51 Shades of Maggie, Liverpool Style

First published in 2014 by Blackstaff Press

4D Weavers Court

Linfield Road

Belfast
BT12 5GH

with the assistance of

The Arts Council of Northern Ireland

© Text, Leesa Harker, 2014

All rights reserved

Leesa Harker has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Produced by Blackstaff Press
Cover design by TwoAssociates

A
cip
catalogue for this book is available from the British Library

epub isbn
978 0 85640 928 8

mobi isbn
978 0 85640 929 5

www.blackstaffpress.com

Well, Big Sally-Ann wanted to go for a drive to Childwall Abbey with Freddy Dick-Fingers last week and didn't I have to go down to the Dole to do her fuckin back-to-work interview? Here's me, ‘No.'

And then she said, ‘Go on – I'd do it for you.'

I said, ‘Why do you wanna go over to
Childwall Abbey
with him anyway?'

This is her, ‘That's what you do, isn't it? With fellas?'

This is me, ‘Eh ... no. That's
Childwall Abbey
, not fuckin Downtown Abbey. But I'll do it for twenty fags an a squirt of your Colleen Rooney perfume.'

So I sauntered on down to the Dole, stinkin of the Rooneys an took a ticket to get in the queue. Sure the number on the ticket was 29 an they'd just called number 2 an I think I'm gonna be here all fuckin day in this sweat-box. So, I tramped over to sit down an weren't my pink Converse trainers stickin to the carpet? An this is me to myself, this has to be the most mingin place on the planet. Sticky carpet an a faint whiff of fags in the air an the staff look like they are suckin lemons, the miserable fuckers.

Then I saw an old tramp sittin at the end of my row an he's nearly unconscious from booze an in his hand is a ticket that says 4 on it. So, I thought to myself, eh, he's almost sleepin anyway, an he's keepin warm in here, he'll not mind sittin a while longer. So I got up an shifted past him an on the way I plucked the ticket out of his hand. Then he wakes up an is huffin an shufflin – he probably thinks he's outside the Spar an somebody's nickin his carryout. Then I said, ‘You dropped your ticket, mate.' An I passed him the ticket with the number 29 on an he just smiled an closed his eyes again. So I skipped on an sat a couple of rows in front to wait my turn.

Well, two Nigerian fellas were eyein me up while I was sittin there. I'm not racist, a shag's a shag. So I gave them a wink an uncrossed my legs like the woman from
Basic Instinct
? Now, I had pink leggins on an I said, ‘Here babe, no knickers.'

An one of the lads said, ‘Those leggins are see-through – that's some bush.'

An they both bust out laughin an made a twat out of me. Fuckers. Then I looked down an didn't I put my pink footless tights on that mornin instead of my leggins an the Muff was stickin through the material. It was like a big gay hedgehog. But before I could lamp one of them boys for their cheek, wasn't Big Sally-Ann called in an I went in pretendin to be her.

The guy doin the interview was like somethin out of the Kays catalogue – tall, dark an shag-some. He had a gorgeous grey suit on, like one you'd see in Topman, an a grey silk tie. The most gorgeous green sparkly eyes that stared through me, settin my flaps on fire. Proper shag material like. So I said, ‘How YOU doin?' Then didn't I trip on the manky carpet an fall into the room, head first an into his arms. An my face went bright red but he just smiled at me an I'm thinkin, boss, he wants into my knickers! An he said to me that he's fell over before too, an I thought to myself, yeah, probably trippin over his big trouser-snake!

He reminded me of Mr Big from
Sex and the City
, so that's what I called him – Mr Big. Now he's not from Toxteth or anythin. Said he was from outside the city, from somewhere in the Lake District, but had an apartment near work. He was askin me all sorts – when I last worked an what my qualifications were – an Big Sally-Ann had forgotten to fill me in on the bastard info so wasn't I makin it up as I went along? I told him she had a ten-metre swimming badge and was the first-aid officer in the Red Lion. Cos when Big Sally-Ann got stabbed in the arm that time, I stook my thumb in the hole til the ambulance came. An that's all I could think of. But Mr Big seemed to like it.

He was scribblin down everythin I said an lookin up at me every now an then with his green twinkly eyes an half-smilin. I think he was, like, mentally undressin me, the dirty beast. If only he knew I went commando his pecker would be knockin the table from underneath. So then he said that that would be everything for today, and that he'd process the paperwork and that he'd see me again in a few months.

