, that had my heart fluttering.

  “Do you have plasters in here?” he asked, coming into the office.

  “I do, actually. I restocked the first aid kit as I wasn’t sure what capabilities you had around a chainsaw.”

  I left the desk to reach for the first aid box on a cleaned and repainted shelf. The whole room had been dusted, swept, washed, and repainted. It was a nice place to work. I had removed some pictures of Ronan’s dad with horses and replaced them with others of deer and dogs and cattle from the farm.

  Ronan held out his hand. His palm was scuffed, and a blister had formed. There were smears of blood from scratches. Nothing serious, but I suspected he wanted the blister covered. He washed his hand under the cold tap in the yard and dried it on his dirty jeans.

  “That’s healthy,” I said, squirting some antibacterial spray on his palm.

  “Fuck, that stings.”

  “Don’t be a wuss. Now, do you want the plaster over that blister?” I asked. He nodded.

  When I’d patched him up, I patted his arse and gave him a wink. “You’re certainly brightening my view with all your manly goings on over there,” I said.

  He laughed. “Manly goings on?”

  “You remind me of a Diet Coke advert, all sexy and sweaty. Shame Charlie’s over there with you.”

  “Well now, Lizzie, Charlie doesn’t see too well, and this office has a lockable door.” He stalked towards me as I replaced the first aid box. “You can play nurse.”

  I laughed as I was pinned to the cold stone wall.

  “I diagnose a serious case of notenoughsexsyndrome,” I said.

  “Oh, no. Is there a cure?” he asked dramatically, clearly enjoying our little game, as he ran his hands up my sides, scrunching my jumper up with them. I shivered as the cold air hit my skin.

  “I think there might well be. Let me think…”

  “While you do that, I want to kiss those lips of yours.”

  My heart missed several beats, and butterflies danced in my stomach. He reached behind my back, and I felt the scratch to my skin of calloused hands that had been working. I deepened the kiss, wanting to feel him closer to me. He pushed one of his legs between mine, and I was getting so worked up I could have dry humped him.

  I slipped my hands under his jacket and around his body, holding him tight as his tongue explored my mouth, as mine tasted him. I could feel muscles move under his jumper as he twisted his body into mine, needing that closeness. He removed his hands from my skin and held my head instead. I moaned and curled my hands into fists, bunching his T-shirt in them. That moan spurred him on. He pressed harder into me; I could feel his cock, hard and straining against his jeans. My body started to hum, stati
c coursed over my skin, and he took the air from my lungs as he claimed my mouth, holding my head so tight as if he owned me. At that moment, I wished he did.

  “I need to fuck you so badly,” he whispered as he pulled his head away. His hot breath fanned over my face.

  I captured his lip between my teeth, biting gently, sucking and licking. His moan was all I needed to hear. I pulled my head back and silently slid away from him. I walked to the door and locked it, placing my back against the wood and out of sight from anyone walking past. Smiling, I kicked off my boots, undid my jeans and slid them, and my knickers, to my feet. Before I had righted myself, he was there, his jeans undone and his cock in his hand. He grabbed one thigh and raised my leg. I hooked my arms around his neck, and he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he did what he’d said he needed to do.

  I returned from the rather unpleasant outside loo after cleaning myself up. It reminded me of my nan’s old council house before they installed a bathroom. Ronan was leaning against the desk. He smiled as I walked in, reached out to grab my hands and pulled me to him.

  “We didn’t use a condom, are you okay with that?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, I’m hardly likely to get pregnant at my age, and I’m assuming you don’t have any nasty diseases Joe hasn’t yet warned me about,” I said, with a laugh.

  “Good, and no, I haven’t. Have you?” he teased.

  “Would it comfort you to know I had a full health screening when Harry left me, and I found out he’d been sleeping with her. I’m healthier than a virgin, according to the nurse. Although I will take great delight in telling her she was wrong about the lubricant need.”

  I had started to surprise myself with how forward I was. How unashamed I’d become in talking about sex and demanding what I wanted.

  “Sleeping with her?” Ronan said, and it occurred to me I had never told him the full story.

  “He ran off with a drag queen. And not just any old drag queen, one over six feet tall who used to be a sailor in the Navy.”

  Before he could even smirk, I started to laugh. I wasn’t sure exactly when the hurt had stopped. When it didn’t actually bother me to speak his name and to even remember some times with fondness. In fact, I’d decided, I would even send them a New Home card. Ronan joined in the laughter.

  “Oh, Lizzie. If I didn’t know it was all true, I’d never believe the half of it.” He kissed my nose. “Now that you have distracted me for all of…” he consulted his watch, “Bollocks, that was only like half an hour. I’ll have to owe you. Now that you’ve distracted me for all that time, I have to get back to work.”

  I watched him walk back to the workshop and Charlie shook his head while laughing. I wasn’t sure what Ronan had said, but I didn’t care, either. It was with a smile that I sat back behind the desk and continued to archive all the old accounts and file all current tax year items. The accountant was visiting later that week to go through the receipts. I was sure there could be a saving made if Ronan would use an online accounting programme. I knew Joe used one for all his expenses, and it never seemed to be that difficult. Maybe, when he visited, he could help me set it up.

  I sat back in my chair, and a small pang of doubt hit me. I was thinking as if I was going to be around for a while when I knew that not to be the case. I had a house purchase going through hopefully, and Ronan, at some point, would need to get back to his businesses. Being in Scotland was romantic and wonderful and it was a delight to spend time with him, Maggie, and Charlie, but it was like being on holiday, and I knew it would come to an end.

