top

Introspections of a Wanderer. 20. Me and James eat kippers together.
By Aahlu.


A land of Giants? Huh! I should be so lucky! A land of cripples and mental deficits more like.

“Where are those old trousers of mine?” he called from the depths of the airing cupboard “Do you know?”

“There a new pair on the top shelf” I said in between phone conversations with someone else.

“I don’t want a new pair I want a pair that won’t matter if I get them dirty!” he said.

“All your trousers are like that!” I told him “Just get any ones, it doesn’t matter. Put them tight Levi’s on so I can look at your arse!”

Well you know we are having expensive wardrobes fitted at the end of this year for this very reason – so he can find all his clothes easily without having to worry anyone else about them.

I think my comment about the Levi’s fell on stony ground however because in a matter of seconds he’d slammed the cupboard door closed and thungered himself back into bed.

Nonplussed I got out, picked my old dressing gown up off the floor and got into it temporarily. No I enjoy being nude around the house just as much as you do but this morning for some reason the atmosphere felt rather chilly.

It was raining outside when I went downstairs to the kitchen. The usual messes greeted me. Bits of rabbit, bits of mice and shrews and other partly eaten prey stained the floor. Honestly it is like living in a slaughterhouse sometimes. A slaughterhouse with a severe shortage of trousers and with only the most rudimentary of arrangements for storing the rest of one’s things. And a surplus of bloody cats!

Ignoring the mess I made tea and took him up a cup.

He’d thrown back the duvet when I went back in the room.

“Too hot!” he says.

I know its his time of life that’s causing it ‘cos men get it too. They do you know. That’s why I can never find half his trousers. I even bought a job lot for him in an auction, thinking having a lot would obviate the problem, the trouser shortage I mean. All it did really was exacerbate an already well chewed bone of contention. Where to put the damned things.

Would you agree that purchasing thirty five pairs of mens trousers at a time is not excessive? Well I didn’t think so either but it didn’t stop him getting a grump when I told him.

He sat up to drink his tea however so I put an extra pillow against the headboard so he could lean back comfortably. Then he sipped and surveyed me thoughtfully. I’d enough tit showing to arouse his interest, with enough crotch showing when I moved to make the need to see more just a little more needy. We’d fucked lazily the night before, spooned together under the bedclothes hardly awake enough to do very much. Now this morning, bright and early, if I was reading the signs right, he was wanting it again.

“Are you coming back to bed?” he asked, his face expressionless.

“Shall I?” I ask, feigning innocence. “ I thought you wanted to be away by ten. To your appointment?”

“Ten thirty is early enough” he grunted “And anyway……”

With the wrong hand he got hold of himself speculatively.

“I think I’ll go and do some gardening then!” I told him airily “The roses could do with a………..”

Volume three of Encyclopaedia Britannica missed my head by a hare’s breath. Its bloody useless as a missile, being very un-aerodynamic and not much use as an informative tome either, being very biased in favour of all things American with scant regard for anyone else in the world.

“………good pruning!” I finished as the book bounced off the wall. I expected the cup of tea to follow but it didn’t, nothing did save for the usual abuse and I’m used to that! I get it from everyone. Husband, Cats, Milkman, Postman, The Slut on the supermarket checkout and the Village Idiot at the traffic lights, and personally, quite personally I don’t give a monkey’s! If you’d asked me just then I’d have said I felt like a new man; which I did. A completely new one. One called Brian or George or Henry in fact, not one of your poncey, high falutin modern names like Wayne, Jason, or Moron. That sort can go and stand on their heads and wee on themselves for all I care. What I want is a proper new man! One with hair on his body and a foreskin and B.O, not some smooth skinned nancy boy who smells like his mother. If I wanted something like that I’d go and find a woman wouldn’t I. Someone like his mother. Obviously.
……………….

Me and James met in the café. He was having a midlife crisis along with the allday breakfast, so I ordered one too. A breakfast that is, I didn’t feel like another crisis on top of the one I already had but at 1.30 pm breakfast seemed to be a fairly average idea.