But I couldn't let it end there. So I flashed him my best ‘shag-me' eyes. Nothing. It was time for extreme action, so I did a Sharon Stone. Didn't he just smile an get up to hold the door for me? An I thought to myself, most fellas would be takin a charge at me with their flies down after a look at the Muff through those leggins. And I thought to myself, he must be gay. An I've enough gay friends, what with our Will, Big Sally-Ann's little brother, an his gang of Kylie-lovin mates. But I couldn't stop thinkin about Mr Big the rest of the day. His posh accent, his grey suit from Topman an his lovely green eyes.

I couldn't even concentrate when I was shopliftin a box of fish fingers from Iceland an I got caught by the security guard. I had to promise him I'd meet him out the back of the shop to give him a blowie, but didn't I do a runner on the dope. He probably stood there til midnight waitin for me, the twat. When I got home, all I could do was think about Mr Big's tallywhacker an his little half-smile an I was moist, I'm tellin ya.

The next day I was up at B&Q doin a bit of late-night shopliftin – getting stuff to sell on one of those buy an sell sites on the internet. I had eight screwdrivers down my top an a spirit level down the leg of my jeans, an was just shovin a box of drill bits into my knickers when I saw him. Mr Big. He was standin there like an Armani model, lookin at me with my hand down my keks, an I said to him, ‘Lace knickers, babe. Itch the crotch off you.' Then he just smiled like he knew what I was on about an I scooted off in the other direction. I was mortified. I thought that I maybe should have talked to him, but there was somethin about him that made me nervous. An no man ever made me nervous. So I told myself to get a grip an went to look for him again.

Then I lifted a box of 99p nails to buy at the till cos you have to pay for somethin or you look suss, y'know, an then I saw Mr Big again at the self-service till. It was shoutin at him, ‘Unexpected item in the baggage area', so didn't I go up to him and say, ‘Fuck, I've had a few unexpected items in my baggage area, babe!' An that's true – Big Billy Scriven went after me with a rollin pin one time after he saw it done on a
dvd
he got in the pub but he ended up wearing it as a hat when I walloped him round the head with it. But Mr Big didn't laugh, he just stared at me like I was some chav!

Anyway, it turned out that Mr Big's unexpected baggage was a rope, a bag of cable-ties an a roll of maskin tape. So I said, ‘You doin some
diy
babe?'

‘Something like that, Sally-Ann.'

I thinks, oh shite he still thinks I'm Big Sally-Ann! So I told him the truth – ‘I was only standin in for Big Sally-Ann at the Dole. Don't you be squealin on her or I'll stick that tape on your gob to make sure.'

Well, I think he liked that cos he told me to come back down to the Dole to get some extra one-on-one trainin to help me make the most of myself! Said I was a unique character an he would like to know more about me! Now I said to myself, I'm not doin nothin unless I'm gettin paid but then I looked at his arse in those cream chinos an I said okay. So I said I'd meet him outside the Dole the next day, an away he went with his bag of
diy
goodies. I had to go back into the shop cos I forgot to get some sandpaper. I needed to get it to rub off the fake tan that was stuck to my tits. It's called Fake Bacon an it was buy one, get ten free down at Gracie Market. I'd rubbed it all over so I'd be brown for the weekend an when I woke up the next day, it was like I'd dipped my baps in a bucket of muck. An no amount of soap, Fairy liquid or bleach would take it off. I looked like that old hag off
Benidorm
.

Anyway, that night in bed, I was under my Paris Hilton duvet an couldn't stop thinkin about Mr Big … his gorgeous green eyes, his cute lips an his arse in those chinos. I was moist all right.

Big Sally-Ann was ragin when she found out Mr Big was after me! ‘He's fit, fit, fit! An you're a dirty scrubber. You'll be ridin him by Monday lunchtime!'

And I said, ‘You know it.'

And she said, ‘You may get that minge waxed just in case.'

‘You don't call me Maggie Muff for nothin! I'm not waxin nothin!'

I went on down to the Dole anyways for my trainin. But Mr Big had other plans an was standin outside the Dole waitin for me. He invited me out for a coffee instead! But I said ‘Naaaah. Don't drink coffee, babe, but I'll take a tin of White Lightning.' An he suggests having it back at his apartment. An I thought to myself, Eh, I'm deffo getting a shag tonight!'

