The Serial Breast Offender and His Fishing Victim

Me and Chris have decided to give things another go. He finally apologised for telling everyone that I had weird shaped tits. He said it's a year, so we should make a new start. He called me on the phone and he told me that he was still in love with me and he just couldn’t;t stop thinking about me all the time. He asked me to meet him that evening at 7:30pm in our local, The Goose, but I said 8, just to have that edge. It took me all afternoon to get ready for our date, and I'd made doubly sure that I'd picked all of the yellow heads off my spots, shaved those tiny black hairs that never go away from my top lip, but most of all I ensured that I picked up a pair of pants from the 'almost clean' pile, just in case things were to go a bit further.

So, I met him at the pub later that evening; he was already there, at a table with a glass of wine waiting for me. I approached the table and sat down opposite to him, and we exchanged the typical “Hello, hellos”- the preamble. I took a sip of the wine at which he snatched the glass from my hand saying “Sorry, that's mine. If you want one, you know where the bar is.” I was a bit embarrassed from assuming that he had made a gentlemanly gesture, so I did exactly as he suggested and ordered a bottle of wine. He had his glass, but I had my bottle, and I wasn't going to share a drop. I chose to order red wine, even though I hate it, I thought it would make me look classy and mature.

I returned over to where we were sitting and placed my purchase firmly on the table, putting it directly in front of his line of sight. “What have you brought red for? You know you don't like red, don't you”, he asked.

“Well, a lot of things have changed since we last saw each other Chris.”

“But that was only last week?”

I ignored his comment, and poured myself a glass, only just about managing to not heave as I drank it. The evening dragged as we chatted and drank more and more, and I finally got round to asking him why he had made the nasty-weird-breasts comment about me, the very reason we'd split up in the first place. I expected him to say that it was just a silly little lie that got a bit out of hand, but what he actually said was : “ Well, they are a bit strange, aren't they? I mean, they're completely different sizes- you have to admit. Your nipples as well... a bit wonky I'd say. I don't mean any of this in a bad way though, you know what I'm sayin'?” No, I didn't know what you were 'saying' Chris, you absolute arse hole.

I heard the front door swing open, and I looked around to watch it, as something to do to fill the awkward tension that has arisen from not knowing what someone had meant by completely slating you, but in a nice way, however that might happen... I recognised the face that had just walked into The Gooose, it was Ben unfortunatley. Ben is Chris' older brother, I should have known before that there would be a chance of bumping into him. Ben is also a massive twat that likes to get as many twats as possible. I probably wouldn't mind all that much if a million bees stung him in the eyes, or a train ran over his little toes, or anything else like that really. By the looks of things he had yet another girlfriend, who I had noticed, had incredibly large breasts, I'm sure they were actually bigger than her own head. I bet no one has ever told her she lop-sided tits or whatever Chris had said.

Not long after Ben had entered, a group of his mates had follwed behind him. As they walked over to the bar, Ben had caught my eye, I looked away far to quickly to conceal the fact I was trying to avoid being seen. “Well, well, what's this then” Ben trumpted from his big trumpet mouth “The happy couple back together again? Come on then everyone you miserable shits, this needs drinks to celebrate.” I did a double-take, there was no fucking chance I was getting back with his breast abusing arse of a brother, even if he isn't quite as much of an arse as you. An arse is an arse either way.

Ben left us to head for the bar, and Chris leaned over the table to take my hands into his and told me

“I'm really glad that you've stopped being so childish, so we can give this another chance. You really have got to stop being so sensitive.” I faked a smile, and wormed away from his grasp, making the excuse that I needed another drink. This was a complete lie of course, I'd sank the whole bottle of red that I'd brought and felt thoroughly pissed, but still, I ordered a vodka and coke, then returned to where we were sat. Ben had placed two shots of something on the table for me, I tried to get out of drinking them but Ben kept on and on, pressuring me to drink. Then Chris chimed in “Go on Ruth, you don't always have to be so boring. I've had mine.” I weighed up the situation and decided that a couple of tiny shots was not worth letting Chris shoot me down again, plus the fact that I'd been practically forced to be someone's girlfriend. It couldn't really have got much worse I figured. So, I necked them back one after another. I felt them burn my throat and I heard my stomach let out a tell-tale gurgle of warning of what was to come.

