Page 3 of Pelvic Flaws

Katie

As I expected, the house was a mess when I got home and not one child was around to bollock about the shoes and clothes hanging around, or the piles of DVDs out of their boxes and spread across the floor. To be fair, I wasn’t in the mood for a row, so I picked it all up with a sigh and prayed for the days when my children were away at University, or picking up after their own kids.

Once I’d finished, I went looking for Annie, seeing as she was so desperate for a lift. I found her in her room, completing the major process of contouring, insisting that there was no way she could be interrupted.

“I’m at a really critical part, Mum,” she complained, without taking her eyes from the mirror on her dresser. “Do you want me to look like a drag queen?”

“They can at least walk in stilettos,” I muttered, as I studied what I thought used to be a half-eaten sandwich and now looked like a dead vole.

“I can walk in stilettos,” Annie admonished before sucking in her cheeks.

“Yeah, you can. You just happen to look like a constipated, baby giraffe while you do it.” I flashed her a smile in the mirror. “Anyway, I’m ready when you are, for your lift.”

A large makeup brush paused in mid-air, as Annie gave me a look that might have made a lesser man wither.

“Come on, chop, chop. I want to get back in time to watch the Grantley James film that’s coming on.”

“Ugh, that is so wrong,” Annie groaned. “He’s young enough to be your son.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Forty-five and he’s twenty-nine.”

“Which would mean I would have been sixteen when I had him, so no, I’m not old enough to be his mother - what sort of girl do you think I was?”

Remembering shagging Carl behind the science block at school, I averted my daughter’s gaze in the mirror. It was one thing me knowing how fast and loose I’d been, but I didn’t want her to know about it.

“I know what sort of girl you were,” she said, going back to drawing stripes on her face with makeup. “Dad told me.”

“No he did not,” I protested, knowing full well he probably had.

My ex-husband was the proverbial ‘cool dad’, who told his kids whatever they wanted to know. That included telling them he and I took each other’s virginity when I was fifteen and he was sixteen, before splitting up eighteen months later for four years while he shagged anything that moved and I grew out my underarm hair and became the sex slave of an older man. Obviously I didn’t; grow out my underarm hair, I mean – I did have sex with an older man though. Even though it was years before and we were now divorced, Carl was still sore about the fact that when we split up I went out with Ryan, who happened to be four years older than me and also the star striker of the local, semi-professional football team. Carl always wanted to be a professional footballer but was rubbish at it. Carl also hated that I’d told him Ryan had been the best sex I’d ever had. Cruel maybe, but true, mostly due to Ryan’s monster cock and amazing tongue. What can I say, I was pissed on Prosecco when I told him and we were on the precipice of splitting up.

“He did, Mum. It was when he was giving me the old sex talk.”

“When the hell did your dad give you the sex talk? And more to the point, why?” My eyes felt as though they were on stalks. “We agreed I’d give it to you. He’d tell the boys, but you were down to me.”

I started to seethe. If he’d included Sophie Tit Wank in that little chat, I’d be pissed. Just because she was closer to Annie’s age than her husband’s, didn’t mean I wanted her giving my little girl ‘the talk’.

“Was Sophie there?” I asked, trying not to sound like a sulky child.

“Oh God no.” Annie grimaced. “As if I’d take advice from a woman who got herself knocked up by a man old enough to be her dad. That’s just careless.”

I resisted the urge to fist pump at the fact that my daughter didn’t think too highly of her step-mother. I liked Sophie, she was good for Carl and a great mum to their little girl, but she was bloody twenty-six, had perky tits, long, glossy, black hair and probably didn’t have a dry fanny or sweat dripping between her perky tits and down the backs of her legs at any given moment. And did I say she was twenty-six?

“Did I tell you that Sophie Tit Wank is getting a tattoo?” Annie asked, tilting her head from side to side to check herself in the mirror.

“No and don’t call her that.”

I bit my lip to stop the giggle. It had been Isaac that had coined Sophie’s nickname. He said all he could think of whenever Carl said her name was a soapy tit wank. I did point out that image was a little sick, but Isaac just grunted and said ‘what’s more sick is that she probably sucks Dad’s wrinkly, old dick’. Thankfully, Charlie was upstairs fast asleep, otherwise, I wouldn’t have howled with laughter and peed in my pants a tiny bit. I guess you could say Carl and I weren’t the most appropriate of parents, but hey, no one gave us a rule book the day I pushed out my first nine pound, screaming bundle of joy.

“Okay, Sophie is getting a tattoo.”

“What of?” I asked, desperately hoping she was getting a penis tattooed in her cleavage.

Annie rolled her eyes. “A bloody dream catcher with Dad’s name written around it.”

“That’s…well it’s…sweet.”

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