Of Breasts and Hooves

Alan did phone and we arranged to meet at
my local watering hole, The Twisted Oak. We
lovingly called it The Twisted Gut on account of
the pints of snake-bite we used to drink in our salad
days. Even for a saturday night it was not exactly
busy, this was due to the barlady/manageress Shirley,
being so terrifying. Of course she was not as scary
as myself, she just looked it. She was a large lady,
around a British size 18 but wearing clothes more suited
to a size 8. Always a vest top or a balconette number
her breasts were a south London landmark. Her hair
was peroxide blonde (although her roots were black)
her huge lips were scarlett, her nails on both hands and
feet were sparkly green glitter. Although a Londoner
by heritage, her family came from the North, this was
apparent because she never wore a coat even when it
was snowing and her legs were bare even when it rained.
She wore the most ridiculously expensive sandals by
various designers including Choo and Blanhik
(If I've spelt it wrong-I'm sorry on account I can't
afford to wear them myself). They were wonderful,
so dainty it made you wonder how something
so delicate could support such a vast and extensive
weight. Her feet were calloused and horny (like hooves)
when her children were younger she used to get them
to file them for her. She was quite hurt when they rebelled
against this and Shirley usually resorted to bribery,
they were now demanding huge fees (but she said
it was worth it).
She was a star and part of my youth, I used
to think she was really old but infact she was only around
ten years older then myself.
Alan sat in the corner of the pub, looking weird and
out of place. He was so pale, with all that dark hair,
perhaps a male version of myself (without dress sense).
He was sipping a red wine, I winced as it always
reminded me of vinegar especially the stuff Big Shirl
served.
"So now what?" He said, not a hello or how are
you.
"What indeed? I suppose a shags out of the
question?"
His eyes twinkled dangerously.
"No I'm saving myself for your 'homecooked meal'."
"Ah homecooked, yes, but not by myself. Sister-thing
has made a chilli. I bought ice-cream. Chocolate."
"Sounds good. When are we leaving this god-forsaken
place?" he looked around and sneered at the flock
wallpaper and overflowing ash trays. I felt this to be
a personal affront.
"Hey this place is fine! Grew up here you know? Had
my first drink, first fag and first snog in this bar." I
said proudly.
"How old were you?"
"13 for the drink, 14 for the fag and 16 for the snog."
"Ah you saved the best for last."
"Not really, he'd been eating cheese and onion crisps
and he was old enough to be my father."
Alan looked shocked.
"Only joking! This name was Mickey Straw and he
was lovely. Not smelly or old he was was actually
a year younger then myself."
"Cradle snatcher."
"Mmm like them a bit older nowdays, like 20."
"You are joking?"
"Quick are'nt you?" I sipped my brandy and smiled.
"Come on, lets eat that chilli."

Did I or did'nt I? Tell you later!
BeckaXXX