I got straight out of my seat and shot towards the toilets, with my head bent down, clutching my mouth. I wasn't looking where I was going and ended up in a head- on collision with Ben's new girlfriend. The blow of the impact instantly unleashed the load and I did the deed all over her legs. I heard her do a little scream, followed by Ben yelling “Chris! Get her out of here, she's a fucking mess”, as I flopped pathetically to the floor. I felt Chris drag me across the pub and out of the front door. He let it slam shut against my head...

I woke up this morning feel like someone had tipped cat litter down my throat, and the events of last night were a little hazy. I sat up in bed and saw Chris walk through my bedroom door.

“Morning” he grunted.

“Good morning.”

“I brought you a knife and fork.”

“Oooh, breakfast in bed, eh?”, I knew he wasn't all that bad really.

“Um no. It's just probably the only way you're gonna fish those chunks out of the sink.”

Invasion of The Wee-Wee Watcher, and Unacceptable Hand Related Behaviour At the Back of the Bus. Part I

Well, festivals are a lot of fun aren’t they? Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to take me to a shit-spattered field for a whole weekend. It was supposed to be a nice getaway to help me forget about my argument with Chris. Cheers mates for that one. The whole ordeal was an absolute nightmare from the start, right from when we got on to the coach. The girls ditched me almost instantly, and went and sat with a group of a group of hippy lads, probably in hope of some free lovin'. I'm fine for free lovin' thanks, I've got a highly trained Alsation that takes care of all that kind of stuff.

So I was left sitting by myself. I didn't care though, those dreadlocks smelled like absolute arse anyway. They probably just discussed which incest sticks they preffered to shag themselves with. I tried to resolve the situation with cider, lots and lots of cheap, yellow cider. To be honest, I'm not a great traveller, and I knew that alcohol probably wasn't a good idea, but I wanted to show them that I could have just as good of a time by myself- which I can. Everything was all fine as I read my cheapo women's magazine, revelling in the stories of babies with two heads and women that have had ten kids by eight different fathers- the kind of stories that makes you think 'how.'

I began to feel a bit sicky after we'd just gotten on to the motorway, about half an hour into our four hour drive. My mouth began to fill with slobber and my stomach was churning, but I kept sipping the cans though, focussing my breathing on swallowing down the fizzy sweetness. Despite these efforts, it was when my mind flitted to the thought of shitting in a hole filled with spunked-in johnnies and other articles of joy, for two days that made vomit ensue.

I didn’t want to make a fuss about the situation, or attract any attention from my sell-out mates or their blokes. I was having a good time, and they would believe it whether it was true or not. In order, to save face, but not really because it went exactly all over my face, I borked into my cupped hands, and then after I could just discreetly deposit it into the on-board toilet. I scrambled out of my seat, heading towards the back of the coach where the loos are normally located. I remember going on a coach day trip to Scotland with mum, just after she'd gotten divorced from dad. She said it would be nice to have some family time, she said it would be “lovely”. But it wasn't very lovely when I was on the toilet and the bus turned a corner, causing me to topple off the seat and wee over my own legs. It is also not very lovely having to walk around those bloody freezing hills all day with your own urine in your shoes.

When I reached the toilet, I was horrified. A little sign, with writing in capital letters read: 'OUT OF ORDER. DO NOT USE'. Fuck you sign. What the hell was I supposed to do with a rather large, and overflowing pair of hands full of sick? I decided to risk it and try and open the door, as long as I did it quietly and sneakily, I was sure that no one would catch me. The the door seemed to have been locked from the inside, or perhaps the driver had a key. There was no way I was going to ask him though, if I did, the girls would know that something was wrong, and I was definitely having a good time, remember, that and the fact that I'd have to admit to the driver I was currently using my hands as a human cup of of sick. I hung about outside the loo, trying to look casual, I would have tried the leaning on one arm thing that they do in films, but that would have risked an untimely disposal of vomit onto my feet. I heard someone behind me, out of view, sniffing the air and proclaiming they could smell sick. I knew I had to do something fast before I got caught, and the cramp in my hands at this point was really quite painful. I decided I had to somehow get the lock open, so I raised my cupped hands to the lock dial that read 'engaged', and carefully with my little finger, dragged the dial repeatedly until I finally heard the click of the lock- 'vacant'.