So he went into the off licence an I waited outside cos I was barred from there for drinkin vodka from the bottles on the shelf. I'm sure Paddy the owner would have let me in but when his wife was there, no chance. I looked through the window an waved at him. He was all flustered an sweaty, God love him. His wife looked like she wore the trousers. Big manly-lookin woman, like a big German. I don't think she shagged him anymore cos I heard he was a three-thruster.

Mr Big bought a bottle of vodka an we wandered back to his apartment. The sexual tension between us was electric. There wasn't much said but every now an again he would look at me an smile like he knew he was gonna have me every way he wanted to when he got me to his flat. An I smiled back with my best ‘ride-me' eyes. Now I'm not exaggeratin here but his apartment was proper gorgeous. Big glass windows from floor to ceilin, cream carpets an cream sofas an arty-farty paintins on the wall. He even had a big white piano! An a snooker table! I said, ‘
whaaaaa
?!' Couldn't believe it. I thought to myself, the Dole's payin their staff too much these days. He must be gettin a hundred pounds a day to ask people if they want a job cleanin toilets.

But I said to him, ‘This is boss,' an he told me to make myself at home. So I kicked off my stilettos an threw my pink leather jacket over the sofa. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in his full length mirror. An I said to myself, lookin good. I had white skinny jeans on that I had taken a Stanley knife to an put rips all down the legs. An my American flag knickers that you could see through the holes on the arse of the jeans. Then I had my pink boob tube with the white hearts on. I had got my hair done an had extensions put in so I looked the part. My hair was nearly down to my arse. I was like a ‘Get 'er Fucked Barbie'.

So Mr Big pours us a drink – a vodka cocktail he said – an I thinks he must want me drunk an I thought I was gonna melt with excitement. We got talkin on the big cream sofa an the drink was flowin. After a few of them cocktails, I was blocked an I was about to straddle him when he hit me with a bombshell: ‘Now, Margaret, I want you to know something about me. I like kinky sex.'

I said ‘Kinky sex? Where do you want me? Will I put my high heels back on? Or will I get on to the piano? Or do you wanna do it doggie? But now I'm not woofin or anythin like that!'

Then he said, ‘No, Margaret. Come with me to my red room.' Then I thought to myself, oh fuck, I hope he's not one of those men who dresses up as a woman. But it turned out that the red room was for pain. I nearly died. There was a big four-poster bed in the middle with red satin sheets an a swing comin down from the ceilin beside it. There was handcuffs an whips sittin on the bedside table. An then didn't I see candles an a carrier bag from B&Q! Then it clicked an I said to myself, fuck he was buyin that stuff in B&Q to use on women!

Now, I'm no prude. I got those pink furry handcuffs at Big Sally-Ann's Ann Summers party an hooked Big Billy Scriven up to my bed. But he got an itch in his belly an couldn't scratch it, an he got so wound up he farted an then followed through on my fuckin Paris Hilton duvet! Cunt.

So Mr Big started to tell me that he didn't want a girlfriend an he liked to whip an slap his ‘submissives' an that he was a ‘dominant' an I was thinkin, nobody is gonna slap me about the place. But Mr Big must have seen how shocked I was an told me not to worry; we would have a safe word an if I ever said it, then he would stop. So I thought about it for a minute an I said to myself, well, you have to try everythin once. So I said that the safe word would be, ‘Maggie says
no
!' So if he was whippin the tripe out of me or puttin fags out on my boobs an then I shouted, ‘Maggie says
no
!', he would stop. So I agreed

But then he told me that he needed me to sign a contract. An I said, ‘I'm not signin anythin, babe.' I was scared in case he would hand me into the Dole, sayin if I was fit for ridin I was fit for work. But he said it was part of the deal. An then I looked at his arse in those chinos again an said yes. So he said he'd get it drawn up for me an then said I had to go home!

An I was thinkin of jumpin him when he got my jacket an stilettos an said, ‘Until the next time, Margaret.'

An then I looked at the rope an the chains an his cheeky smile an I said, ‘Til the next time, you big ride.' An I went out into the street.

Then I was walkin up through the town an I was imaginin all sorts – him bendin me over his knee an smackin my arse. An I was moist. I had to go past the offy an when I saw Paddy in on his own, I went in to see what I could nab. So, while Paddy was servin an old biddy, I lifted a bottle of vodka off the shelf an slid it into my bag an I was out of there before you could say Smirnoff. So, I sauntered up the road, takin a swig of my vodka an all I could think about was Mr Big an his sexy arse in those chinos an I was soakin.