Me, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Zsa Zsa Gabor’s Daughter by Joseph Ridgwell

There was a time in my life when I was always on the move. During this unsettled period I found myself staying at a friend of a friend’s house in Queensland, somehow. It was the middle of another steamy Australian summer. Bush fires raging all over the country and it was hot, very, very hot, fry an egg on the pavement type hot. 

     In extreme heat funny shit can happen and people are liable to do strange things. Excess heat can cause the brain to malfunction, cause febrile networks to go into meltdown, and a form of madness ensues. In Queensland they call it, ‘Going Tropo.’

At the time I wasn’t working and anyway it was too hot to work, to hot to do anything. Phew, everyday was a scorcher.

      It was a non-descript suburb just outside of a famous resort known internationally as Surfer’s Paradise. Despite it’s name Surfer’s was a dump, a long stretch of golden sands lined with a myriad of high-rise apartments, which blotted out the sun and left the extended beach in shadow from noon onwards.

      It was a small gated complex of twenty or thirty dwellings. The houses were cheap, but new, and there was a small communal pool and barbecue area. Most of the residents didn’t appear to work, they just hung around the place. How they made it, I wasn’t sure, but they seemed to enjoy a far better lifestyle than those who went to work each day. I spent most days sunbathing by the pool. In the afternoon the pool water became as hot as a bath. There were inflatable toys in the pool, a crocodile, an armchair, and the odd rubber ring. It was easy street. 

      By the barbecue area was a fridge. The fridge was designed in the shape of a giant can of beer. I’d usually rise around noon, take a leisurely lunch, and then stroll down to the pool with a six-pack under my arm. I’d put the beers in the giant beer can, grab a cold one, and then plot up on one of the sun-loungers.  And it was hot, very, very, hot.

      Often there were one or two other residents at poolside. There was this blonde divorcee, big tits, but a bit chubby. She’d swan over some time in the early afternoon, huge sunglasses on, Jack Daniels and coke in hand. Being the newcomer and a pom, I was a talking point.  We spent hours just chatting and drinking or staring at the pool water. After three or four cold one’s the divorcee began to strongly resemble a young Zsa Zsa Gabor. I had to keep jumping into the pool to cool down.

     Then there was the toy boy. His partner worked for a high street bank. All he had to do was make sure there was a dinner ready when the older woman got home. Aside from that he could just loaf around all day. It wasn’t a bad life, but it didn’t seem to have any long term prospects. The guy would come over and share a beer with me and the divorcee. During those lazy afternoons he often mentioned signing on with one of the local fishing boats,

‘Pay top dollar on those stints, mate,’ he’d tell me with a smile, as he swigged beer in the sun.
      In the afternoon the kids came home from school and the peaceful and boozy tranquillity at poolside was shattered. The kids liked to play noisy games, which mostly involved jumping in and out of the pool. During those periods I’d retreat to the shelter of the house for an afternoon nap.

     I spent the evenings drinking around the pool. There were a couple of teenage girls who hung around in bikinis. They were hot numbers, pert tits and lithe bodies. There didn’t seem to be much going on between the ears, but that hardly mattered.

    I never saw the guy who owned the house. He drove a road train and was often away from home for long periods. When I’d arrived the keys to the house were with a neighbour, and after that I had the rule of the roost.

      I suppose I could’ve stayed in the little complex, spending my days sunning round the pool for an indefinite period, or at least until the owner returned home. But after a week of that shit I got itchy feet. Like I say, at that time I liked to move around a great deal. 

     On my last night the locals decided to hold a leaving party. Everyone was there. My sudden appearance on the scene had had an invigorating effect on the inhabitants of that little complex, and the party turned out to be a raucous event. Or maybe it wasn’t me, maybe it was the heat, the sultry tropical heat, that envelops everything and everyone.

      An hour into my leaving do general drunkenness overwhelmed almost every participant, even some of the kids, who somehow managed to steal a drink or six. Beer bottles were knocked over, glasses smashed, ashtrays overflowed, half- smoked cigarettes were forgotten and food lay uneaten.

    The Toy Boy brought out a stereo and played the soundtrack to the movie Grease and everyone got up and began executing drunken rock and roll moves around the pool. I saw husbands and wives eyeing up each other’s partners, and some of the old guys trying to chat up the bikini teens. As I floated on the inflatable croc, and supped my beer, it was obvious the party possessed a steamy sexual dimension.

      At some point I caught Zsa Zsa Gabor’s teenage daughter swigging black Sambucca behind a palm tree. I walked over, grabbed the bottle and took a swig. Then I gave the girl a friendly wink, a wink she reciprocated by smiling and poking her tongue out.

      A few moments later the blonde divorcee, who now looked more like Zsa Zsa Gabor than ever, cried out over the music,

‘I’m out of ciggies!’ She announced like the world had just run out of cocks. ‘Hey, any of youse rock and rollers got any ciggies?’

    ‘We out of ciggies?’ Shouted the Toy Boy’s partner.
‘Yeah.’
Then both women looked at each other,
‘Smokeo run,’ They cried in unison.
Then the cry went up,
‘Smoko run!’

     Seconds later a designated driver was found, and a large group headed off into the purple night, in search of cigarettes. As the group marched away the divorcee glanced over her shoulder,
‘Keep an eye on Bianca and don’t let her near any alcohol,’ she cried out, before disappearing into the darkness.

     As soon as they were out of sight the divorcee’s daughter asked if I could walk her home. I nodded without thinking and she grabbed my hand and led me away. Outside her house the girl faced me with bright eyes,

‘Are you coming in?’

