Unatit

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Copyright Jeanne D’Artois July 2004

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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Josh and I were sitting at a table outside our favourite coffee shop when we heard a woman approaching muttering loudly to herself. What she was saying was indistinguishable until she turned the corner and crossed the pavement in front of us.

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.” She spoke fast, almost running the words into each other. As soon as she had said ‘revealed’, she immediately started again with ‘Beware!’.

Josh and I looked at each other. The woman, ‘Fag-Ash Lil’, was well known. She had been a feature of the townscape for years. She prowled the streets from breakfast until her evening meal muttering to herself. She had been unusually distinct today. Her appearance is odd. Apart from the cigarette butt dangling from the corner of her mouth, the obvious feature was her one-sided bust. Her left breast was massive. Her right breast was either just a flapping void or had sharp angles from cigarette packets stuffed into the empty cup. Her clothes looked as if she had thrown them on. Her T-shirt was askew, her skirt drooped inches lower at the back than the front, her tights were wrinkled and bagged at the knees and the local youths knew she wore no knickers. She would haul her skirt up and scratch if she felt an itch ignoring any passers-by. She would also show her wrinkled pussy to any youths who said ‘Show us, Lil.’ and offered cigarettes as an incentive.

Years ago Lil had an obsession with Amazons. How or why she got such an obsession no one knew but she decided she wanted to be one and that if she cut off her right breast she would become an Amazon. She tried surgery with a serrated bread knife. The Accident and Emergency centre had saved her life but Lil refused any attempt to try to balance her appearance. She didn’t want a right breast or the appearance of one. Her minders tried to get her to wear a prosthesis but Lil would pull it out and throw it like a discus. The minders gave up.

Fag-Ash Lil was harmless. The only thing that was awkward was that she would appropriate any cigarette packets lying around. If you smoked, you dare not put a packet down on a table. If you did, Fag-Ash Lil would take the packet and stuff it up her T-shirt under her shelf. It would take a brave person to attempt to retrieve the cigarettes. Lil would swear like a trooper and fight like at tiger to defend her prize. The police sometimes asked her politely to move on if she was being a nuisance but they knew better than to arrest her. It would take four burly policemen to get her into the van, the same number to get her out. In a cell she would strip and tear her clothing to shreds. Before she could be released she had to be provided with new clothes and forcibly dressed.

One policewoman found that Lil would go anywhere for a packet of cigarettes as long as it was at least half-full. Six cigarettes from a packet of ten would get Lil out of the police van. Six more in a different packet would get her to dress and leave a cell. Five wouldn’t do. Lil wouldn’t cooperate for anything less than six cigarettes from a packet of ten, or eleven from a packet of twenty.

“Have you any idea what Lil is talking about, Charlotte?” Josh asked me.

I shook my head.

“Usually her muttering is obscene but indistinct. Today she seems to have something more specific but I don’t think even Lil knows why she says what she does. ‘The time is nigh…’? Sounds biblical to me.”

Josh and I went back to discussing the script for the forthcoming amateur production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Ruddigore at our local open-air theatre. He is the society’s stage set designer. I’m the costume provider and both of us were having difficulty. He had to find or make large pictures than would come to life as the ghosts of the former Barons of Ruddigore. I had to find matching bridesmaids’ dresses for the whole female chorus. As usual we were short of money and time.

One of our supporters was a collector of militaria. Alan Smith had lent us uniforms and equipment for a wartime play we staged last year. I couldn’t see how he could help with Ruddigore but Josh rang him anyway.

Josh pressed the mute button on his phone.

“Parachute silk any good?” he asked me.

I though for a couple of seconds.

“Could be. How much of it?”

Josh asked Alan then turned back to me.

“Five hundred metres.”

“Then yes please. How much?”

Josh spoke to Alan again.

“Free. Just collect it – today!”

“Then let’s go!” I said excitedly. Five hundred metres would make all the bridesmaids’ dresses I needed. It would take a long time but if I made the pattern simple there willing if unskilful hands.

