195. Liver ‘n’ Let Die.


I am stood in the office kitchenette, staring at a slowly boiling kettle.
I am hung over again.
I’ve tried cutting back on my drinking lately, but the overwhelming horror of the mundane has sent me hurrying back to the mid-priced Pinot Grigio with an insatiable gusto.
The kitchenette is always a grim place, even the name is grim.
Kitchenette.
It sounds like an instrument of torture.
A kitchenette is a half arsed kitchen, the runt of the culinary litter. Nobody aspires to a new kitchenette. Nobody has a dream kitchenette.
Kitchenettes are shit.
Shitette, even.
Something catches my eye.
It is a bag of meat.
A bag of meat, defrosting on a plate on top of the battered microwave oven. The bag of meat slowly leaks watery blood onto a cracked, white plate and it makes me feel very queasy.
It has finally happened.
Someone has brought raw meat in to work.
This is a new low.
“Animals,” I whisper, pressing myself back against the sink as the kettle bubbles and clicks. “Fucking animals.”
I turn away but suddenly Dimples is there, grinning up at me. She is very short and very fat. She is holding two Tupperware boxes. She giggles at me.
I flinch.
She says, “Were you just looking at my liver?”
With a feeling of horrible panic, my eyes are involuntarily dragged down to her groin. I say, “I… I can’t see your liver.”
Dimples looks mildly bewildered, then she giggles again. She squeezes her rotund form past me, her immense, sagging breasts squashing against my cock which shrivels away like a salted slug.
She says, “No, dafty pants, my liver. I got some liver but I forgot to get it out the freezer at home last night coz I’m having dinner at me mam’s tonight coz she’s been badly so I’m defrosting it now to have with onions an’ a bit of mash tonight. I’m on Slimming World.”
She picks up the dripping bag. She frowns, squeezing the contents, checking if it is defrosted yet. There are gold rings on all of her fat fingers and her nails are painted a monstrous red. They probe and squash the chunks of glistening raw liver inside the bag, the meat slithering as if it is attempting to evade her cruel grasp. Gripping and fondling, squeezing and squashing, bright red nails chasing dark red offal through bloody plastic.
My scrotum tightens, puckers.
Watery blood dribbles down her fingers and trickles amongst the shiny gold links of the watch that digs into the fat of her wrist. Absent mindedly she sucks some blood off her finger.
My mouth waters horribly. Acid rises in my throat.
I mumble, “Slimming World.”
She says, “Yeah, I got Slimming World tonight so I got to be good, just a bit o’ liver an’ onions an’ a bit o’ mash. We got a weigh-in tonight so I’ve to be good.”
I look at the Tupperware and I say, “What’s that lot?”
Dimples giggles coquettishly, her lower lip glistening with liver blood. “It’s what they got on at the canteen. Chinese chicken curry, half rice, half chips. Lovely. For afters it’s sticky toffee pudding an’ custard.”
I say, “I thought you were having liver?”
“That’s for before the weigh in, to set me on. This is for after. A treat. For being good.”
“So you’re having liver and onions and mash to set you on, before having Chinese chicken curry with chips and rice, followed by sticky toffee pudding and custard?”
She blinks. “Yeah, but I’m having that AFTER my weigh in, as a treat, so that’s ok.”
I say, “Right. How long you been doing Slimming World then?”
“Three years.”
I say, “Lost much weight?”
She says, “Cheeky bastard! I lost four pounds!”
“In three years?”
“Yeah, it comes and goes. It’s not easy, y’know.”
I reckon that she can easily lose four pounds in a single bowel movement. I don’t say that though.
I say, “ Four pounds. Well done. You can really tell.”
Dimples bats her eyelashes at me. “Ta Luci!”
She drops the liver back onto the plate with a wet splat. She bends over to put her Tupperware in the fridge, pointing her gigantic arse towards me. She is literally twice as wide as I am. I think she gives her arse a little wiggle, but I can’t be sure.
And suddenly, reluctantly, I imagine fucking her in a giant plate of raw liver. Slithering around, heaving her immense bulk into a more accessible position, hands slipping off her vast contours as the blood smears and the dark red meat squelches under my knees, slapping against that gigantic rump, the smell of meat and the smell of her, then sliding beneath her, sinking into liver as she lowers herself onto me, pressing down on me in a super heavyweight soixante-neuf, obliterating me with her gut and the guts…
As whisper, “Fucking animals…”
She says, “What’s that?”
And I say, “I didn’t used to like liver. When I was a kid my mum cooked liver and it turned into leather. It felt like clay in my mouth. There were tubes in it that my brother said were worms, worms burrowing into the cows liver, worms that were cooked alive, but later I learned they were great fat veins where the blood would go, dirty blood for the liver to clean. I only like liver when I cook it now, lambs liver patted in flour and salt and pepper, lightly fried, left to rest, then red wine splashed in the pan, stirred into the flour and the dark burned bits, cooking off the alcohol, making a sauce…”
! stumble away from the kitchenette, away from the immense woman with an open shocked mouth and her bag of raw meat. I stagger along the corridor, onto the fire escape.
The air is cooler here. I can see grass and sky through the large window pane.
I’m relieved to notice that I have no trace of an erection.
I decide to cook pasta for tea.
And drink a lot of mid-priced Pinot Grigio.

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4 Responses to 195. Liver ‘n’ Let Die.

  1. Thanks for that – I am actually having liver, onions and mash tonight. Or I was.

  2. D says:

    Great piece. Unsurprisingly, i love liver, the way it moves and slips. Great with onions an mash or in the way you’ve said. Kidneys are also good.
    Hasn’t reached this stage here yet, but im sure it will.

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