I did a little 'phew', and scurried into the cubicle, and splatted the contents of my hands into the toilet bowl. I was in there a few minutes cleaning myself up, I noticed I had a few spots on my forehead, and I couldn't really leave them unsqueezed, so I give them a little de-gunk. I was mid 'pop' and I heard the driver speak out over the tannoy system, he said: “Can the person, that has clearly ignored the sign, please get out of the toilet. Immediately”. There was no chance in hell that I was leaving that toilet. Everyone would know that I was a lonely loser that had thrown up, only half- an- hour into my first festival. My only thought was to hide there for nearly four hours until we arrived, and then I could sneak off with all of the other passengers, and no one would be any the wiser that it was me. I was there for a couple of minutes of longer until I felt the bus stop which was soon followed by the was a loud, repeated banging on the door, followed by an angry shout to “Get out. This coach is going nowhere until you go back to your seat”.

We remained parked at the side of the road for at least an hour. The smell of the sick in the tiny, hot cubicle was becoming unbearable, and I felt a second wave rising. I could hear someone fumbling with the lock outside, and I tried to hold the door closed with my foot as I retched, head still in the toilet bowl. It filled with light around me as the driver had managed to force the door open, I turned around to look at him. I could see a large mob of travellers had gathered behind him. They looked a bit pissed off. “Sorry”, I whimpered, feeling really quite pathetic by this point. “Sorry my arse, if you wanted to be sick” he said “then you should have let me know and we could have pulled over. Now get back to your seat, we're running late as it is!”

I toddled back to my seat, making my way through the group of people that were staring at me, I heard one of them mutter “Well done, dick head”, which I thought was a bit rude. So, I sat for the remainder of the journey by myself, I flipped back to the magazine to read about various freaks, that made me feel a bit better about myself at least. When we finally arrived, we filtered off the bus to wait for the driver to off load the luggage. The driver announced that there was a bit of a problem though, as he'd feared. The toilet that I had used was out of order because of a faulty waste tank, and the contents of it had leaked into the baggage compartment. I wanted to bloody die as he offloaded everyone's vomit covered tents and back packs, and the others were not best pleased to see that my bag was the only one which had come out absolutely spotless. I'd hoped there'd at least be a few chunks on it.

I rejoined my friends and we walked onto the campsite, and me and Slaggy Tits set up the tent we were sharing. I was feeling pretty miserable as Slaggy and the others still fussed around the boys, so I slipped inside the tent and snuggled down into my sleeping bag. A nice cup of tea would have made me feel better but I couldn't seem to find a plug socket anywhere, I'd have to remember to take one with me next time. I couldn't have been asleep for too long when I was woken up by a rustling in our tent. I hadn't opened my eyes but I could hear Slaggy whispering: “Sorry mate, his tent was taken so it had to be ours. Just go back to sleep we won't be long.” I had no idea who this “we”, that she was referring to was. I rolled over to find her straddling, mid-hump, on top of a bloke that looked like he was mainly comprised of hair. “There's not much room in here, is there?”, she said.

I left screaming things along the lines of “you're a filthy bitch” and “I hope you get herpes.” How could she shag away like that whilst I innocently slept? I stormed off to one of towards one of the music stages, and filtered in through the big crowd of people. I danced by myself for a bit, well more like out-of-time shuffling. There was a mixed group of girls and boys also dancing next to me, they looked liked they were having a great time, I felt pretty lonely and I just wanted to go home to my dog, plus I was still pegging for a good brew. One of the girls from the group caught my eye and gave me a smile, I smiled back. I bet she thought I was a complete loner, being there by myself. She walked over to me, and asked my to join there group. I said “That would be great, thanks”, and she introduced herself as Summer and told me the names of the others. I did and awkward wave to everyone and told them my name was Ruth. I felt like lying and coming up with an equally cool name as Summer, I toyed with Sunshine, or Starfish, but decided against it in the end.