When we arrived at Alan’s I saw just how much five hundred metres was. Alan had told us the width. The material was four metres wide. We had to cut it into sections to load into both our cars. I would have to store it. Josh’s bedsit wouldn’t cope. My three-bedroom house was already filling up with part-made costumes but I thought I could fit the parachute silk into the spare bedroom…

We did. It was a struggle. Josh cut off a piece two metres long. He wanted to see the effect if light was shone through it. Could it be the solution for his magical pictures?

I was disappointed when Josh left. I had hoped that he might make an advance, ask me out perhaps? He only suggested that we should meet back at the coffee shop tomorrow morning.

The next day I arrived too early. I suppose I was too eager. I mustn’t push myself on Josh. He had been single for only a few months after his divorce. His wife had found herself a toy boy. I thought she was mad to give up Josh. Their house had been sold; she had left the area and Josh was hunting for a small house for himself. He could share mine…

Just before Josh arrived I saw Fag-Ash Lil again. She drifted past in her own world. She was still muttering.

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.”

I was aware of her but only as part of the daily scene.

When Josh arrived he was excited about the parachute silk. He had prepared some with aircraft dope and painted a design on it. With a light behind it seemed opaque and a solid picture. When the light was turned off the picture vanished. He had solved his problem. What about mine?

We were just starting to discuss bridesmaids’ dresses when Lil passed again.

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.”

This time Lil’s voice was louder and the words were distinct. Heads turned as she drifted along the street. Her shelf seemed hard and rigid contrasting sharply with her vague body movements. Josh shook his head.

“She’s losing it. Eventually she’ll have to be put away.”

“Surely not,” I replied. “She’s harmless.”

“Not if you smoke. Do you know the warden found three thousand cigarette packets in Lil’s room?”

“Three thousand!”

“Yes. She only smokes four or five a day. She puts them out with her fingers…”

“Ow!” I exclaimed.

“Ow! Indeed, and then just leaves the end hanging from the corner of her mouth. Is it a weird fashion statement?”

I didn’t answer. We resumed discussion of bridesmaids’ dresses. I managed to persuade Josh to come home with me for lunch and a trial dressmaking session. Success. Josh on his own.

The lunch we brought with us from the local Chinese takeaway and we washed it down with gallons of lager. Actually Josh drank most of the lager. I had about a half-pint. He had several pints but as he had paid for the drink I didn’t object. I thought it might relax his inhibitions and I could move in on him. It did but also made him need the bathroom frequently. About two hours after we eaten he was still drunk but I thought his bladder must be empty.

We had cut a piece of the parachute silk that was two metres by three metres. We had wrapped and pinned it around me in a variety of ways. Several times I had been left poised like a tailor’s dummy while Josh rushed for the bathroom and each time I felt ridiculous. Apart from the embarrassment it wasn’t really helping me to visualise a bridesmaids’ costume. Looking in a mirror wasn’t enough. Josh’s efforts with my digital camera had been useless because he couldn’t aim it in the right direction while he pressed the shutter.

I was becoming irritated. Josh was obviously drunk but he hadn’t attempted even a kiss. He was useless as a helper. I snapped.

“Josh! This isn’t working. I can’t see the effect when I’m the model. I’ll have to use you as the dummy.”

I nearly said ‘It’s all you’re fit for’ but I bit my tongue.

“OK,” He nearly slurred ‘OK’. How can you slur that?

“Right,” I said. “Strip to your waist… please.”

The ‘please’ was grudging. I was still irritated. My irritation vanished like morning mist in a rising sun as he pulled off his shirt to show a very acceptable torso. He wasn’t muscled like a body builder. He wasn’t flabby. He was just firm and taut like a trained athlete. I never would have suspected that he had such a touchable body. He had said ‘OK’ so I could touch it. I intended to.