  I had two choices: I could take what was on offer and enjoy myself, or I could continue to protect my nearly-healed heart and never experience life. The thought of not spending time with Ronan made my chest hurt. I had fallen for him; there was no doubt about that. I’d never say anything, of course. I also knew I’d take whatever was available for the time being and worry about the heartache when it came.

  An hour or so passed when I heard a tap on the window. Ronan beckoned to me. Rain dripped from the rim of the hat he wore. At first, I shook my head, but he tapped and beckoned again, so I walked to the door.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Come and see what we’ve done. We need your approval it seems.”

  “It’s pissing down,” I complained.

  “So? It rains a lot in Scotland, get used to it. There are coats and hats on the hook.”

  …get used to it. I wouldn’t think too much into what he’d said. But I did rush to grab a long coat and a hat. I found some gloves and slipped them on as well.

  “Jump on,” Ronan said. He sat astride one of the quad bikes that pulled a trailer of wooden posts. I climbed on behind, making sure to tuck my coat under my backside.

  When we came to the clearing that had originally housed a few tents, some bunting, a moat around a tree, and bare patches of earth, I sucked in a breath. In just a couple of days, it had been transformed.

  Five yurts of various sizes stood in a circle around an area filled with bark chippings. In the middle of the area was a large fire pit. Benches made from logs were scattered around, and I could see the new path, again made from log edging and filled with bark leading through the woods. To one side were two areas marked out and a bloody big hole.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “Septic tank will go in there, and we’ll need some sort of container to store water for the showers. I’m thinking of a rainwater system since we have that in abundance.”

  “That’s every ecological,” I replied.

  “Goes with the ethos of what this is all about, I guess. I hadn’t thought of it in that way—it’s just the cheapest option,” he laughed.

  I tucked my arm through his. “You know, I think your mum would be so proud of you for doing this. You know, if she was anything like you, I would have loved her.”

  He didn’t speak for a while. “Thank you. You have a lot of the same qualities. Both very caring and maybe a little too forgiving.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t mind those qualities at all. “Has Petal seen this?” I asked.

  “Not yet. I’ll invite her back when it’s all done, and she can give her opinion. She’s appointed herself unelected chairperson for the art group and will be collecting subs, as she calls them, each month to contribute.”

  “At least if it can stand on its own two feet, it would be good.” I wasn’t sure what the art group cost other than teas and coffees, cakes, and snacks. They bought the food they barbequed, the art supplies, and easels.

  “I think we’ll have this done in another week. You know, I haven’t been this enthusiastic about the place since I was a kid. Thank you for that.”

  I wasn’t sure what I’d done other than to give ideas, but if it helped, I was happy. We unloaded the wooden poles, and we climbed back on the quad and drove. Instead of heading to the house, Ronan took a different direction. We powered on through the rain for a little while until we came to a clearing. Ahead of me, I could see the loch and beyond that, mountains and forests. Ronan slowed, and we took a path that led to a wooden structure and an old jetty. I was guessing it was a boathouse of some sort. He stopped the bike, and I slid off. I walked to the beginning of the jetty, not sure how safe the structure was.

  “When I was a kid, I spent all summer here, just jumping off and swimming; if the weather was good enough, obviously. I fished, repaired this jetty, and we sailed our boats.”

  When I was a kid, I played penny up the wall at the council flats I lived in and dodged the drunks and the druggies that sat in the copse in the middle of my urban jungle. I felt a connection to Ronan that made me believe we were similar, yet our upbringing was worlds apart.

  “I bet it was idyllic,” I said.

  “I did it more to get away from my parents. All they did was fight. It was a depressing house to live in, which is why my mother ended up with mental health issues, I’m sure.”

  I never asked Ronan how his
mother had died. I doubted it was old age; she might have only been in her mid to late sixties. But there was something in the deep breath and the long sigh that made me reluctant to pry. It was too personal.

  He opened the door to the boathouse, and I saw two old small sailing boats moored side by side. One had a hull of green water that had clearly sat there for a long time. There was a mezzanine floor, and I could imagine summer nights lying on blankets and listening to the sounds of the loch.

  “This would make an amazing property, Ronan,” I said, remembering an episode of Grand Designs where the owners fixed up an abandoned lifeboat station.

  “I often thought about doing that. When I moved into one of the cottages with… Well, when things got tough, this was my sanctuary. No budget for it right now, but it could be a project for another day.”

  “How are the cottages coming along?” I asked as we walked back to the bike.

  “Builders will be finished in a day or so, then it’s just decorating, furnishing and we’re ready to advertise for next spring. I guess we need some sort of website, really.”

  With all the plans Ronan had, I was starting to think that his life was going to be permanently in Scotland. Although an easy journey back down south: a flight, train, or the long drive he so enjoyed, would have him back in Kent frequently, there was a lot to oversee at the estate. Unless he got a cracking team to run the place and could afford their wages, of course, he was going to find himself having to make a decision on where to live at some point. I suspected the estate was going to consume a lot of his time, and I wondered if he was aware of that.

  We took a slower drive back, a different route, and it reminded to me ask Ronan to take me around the whole estate. We could pack a picnic, and I could get to see just how vast it really was. I knew Charlie would go out to fix fences or walls and he’d be gone all day. In my head, I was picturing acres of land divided up into small parcels with sheep and cattle.

  We came to a halt, and Ronan turned to me. He had his fingers to his lips, and then he pointed. I followed his gaze. Standing between some trees was a stag—a huge beast with antlers that would have been the length of my arm. He must have spotted us, or at least smelled our scent as he looked our way. Not overly fazed, he cocked one leg and waited.