“Fucker,” was only word I could think of saying as I wiped my chin.
“Unbreak My Heart” by Toni Braxton is playing over my office sound system, and I have to smile at the way every song on my playlist—no matter the era or genre seems to be relevant to my life, whether this is divine intervention or pure coincidence, I have no clue.
“Did you talk to Cam about getting a bit of tox in your chops?” Ashley asks me, while sliding across my beanbag and putting her head in my lap.
I move the pile of letters that had been sitting there before answering.
“I did.”
“Blatant no?” Ash asks as I stare down at her.
“Not a blatant no. He asked me to wait until I’m fifty.”
“What, why?” Jimmie looks up from the letter she is reading.
I shrug my shoulders. “He reckons I don’t need it yet. He’s worried it’ll change the way I look and I won’t be happy with the results.”
“But just a little preventative won’t hurt. He won’t even notice.” This from Ash.
“I’m not fussed; I can wait until I’m fifty. It’s no biggie. Anyway, we’ve done a deal.”
Ash smiles up at me and wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh yeah, what kind of deal?”
“You finally gonna let him have anal if you can have Botox, G,” Jimmie asks with a grin all over her face.
“No. I’m bloody will not. Ladies, his King Dick has ruined my Mildred. I’m not letting it ruin my arse as well.”
“Oh, come on, George, you’ve never even squeezed …” Ash trails off, but I’ve already worked out what she was about to say.
“No, I haven’t ever squeezed babies out my vag, Ash, but I have had six-foot-five, and two hundred thirty pounds of pure male pounding a nine and a half inch dick into me for quite some time now, so no, my mildred is not as tight as it used to be, and no, that will not be happening to my arse. Can you imagine? It’d end up all lose and I’d be farting every time I bend over.”
“Meeehhh, what’s a few arse farts between husband and wife? It’s the fanny farts that crack Marley up.”
I spit my wine, barely missing Ashley’s face.
“Oh my god, Ash. It’s happened to me before, I just about died,” I admit. Glowing crimson at the memory.
“What, you varted? Was it during sex?”
This time I choke on my wine. I have tears rolling down my cheeks caused by both coughing and laughing.
It feels so good to laugh.
I nod my head, because I’m struggling to talk.
“We were in Fuerteventura on holiday and it was hot and sweaty, and I was just really wet. I was mortified, but Cam just laughed.”
“What’s there to be embarrassed about? It’s only air, and it’s their fault any way for pumping it into ya. Marley just laughs and says, ‘What’s your next trick’ or ‘I’ll name that tune in three’.”
“I don’t have that problem anymore. Got it all taken care of.”
Ash and I share a look and try to straighten our faces before Ash sits upright and we both look at Jim.
“Wha’d’ya mean, ‘you’ve had it taken care of’?” Ash asks before I can.
Jimmie shrugs her shoulders.
“That little cruise Len and I took in February? We didn’t go on a cruise. We went over to the States, and I had a bit of reconstruction done.”
“On your Mildred? Why?” I ask in disbelief.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us? I would’ve come and had it done with ya.” Ash sounds genuinely put out.
“Did it hurt?” we both ask at the same time.
“Why? Because my poor little vag has had to squeeze out four Layton and one King head. Five babies, ladies. Those kind of numbers don’t leave things looking too pretty down there. I didn’t tell ya coz, well, you know. It’s a bit embarrassing. It’s all right you girls knowing but I didn’t want Cam and Marley knowing that I had a baggy fanny and could vart the national anthem.”
Ash and I get the giggles again. I lean forward and pull the wine from the ice bucket sitting on the floor between us. I share the last of its contents around.
“And I wouldn’t say it hurt. It was just uncomfortable for a few weeks until the stitches dissolved.”
“Was it worth it?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Absolutely,” Jim replies without hesitation. “I now have a designer vagina. The Gucci of Coochies.”
“The Versace of Vagies,” Ash adds.
“The Louboutin of Labia,” I gasp out. Fighting for breath as we all laugh hysterically.
“The Prada of Pussies,” Jimmie cackles.
“The Burberry of Beavers,” I add.
“It comes with a matching brolly and a trench coat for when things get too wet.” I worry that Jimmie is gonna throw up as she laughs and talks at the same time.
“The Mimco of Minges.”
“The Vuitton of Vulva.”
“No, gag, hate that word,” I gasp out at Ashley’s last suggestion.
“What, Mimco?” she asks.