I cut a metre wide length and a slit for a neck hole before throwing it over Josh’s head. At three metres width it fell to his ankles. I pinned it at the sides before tacking it roughly in place under his armpits to his waist. As I tacked my hands and fingers wandered around his chest. Once I had finished there was a large overlap on each side of his torso. His trousers and belt distorted the lay of the cloth, as I knew it would. I asked if he could drop his trousers and step out of them. I waited, my heart in my mouth, to see if he would. He dropped his trousers and kicked them aside without a word. I could see his blue boxer shorts through the material.

I gathered around the waist before roughly sewing the sides of the skirt together. I hugged his legs and saw the effect tenting his boxers. The mass of material around his ankles was difficult to sew straight while kneeling. I paused, pins in my mouth, and looked. If he could be higher…

I took the pins out.

“Could you stand on the stool for a second or two, Josh? I need to see how the seam goes.”

“If that’s want you want, Charlotte.”

He bundled up the cloth and hopped on to the stool. He swayed a little at first but settled down as I finished the seam. I stood back then walked around him. The overlap around his torso looked wrong but I was beginning to get the idea of a costume. If there was a hooped petticoat under the skirt and something around the waist… The overlap on the bodice would make simple sleeves. I had an evil thought.

“Josh,”

“Yes, Lot,”

“I want sleeves but I don’t want to cut them yet. Do you mind if I see if there’s enough material?”

“How will you do that?”

“Just pin and tack the surplus up there around your arms. That way I’ll see if I have enough spare to make the sleeves. It will be a bit awkward for you for a minute or two. Is that OK?”

He nodded.

“Step down, please.”

He lifted the full skirt and stepped from the stool to the floor. I saw that he had nice legs as well as a great torso. I pulled one arm to his side and pinned it before tacking the seams together tightly. His hand was lost inside the material as I sewed the lower part to the skirt. I repeated on the other side. His arms and hands were as trapped as if I’d tied him up.

“Thank you, Josh,” I said. Then I kissed him. I didn’t peck gratefully on his cheek. I kissed him full on the lips. His eyes sprang wide open. I withdrew as if ‘thanks’ was all I meant. I walked around him taking pictures with the digital camera. He blushed.

“Don’t show those to anyone, please, Charlotte,” he pleaded.

“I won’t. As long as you are good.” I replied.

“Good? What do you mean? I’m being helpful, aren’t I?”

“Yes Josh, but ‘good’ depends…”

“On what?”

I kissed him again. This time I didn’t withdraw. I waited for a response. He tried to move his hands. I could feel them floundering about in their swathing. He relaxed and returned the kiss. I pressed harder, my tongue seeking his. His tongue retreated and I followed, pressing my advantage.

When we broke he said:

“This isn’t fair, Lot. I want to hold you and you’ve made sure I can’t.”

“You want to hold me…”

“Yes.”

I took my stitch ripper and had his arms free in seconds. They closed around me and hugged tight. We kissed again, and again. I could feel my taut nipples digging into his chest despite my bra, T-shirt and the parachute silk. His erection pushed back.

Ten minutes later we were in my bedroom. The dressmaking had been abandoned. At first I was in bra and panties, he wore his boxers. That lasted about thirty seconds once we were on the bed.

We made love all afternoon, as if we were learning for the first time. I don’t know whether it was the alcohol or my kissing that breached his reserve. Whichever it was, there were no barriers left for either of us.

Josh rode me. I rode him. I used my tongue. He used his tongue, all over me before moving in on my pussy and making me scream and squeal as he teased and tongued. When I could stand no more I grabbed his head and pulled him hard between my legs. Afterwards his cheeks were marked and reddened by the pressure of my thighs.

We lay on the bed satiated. Josh roused himself sufficiently to find my kitchen and make coffee. We sat naked side by side, our legs touching, and an arm around each waist. We knew we were no longer just friends. We had discovered much more.

The next few days we were inseparable. We didn’t notice how blatant we were. Our friends did. Eventually their amusement penetrated our rosy mist and we accepted their congratulations.

