"Adrian and I got off to a good start. We did things t'each other I didnt know we could do. In his car, in the cinema, in the dump, in the Ladies. On the car, on the loo, on the fridge. He was, in other words, great. Then he moved in with me..."
adrian and the plain brown cover
fiction by christine tothill
He was shit in bed. He didnt even try. My desires, unfulfilled, are up there undisturbed, making their way down, down, down. But I dont do that. Never have wont.
Adrian, what a name, he pulled me in the local last Friday. Had my eye on him for a couple of weeks, untouchable, uncaring, big-head. The sort I like. I didnt try hard to get - once I knew he had the hots for me. He offered to buy me a drink, I accepted, no problem there. It was the triple vodka. The cost. Cool.
We did it out the back, up against the Gents. He had me reeling in moments and it was over in a flash. For me. He went hammering on and I went some more and some more and some. He knew what to turn on.
My mate Veronica, what a name, was dead jealous. She fancied him half to death, fancied me too, but I dont do that. Never have wont. She is one of those, you know, cant make up their minds sort. I reckon its because she hasnt got tits to speak of, she likes to fondle others, likes to fantasise while doing it. Mind you, I dont know why because Ive never asked her. Funny Vunny.
Adrian and I got off to a good start. We did things t'each other I didnt know we could do. In his car, in the cinema, in the dump, in the Ladies. On the car, on the loo, on the fridge. He was, in other words, great. Then he moved in with me. Into my shared house. Into my bedroom. Only known him six days and six long evenings. It seemed the right thing to do as we were running out of places to shag. He brought his duvet, his hi-fi, his mini-fridge.
It went wrong from then on. His music was dreadful, plonky guitars out of tune. His mini-fridge only held juice. Vodkas for the pub, he said seriously, not even a wicked twinkle shone from his eye.
Vunny sat on our bed and glowed all over whenever he talked to her. She sat on his duvet cover on our bed wallowing in him. We drank juice and listened to his music. We had to wait ages for her to go, we hadnt done it in bed. Proper like, in bed, under his plain brown cover of his duvet. Surely we should be on top of it, doing all the things we did before, in the week... It was shit. He was pathetic. Nothing happened, not even the mini-fridge moved. Just goes to show eh? He wasnt what I saw in the window. He was shop soiled. He was weird. But with a name like Adrian, what did I expect?