“Do the beans make you fart a lot?” I asked, stuffing three chips and a large piece of black pudding into my face as I did so.

“Not more than usual!” James said. “But my wife says they stain the saucepans!”

“It’s the red lead paint in the sauce that does it” I told him. “The t’mahter soup is worse. That gives me the shits, that does!”

We finished our breakfasts together, wiped our respective plates with the bits of white fake bread we had left and looked at each other.

“Not what you’d call Nouvelle Cuisine was it?” I opined.

James nodded thoughtfully again. He was a bit like that. Loose headed. But he had a nice body and that was what I was really after.

“Why don’t we go to Waitrose and get a couple of them Old English Kippers each” he asked “We can cook ‘em at home, no problem now the wife’s not in!”

“She hasn’t left you again has she?” I asked.

“She’s having a few days at her mothers” James confided. “A week or so anyway. So we……… if you like……….”

Who could turn down an invitation like that?
………………

We called in at Waitrose on the way back to James’s house. We didn’t buy much. Just a pair of kippers each, a pound of lard and a couple of cases of beer. We made suggestive suggestions to the checkout girl but she didn’t notice. We did it very subtly while we calculated the size of her tits. Forty fours quite possibly. We’d got through a couple of beers each by the time we arrived at Jame’s place.

The eyeballs go white just before they burst you know. That when the kipper is done. Then its time to slap it on a slice of toasted bread, get hold of the tail and lift all the bones out. Easy-peasy it is and it don’t make too much mess either. Well so long as you discount the grease dripping onto the ceiling that is.

Lard! That’s what you cook them in, for best effect. Two minutes each side so there is not too much danger of setting fire to the kitchen. Two minutes aside and don’t take no notice of the smoke.

We watched ‘Adonis Five’ while we ate our kippers, a little video series about Gay men that used to be popular in the clubs at one time. You know the sort of thing. Lots of gleaming thighs and pectorals, bulging shoulders and necks. And lots of men doing it with other men, all of them with improbably enlarged pricks.

It was supposed to have been filmed on a beach near Nice in the south of France originally but at the last moment the budget got cut and the producer had a heart attack so in the end it got done on some waste ground in Battersea, quite near the power station.

I even recognised one or two of the streets I think but I didn’t recognise any of the men. None of the faces anyway.

“Why would you want to watch a video about gay men?” James asked.

He was right, the beans did make you fart.

“Whatever!” I said.

To say we were a bit greasy when we’d finished eating would probably be putting it mildly. The damned fat had got itself everywhere. Not only that some of the beer had been spilled as well, which did not bode well for either of us. So we thought we’d have a shower and make at least a token attempt to clean each other up.

Bad Idea!

For a start it is only a small shower cubicle. Small even for one person and certainly one with a bit of a gut, so getting the pair of us in there was rather a squeeze. So much so that we could not actually close the door properly. Which meant a lot of water sprayed onto the floor. And walls. Soapy water. Lots of it.

James and I got cleanish however, eventually. Sort of. Without losing too much of the smell of beer.
We left the towels on the floor of the bathroom when we came out. To soak up some of the damp James said and I didn’t argue. Wet and naked we went back into the lounge and watched another episode of Adonis Five. The famous episode with the three legged Hawaiian woman in it.

There was still plenty of beer left when we began to play with each other, taking our cue from what the people on the screen were doing. Strangely enough none of those men appeared to suffer from Brewer’s Droop quite as much as James now did.

He groaned when I asked him, again, very tentatively about his missus.

“I told you, she’s gone to stay with her mother” that’s what he said.

So I got hold of his little limp thing again and did my best to make it bigger. Its shameful what beer can do to a man, you know that don’t you?

There was an awkward looking unequal foursome performing on the screen and by the look of James he was quite into it.

“Look! He’s a big one!” he said.

Grotesque I would have said but then the woman looked more like a Sumo wrestler as well. After ten minutes I was wishing we had some fish and chips to eat and James was still as limp as ever and not all that inclined to do anything for me. I sniffed dismally. Cod chips, mushy peas and a vibrator would have gone down a treat.