We danced away for hours, and for the first time, I was beginning to think that festivals are actually pretty fun. One of the boys pulled out a small bag with white stuff in it and sneakily passed it round the group. Sunshine asked me if I'd like some powder, I told her that I didn't wear make-up any more, not since the time I'd turned up on the first day of school and a Year 9 boy had asked me if I was a drag queen. “No silly” she said, and rolled up a ten pound note and snorted a little bit of the bag's contents. “Like that kind of powder”. She handed me the note and the drugs, I felt a bit nervous, I'd never done anything like that before. I thought about how disappointed my parents would be, although they had been promising to buy me a car for well over a year, so stuff you mum and dad, you don't even know what disappointment is. I wondered if putting the queen's head up your nose and snorting illegal substances was against the law, like the same as killing a swan, or plotting against the crown, would what I was doing count as treason or something? Then I realised that the illegal drugs part of the situation was probably a lot more against the law than inserting money into your oraphaces. Summer seemed nice enough though, and I'm sure the queen wouldn’t be too bothered either, so I shoved the scabby note up my nose and snorted. I was a bit worried that she would see the watery residue that I'd left on the note, she didn’t seem to have noticed anyway. What I should have been more worried about was the fact that I'd never asked what this mysterious 'powder' stuff was, or what it would do to me.

I'd hoped it would be like you see on the TV with all those hippies dancing about with flowers and telling everyone that they loved everyone else. Although, I didn't want to cheat on Chris, this break was supposed to give us a bit of room so we could work things out, and anyway I hadn't taken my pill in ages because the dog ate the whole of the last pack. I hope it won't make him grow breasts, or ovaries or anything. As the drugs began to work, I started to feel a bit off. Not at all like those naked dancing people I'd seen in their summers of love type scenarios. I asked Summer what it was she had given me, but all's she said was “Don't worry about it, but remember whatever you see...it's not real.” I was a bit confused as to what she meant, and her words didn't stop me from fretting. So, I said my goodbyes, explaining that I was feeling a bit weird and needed a lie down. I headed back to the tent, I unzipped the door and was relieved to find that Slaggy and whoever she had pulled, had now left.

I was desperate for a wee, and was annoyed at myself for not going on my way back, but I knew I wouldn’t make it to the porta-loos, I could see them in the distance, they were right across the other side of our campsite. Popping my head outside of the tent, I searched around for a vessel to wee in; an empty pot noodle container on the floor near by caught my eye. Closing the tent back shut, I began to do my business, until I heard the zipper going, someone was trying to get in. I just couldnt stop though, everybody knows you cannot stop midflow, it's against the laws of human biology. A man that I didn't recognise poked his head inside. “Sorry love, I can see your busy”, he said, “Do you want to buy any pills?” I was caught in a dilemma, there was no way I could stop peeing, so I just stared at him as the pot beneath me slowly began to overflow. At least it wasn't on my side of the tent.

The chip of shame and his molesting owner

I started at Chip Shop Rod’s today. I turned up fifteen minutes late, not really a great way to begin a new job. Next-door boy was having a shitimus maximus, or maybe he was just tugging one off again in the bathroom because I didn’t hear any victory splashes? Either way, I didn’t get chance to have a shower so I had to go into work with hair that could have rivalled the grease in the chip pans. At least I blended in. As I left the house I realised that my legs could have probably done with a shave too, they were way past the point of acceptable spiky, couple of week's growth kinda' hair. Then again, I don't really see the point in grooming myself since the whole me and Chris fiasco ended, but saying that, I have managed to build myself up enough to get back to brushing my teeth once every day.

