A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras
A stupendously silly novel about a couple of menopausal women trying to get laid and or keep their man and get elected to Parliament.
Feckless but lusty Rose and too-rich-to-bitch Olivia haven’t seen each other for ten years. Now they’ve finally caught up – by email. But things have changed. For a start, Rose is divorced – but why? And where does sultry toyboy Wayne Sexton come into it?
So it WAS sex.
Fuck yeah. Mainly, like, not getting any. Can you believe that? A MAN who doesn’t want to have sex? Yes they exist, Virginia. Don’t fuck with them.
Very funny. So – Wayne Sexton. Did you two…you didn’t, did you?
Oh yeah. Wayne. Look I’m not making any excuses – alright I’m making frigging excuses! Thing is, like I said, I wasn’t getting any at all from bloody John, every time I put my hand on his leg he’d move over the other side of the damn couch. Talk about not this fucking year Josephine, try next century. So anyway one night I went out to Shirl’s place for a barbecue when John’s working late and who should I see but Sexy Sexton himself – and Liv, he hasn’t changed a bit! Still got those sultry black eyes and those tight jeans – you remember?
So I say, hey Wayne, remember me? We used to be at school together! And he looks me up and down – I was wearing my black fake leather pants that night – and says ‘Oh yeah, sure do!’ in that slow flat voice of his, “how could I forget that mini-skirt. Wendy, wasn’t it?’.
“Oh yeah right, ROSE! Didn’t you used to hang round with that la-di-da Olivia chick, the one who was always marching around trying to sell land rights for gay whales or something? She was fuckin’ smoking!” And yeah, Liv, he really did say that.
So by that time I was feeling pretty pissed off, naturally, so I say, ‘How about you, Wayne? Girlfriend? Wife? Sheep?’.
‘Nah, all on my lonesome,’ says Wayne, giving me the old under-stare, ‘guess I’m just hanging out for the right woman….”
Well I pretty much wet my pants on the spot with lust!
So we have ourselves a drink, and then some more drinks, and then Wayne says let’s split and go down to the Sports Bar in town, so we do, and we’re sitting there staring at each other and I can’t think of a single frigging thing to say except like, is that thing in your pants for real? when suddenly he grabs my left tit and says, I always thought you were a bit of a goer at school, so what’s changed, baby?’. Turns out, nothing much. Four in the morning, I get back home to John and he’s lying there with his eyes wide open in the rattiest mood ever, stiff as a board and not in a good way.
‘So where’ve YOU been.’
Well I could have lied and said, I don’t know, some shit or other but I thought, why the fuck should I! If you wanted it you should’ve put a cock in it. So I said, I’ve been screwing this guy I used to know at school and he’s a ten times better lay than you ever were mate.
You can guess the rest right?
Oh dear. And WAS he ten times better?
Nah, he was fucking hopeless. All mouth and no style. Plus he was pissed as a newt and the damn thing wouldn’t stay up, but that didn’t stop him, just kept going at it anyway like he was trying to hammer in a nail with a wet sock.
It does seem rather a pity. You and John seemed so good together.
Yeah I know everyone thought we made a great couple – sort of like beer and chips – it’s all very well for them – they got to come to the party, they didn’t have to sleep with the frigging host!
You know what though? I never really liked him now I come to think of it.
Oh Rose! You did SO like him. Don’t you remember how you used to insist he was ‘mysterious’ and ‘broodingly handsome’ – I think you must have got that out of some Harlequin Desire novel you were reading at the time. Don’t you remember that? Oh well, suppose not.
Mysterious? Broodingly what?
You’ve got to be kidding! That must have been a slip of the tongue. More like secretive weirdo. You should have seen his collection of housewife porn! It wouldn’t have been so bad but what pissed me off was he actually had a hot housewife and what did he do with her? Fucking nothing!
Anyway chicks always get that wrong about men, don’t we, that ‘if only’ thing we do? Like when he’s sort of quiet, you think he must be really intelligent IF only you could just get him to open his mouth– and when he just turns off the light and rolls over every bloody night, you think he could be a real stud IF only you could just get him going.
Those two bloody little words IF ONLY must be responsible for more broken marriages than a cheap ho.