“How about a Chinese?” James suggested.

“Alright” I agreed “Anything that will give you a hard on”

The bathroom was knee deep in sodden towels when I went up to the loo, with James ogling me from outside the door. Guess what, I was halfway down the stairs when the doorbell went. It was our delivery of food.

“Don’t take ‘em long when they get going, them Chinese” James reported.

I peered at him. If anything his dick was smaller than it had ever been.

“Don’t he fuck you anymore?” James asked as we ripped open the bags.

Prawn crackers appeared in abundance.

“Who?” I asked.

James snorted, spilling special fried rice onto the floor.

“Yer husband!” James said “Why, who else have yer got?”

I thought I had you as well” I told him “But it looks like you’re as bloody incapable as he is disinterested”

“Look!” James retorted manipulating himself somehow “Its good enough to go in now isn’t it……….?”

Well I ask you! I’d have got more pleasure out of the roast bananas in syrup that I found in one of the boxes. He was right though, when we tried it did go in. Black bean sauce helped somewhat I suppose. Shame there is something in it which made me itch.
…………….

It had gone eight o’clock by the time me and James had done fucking. The Chinese food was good but we did spill quite a lot of it.

Including a pot of orange coloured sauce which made an interesting stain on the carpet. It was all the red lead paint in it I think. I must admit I’d quite enjoyed slumming it originally but later on what with kippers and bean sprouts arguing inside me life was starting to pall just a teeny bit.

“I reckon I’d better go soon!” I told him when the ten o’clock news came on the telly.

James leered at me. “Why don’t you phone him and say you’re staying at your mums?”

“’Cos my mum died a hundred and twenty years ago!” I told him.

The inadvertent hiccup which followed hard on the heels of that statement only served to prove to him that I was only joking.

You know and I know I wasn’t, but bloody hell, I couldn’t tell James that! He was too pissed to remember his own name by that time anyway.

Then I thought about it and texted the old man instead. ‘Been delayed’ I said ‘C.U.L8R’ I got a little thrill when I sent him that, mainly because I knew he wouldn’t know what it meant.

“Your bloody phone is up the chute!” he’d say, when I got back.
……………

James got surprisingly hard later, after the adverts which followed news at ten. I found the tail and all the bones of a kipper on the floor by the sofa when I knelt down there on hands and knees for him.

It felt odd sleeping in his matrimonial bed. On her side specially. It had sheets and blankets on it instead of a quilt. James apologised for the mud on the floor.

I asked him why he’d worn his wellies to go upstairs.

“It was raining!” he said

I think he may well have slept in them as well if the amount of soil in between the sheets was anything to go by.

“I reckon your hubby an’ my missus ought to get together!” James suggested “At your house” he went on “Then you could stay here!”

Funny thing – you know I think that had already happened, because James got a phone call at seven the next morning. Half awake I listened to the conversation, which went something like this:

“One of your friends says the bedside radio came on at ten to seven and they can’t turn it off. What should they do?”

James leaned over and prodded me.

“Eh?”

“Theres a little switch on the left hand end of it” I murmured, “you press it once and the radio will go off. Who the hell is in my bed anyway?”

There was silence for a while, with James still leaning over me. Then faintly, via the phone James was holding I heard the sound of bagpipes playing. The noise continued for several seconds before clicking off, whereupon James said.

“Ok! They managed it. The radio is off and they’re going back to sleep”

“It is early to be playing bagpipes on a Sunday, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yeah!” James grunted “What with metrication an’ all that you’d think they would have done away with them things completely!”

Now you may think this is all nonsense and if you do I don’t care. Me and James getting together improved my marriage no end. Y’see my hubby got a good, very well paid job offer while I was away, which he accepted. Trouble is, he didn’t tell me. The violent two hour screw we had when I got back was the last I saw of him for a couple of years and depending upon who you believe or who you listen to, the Chinese food coupled with James’s earlier ministrations meant screwing my husband got me a couple of kids. Yeah twins dammit or possibly one from each of the men. Don’t laugh. It happens with pussy cats doesn’t it?

© Aahlu. 261010.