Josh and I started work, together, on his pictures and my dresses. We distracted each other frequently and adjourned for an hour or two’s bedroom play. We had to stop when it became obvious that there was no way I was going to complete the costumes on my own. Once help arrived Josh and I had to be more discreet and wait until everyone else had gone.

Josh visited his bedsit just for more clothes. He had stopped house hunting yet neither of us had actually voiced anything about the future. We were enjoying the present too much.

The day of the dress rehearsal arrived. The costumes had been collected, the remains of the sewing tidied away and my house looked almost normal except for Josh’s things in my bedroom and bathroom.

We went out to the coffee shop to celebrate. Our roles in this production were nearly done. All we would be needed for now would be any repairs or adjustments. We would watch the dress rehearsal carefully from the public seating area.

As we sat with our coffee Fag-Ash Lil passed again, still muttering.

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.”

“Charlotte,” Josh said, “Do you think she knows what she is saying? Has it got any meaning?”

“The answer to both questions is ‘I doubt it’” I replied. “It is much better than her usual obscenities but has just as little meaning. A woman who can cut off her own breast is beyond logic.”

“You are probably right…”

“Probably! You know I’m right.”

We didn’t push it. We had come close to our first argument over Fag-Ash Lil. We moved on to other subjects.

The dress rehearsal was a success. Josh’s pictures worked beautifully. Once the back lighting was dimmed the actors could push the painted parachute silk aside and appear ‘in the flesh’.

My bridesmaids’ costumes behaved well. The dancing made the full skirts twirl, showing legs to the knee. The creamy white material looked appropriate but we had found that it was translucent in the stage lights. The chorus had to wear white underwear. Anything else showed through.

The first night of the three performances was reasonable. The audience were reserved and applauded politely. Our first nights were always overloaded with the great and good of the community – a load of stuffed shirts.

The second night was better. The audience was enthusiastic and it affected the performers. They were much more relaxed. The singing was bolder; the dancing more energetic; the repartee sparkled and the whole was entertaining. I had a couple of running repairs to do to the dresses during the interval but nothing serious.

I was told that Fag-Ash Lil had drifted past outside. It was further away from the town centre than her usual haunt. She was still muttering:

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.”

The last night was threatened by bad weather. The audience came prepared with umbrellas and plastic mackintoshes. The cast had no protection at all. The rain held off until a few spots fell during the interval. Fag-Ash Lil entertained the queue for the bar.

Some one, probably a teenager, had given her a purple light stick. Lil had curled it up and stuffed it in her right bra cup. It flashed on and off as Lil intoned repeatedly:

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.”

Josh had found the explanation for Lil’s chant. One of the local Clothes shops, Bee Wear, was having a sale of end of line products. They had the bright idea of getting Fag-Ash Lil to publicise the sale. The manager had bribed Lil with the promise of a packet of cigarettes a day to say:

“Bee Wear. The time is nigh when all end-of-lines shall be reduced.” And then she should change the message when the sale started.

If the manager had asked Lil to say ‘Bee Wear is having a sale’ she might have been able to cope but the message was too complicated for her addled brain.

Lil joined the audience after the interval. She sat at the back muttering softly to herself as if she were a Greek Chorus:

“Beware! The time is nigh when all ends shall be revealed.”

The rain was close during the final act but it started to rain hard just before the finale. The chorus came on as the rain became very heavy. The parachute silk dresses were soon soaked and clung to the women’s bodies as they danced. The rain beat down and the material changed from translucent to transparent.

Lil stood up in the back row, her right tit flashing purple, as the final chord died away. She shouted:

“Beware! The time has come. All ends are revealed.”

She was right. The ladies chorus was revealed in their white skimpy underwear. The audience gave them a standing ovation not just for their performance but for the display of under-dressed bodies.

Josh and I fled before the chorus found us. We retreated to his bed-sit until the ladies could calm down.

When we were married I didn’t use parachute silk for the bridesmaids.