A Bit More of You

Chapter Fifteen: Gotta Get Out of This Place

(Photo from scrapbook: Mum - middle row, wearing a tie - with her class, 1960)

The room started spinning until everything became one huge blur. My senses seemed to shut down one by one. I couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think. This had to be a dream. Surely what I had just witnessed was unreal; I'd just imagined it all.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The room stopped whirling. The slurping and moaning stopped. It really was a dream! I opened my eyes and peered back into the room. George and Ringo were sitting together on the couch. I watched them, my eye glued to the crack in the door, shivering all over like a madman.

George was laid sprawled out on the cushions, his newly washed hair a rumpled mess and sweat dripping down his forehead. His head was thrown back in rapture and further loud moans escaped his lips.

"For God's sake, Ringo," he gasped. "We really shouldn't be doing this. What if -"

"Hush, babes," Ringo said soothingly. "Everything's fine. Don't you worry."

Ringo was sitting on top of George, straddling him like a horse, but he wasn't resting his whole body weight on top of him. Ringo was half sitting, half hovering from what I could see. He leaned forward and gazed into George's huge brown eyes. Then he smirked and did something I never would have expected in a million years for him to do.

Ringo locked lips with George and gave him the most passionate, bruising movie star kiss I'd ever seen. I gasped, but quickly clapped a hand to my mouth so they wouldn't hear me. All I could do was watch in silent horror as they continued to kiss.

"Christ, Ringo," George muttered once his lips were free. "You're such an amazing kisser... No wonder I fell for you.."

Ringo smirked. "I only do it to please you, darling."

"I know, I know," George said, laying his head down on the couch cushions. He sighed heavily, a look of pleasure on his bright pink face.

"Come on," Ringo said suddenly. "Let's have a look."

George didn't say anything. He just shook his head.

Ringo lay down and walked his fingers up George's heaving chest. "Please, darling? I want to see it."

"No, absolutely not. My body, my rules."

"Please, babe? One peek?"

Silence.

"Ugh, fine," said George. Then he reached downwards and began undoing the top button of his jeans.

I prayed that Ringo wasn't asking to see George's dong. I already felt faint and seeing something like that probably would have sealed the deal. Luckily for me (and both my mental and physical health), George only undid the top button of his fly, then his hand slowly wandered upwards. He lifted his t-shirt, clearly embarrassed. I wondered what he had to feel shy about. A scar? A rash? A turtle-shaped birthmark? The possibilities were endless in my twisted imagination.

Then George's stomach was completely exposed.

I peered at it. At first I didn't see anything too odd, then I noticed how rotund it seemed. Not like an ordinary old guy's belly, but rounder and firmer, as if George had swallowed a small basketball. Ringo gingerly laid his fingers on the bulge, a huge grin on his stupid face.

"There he is," George whispered.

"I know," Ringo breathed. He leaned downwards and planted a kiss on George's belly. "We can't wait to meet you, little buddy."

George smiled. "Our baby boy..."

That did it. I couldn't keep quiet anymore. It was all too much. I burst into the room, practically slamming the door against the wall, causing both George and Ringo to spring apart and sit bolt upright. Ringo quickly snatched his hands away, as if George's stomach was a red hot stovetop.