Anyway, when I finally turned up at the shop, Rod wasn't particularly impressed with my time keeping skills. He said that even Fat Maria had managed waddle in on time. I thought that was a bit mean to be honest, and I didnt really expect such a comment to be made by the creator of my creative workspace. Although, I think I was actually just more annoyed about being compared to someone that has the formally accepted first name of 'Fat'. He told me that as a result of my lateness I would have to wear the company mascot as my punishment. He led me into the back of the shop, where I had been before, and there it hung in a glass cabinet: the real-life, human chip suit. Rod explained that “This is Rod's Fish Bars' most prized possession. When you wear it, you wear it like you mean it.” I wondered how you could mean to be a chip. He added “Oh, and be careful with it. I paid a good twenty-quid for that from 'Dirty Dick's Discount Centre...it's one of a kind”. I'm sure it is one of a kind, it's fucking ridiculous.

After Rod's suit speech, I pointed out to him that the costume, was in fact, only half a chip, rather than a whole one. “That's why we've got these”, he said as he handed me a huge pair of yellow lycra underpants. I suspected that they were once worn like they-were-meant by Maria. I gave them a quick once over to see if they'd been washed since she'd last donned them. I wish that I hadn't. So, off I went to get changed into the suit of dread, and remembered my legs. My hair-carpeted legs... After dressing, Rod showed me around, how to use all of the equipment, and gave me a 'definitive guide' to the food that his shop offered, which consisted mainly of fish and chips, and fish and chips with stuff on it. After that the afternoon went fairly fast, well as fast as it possibly can when you're a hairy piece of cooked potato.

No one came in for food for a few hours in the afternoon, but eventually a lad popped his head round the door. He was short, and skinny with scruffy hair. He came over to the counter and asked me for chips, beans and curry sauce, the £2.99 deal. I told him that the deal only included one side, and you couldn't mix them. The same foolish mistake I'd made just a week ago, but I feel like I've come so far since that. He said that he didn't think it was very good customer service, and I replied that I was dressed as his bloody dinner, so what more customer service did he want. He agreed that I'd made a good point and opted for beans. He thanked me, and handed me his money, and left the shop. About half an hour later, as I was eating my staff discounted battered sausage, I noticed that the boy was still hanging about outside the window, every few minutes he peeped through the glass, then ran around behind a wall to hide. He continued to do this for another half an hour or so, so I stepped outside, and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He said that his name was Matt and he had been wondering whether to ask me on a date. I told him that lurking around outside where I worked like a weird potential rapey person, was probably not the best way to go about it.

He continued to ask if I would like to go out for a drink sometime, I wasn’t exactly sure if he was even old enough to drink but considering the state I looked, I thought he must have actually been quite a nice guy. Not that I'm in the position to turn anybody down at the moment, legal or not. If I stick by my old motto 'If it's long, it's not wrong', then I'm sure it will be all right. I gave him my number written down on a serviette and walked back inside, asking him if he would please fuck off now because he was ruining my professionalism.

At the end of my shift I closed the shop door, pulled the shutters and got down on my knees to scrub the grease from the floor. I asked Rod if I could put my normal clothes back on as it is particularly hard to bend down when you're housed in 3ft of solid foam chippiness. He outright refused stating that I had to wear it for the whole shift. As I was scrubbing away, Rod came back behind the counter and watched me clean up. He sort of swaggered over, I'm not sure if he was trying to be cool or he just had a limp. He put one arm across my back, I could smell his breath as he breathed on my neck, it definitely smelled like curry sauce. Helping himself to the products no doubt, no way to run a business in my eyes, mate. He then placed his other hand on my lycra clad arse cheek, which in surprise, made me jump- knocking a fish from the serving grill, onto the floor. “That'll come out of your wages Ruth... unless you can find some other form of repayment...”. He trailed off, and I knew what he was after. I made my decision on the cost of the fish but I struggled to see if what I'd knocked of was battered, or breaded. Battered or breaded...battered or breaded....BREADED. Bastard. Breaded would cost me a whole hour's worth of my wages.

My decision was made and he pulled me up off the floor and leaned me back against the cooled chip fryer, and kissed me. My first day and I'd managed to become a victim of deep-fried frolicking with my middle-aged boss. Brilliant. I could feel him pressing against the front of the suit with his hands, searching for my goods. He'd have to search deeper than that though, the mini potato fritters from Menu A are bigger than my tits. I really hoped he wouldn’t use any battered sausage puns.