Despite being drunk, this request took me by surprise. As I mulled over the implications of such an offer the girl flung her arms around my neck and stuck a tongue down my throat. To be polite, I hesitated for a few moments before extracting my tongue,

‘Easy.’
The girl sighed a lusty sigh and opened the door to the house, ‘D’ya wanna see my fish?’
‘Did I wanna see her fish?

     As a cool breeze rustled the fronds of the palm trees, I knew there was no way I could go inside.

Then I burst out laughing.
‘What’s funny?’ slurred the girl.
The girl was even drunker than me. I stumbled backwards,
‘Don’t think so,’ I mumbled. 
The drunken teen smiled radiantly and hiccupped. Then she lifted her tee-shirt and flashed me her tits. Shit, those small mammary glands were almost perfect, jutting out nicely,
‘Wanna suck em?’
Whoa, I thought. I began walking backwards, trying not fall over in the process, ‘Go to bed.’
‘You can fuck me if you like.’
I can what? Oh shit. I turn around and walked away, without once looking back.

       Now things really become misty. I reach poolside, sit down in a chair, and try hard not to fall asleep. Then a man appears and asks if there are any beers left. When I reach out the fridge tips over and several cans spill onto the grass.  In an attempt to pick up the cans I somehow fall into the pool.

     As I drag myself out of the pool I hear the sound of voices. Then Zsa Zsa Gabor appears, smoking a cigarette. As there seem to be four of her I scrunch my eyes up and try hard to focus,
    ‘Hey, where are the others?’ She asks.
‘They’ve gone to bed.’
‘What about Bianca?’
‘Gone bed.’
‘That’s a relief; she’s been really getting wild lately.’
You can say that again. A quick flashback of Bianca’s tits flashes through my mind, and instantly my dick is iron.
‘D’ya wanna ciggie?’
I grab a ciggie and stick it behind my ear.

     As she smokes her fag the divorcee and I sit in silence, and I try to work out exactly how drunk I am. Well pissed, is the verdict.
‘Wanna go for a swim?’ Asks Zsa Zsa. 

The toy boy is in the Jacuzzi with his woman. I think they are naked, but can’t be sure. I look again and realise they are kissing and probably shagging, but with all the bubbles I can’t be certain. 
Suddenly Zsa Zsa jumps into the pool with a big splash,
‘What ya waiting for?’ She cries.

     I stand up unsteadily and eyeball the inflatable crocodile. Then I strip naked and jump onto the crocodile, bounce off, and plunge headfirst into the water. After several attempts I manage to climb onto the croc and look up at the night sky. There are some stars up there. Then some hidden force throws me from the crocodile.

     After what seems like an eternity an arm pulls me to the surface. Zsa Zsa is topless.

Shit, the breasts are even better than Bianca’s, more substantial, but yet no hint of sag, ‘You have magnificent breasts.’

‘Why don’t you touch them?’
Yes, why didn’t I? I place my hands over Zsa Zsa’s large breasts and we kiss.  Then we leave the pool and are inside a house and Zsa Zsa is telling me to be quiet. We collapse onto a large bed and into each others arms. I get a mouthful of breast, nipple and all, before blacking out.

     I awoke on top of a bed in a room bathed in bright yellow sunshine. Where was I? I stared at the ceiling for a few moments and sensed someone lying beside me.  It was Zsa Zsa. She was asleep and the sun was shining directly onto her face.  The bright light revealed many wrinkles and plenty of cellulite. The cellulite on her flabby thighs reminded me of orange peel and a wave of nausea hit me.

      Then, just when I thought I was going to puke, in walked the daughter. She was dressed in her school uniform and one look at us lying there in all our morning glory and she let out a huge ear- piercing shriek. Then she ran away.

     Zsa Zsa woke with a jolt,
‘What the bloody hell was that?’
‘Bianca.’
‘Oh Jeez, did she see us?’
‘Yep.’
‘Oh god, I’d better see to her, stay here till I get back.’

     Instinctively I knew not to hang around. I grabbed my clothes, walked onto the balcony, and jumped down to the garden without looking.  The distance between balcony and ground was a lot further than I anticipated and my ankle twisted on impact. As I rolled around the lawn wincing in pain, I could hear accusations and counter accusations.  Why do I always seem to find myself in situations like this? I thought as I struggled to my feet.

    I reached my beat up Ford Falcon and threw myself through an open window Starskey & Hutch style. I looked at myself in the rear view mirror.  I looked terrible, my eyes were bloodshot, and I appeared to have aged ten years.

     ‘Wonder if I can drive all the way to Sydney without once stopping,’ I thought vaguely. Then I caught a glimpse of Zsa Zsa and Bianca marching towards the car in resolute fashion, ‘Wonder what they want?’ I thought, as I hit the accelerator and drove away, screeching and swerving wildly, like in a police car chase.

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6 responses to “Me, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Zsa Zsa Gabor’s Daughter by Joseph Ridgwell

  1. secretariat190

    ‘D’ya wanna see my fish?’
    ‘Did I wanna see her fish?

    the stupid truth of youth and aging all under one roof…thanks for that.

  2. Pingback: Parasitic Literature « Parasitic

  3. i’m confused… is this true???

  4. Captain Corelli's Mandolin

    I’m also confused, and would also like to know if this is fact or fiction. Can one of the editors please enlighten Victoria and I?

  5. Everything Joseph writes has more then a grain of truth in it… and I should know…

  6. Truth, non truth? Who cares? It was highly entertaining. I like the writing style a lot. Although the idea of Zsa Zsa nekked makes me shudder….

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