It was slim pickings at the club that night. Some new band from Camberwell called ‘The House of Love’ had played to an exceptionally poor turnout, leaving the room as hollow and depressed as when they’d arrived. Dave’s lot occupied a table at the back. The lads hadn’t bothered joining him by the stage to watch young Terry Bickers shaggy hair swishing along to his soaring neo-psychedelic riffs, because staying seated usually meant that the pussy came to you.
“Honestly mate, sometimes I dunno what’s up with your ears. That band are gonna be massive.” Dave addressed the table non-specifically. One song had cut straight to his heart, and not just because it was about a girl called Christine: the name that made him dig his nails into his palms to stop the tears from forming.
Boys outnumber girls around five to one and by now most of the punters remaining were too drunk to fuck. Alan hadn’t given up hope though. There was always some leftover smudged-mascara groupie looking for a reason not to go home.
Sure enough, moments later, a bob-haired girl came staggering up to their table.
“Me and Julie were wondering if we could join you lads”, she slurred, steadying herself on the back of Dave’s chair. He didn’t look up.
“You can sit next to me”, leered Alan, dragging a velvet-covered stool to rest against his knee.
A look of disappointment crossed the bob-haired girl’s face, since Dave was the cutest by anyone’s standards. She pouted, eyeing up Alan’s bowl-cut and the spots around his mouth. Then resigned to her lot, she beckoned Julie.
They were fashion victims, around sixteen with over-sized cable-knit sweaters and fabric shoulder bags sporting sewn on patches. Dave was momentarily impressed by the ‘Mighty Lemon Drops’ badge pinned to Julie’s beret, though, not impressed enough to say so. Conversation with girls was an unnecessary effort when you looked like Johnny Marr.
Plonking herself down beside Alan, the bob-haired girl went straight in for a snog. Julie sat awkwardly next to Dave and briefly it crossed his mind that he might already have shagged her.
Minutes passed with the prettier pair staring at Alan and the bob-haired girl tounging each other’s faces. It was clear Dave’s thoughts were elsewhere. Eventually, fearing the moment might be lost, Julie slid her chair closer, pressing her thigh against Dave’s and jamming a hand between his legs. Reluctantly he submitted, turning to her, his lips parting to allow her wet kiss.
Two ‘snakebites’ and a chilly bus-ride later, the couples were clapping hands over their giggling mouths in an attempt not to wake Julie’s parents. It was late; there was no time to waste fiddling around on the sofa. Led by Julie with her finger to her lips, the four stumbled upstairs.
Julie’s bedroom was decked out like that of a ten year old; all flowery curtains and pink sheets. Alan swept a load of pillows and stuffed toys off the bed with one arm, pulling the bob-haired girl on top of him. Julie removed her skirt and jumper and flopped down on the floor in her little white bra and cotton knickers, looking up at Dave from under her fringe. He stared down at her grimly, erection growing, before flicking off the light.
He didn’t want to see Alan’s white arse pumping up and down, and he didn’t want to see Julie’s skinny little body become hot and pink as he got stuck in.
His partner’s lack of sexual prowess, the vast amount of drink consumed that evening and above all, Dave’s broken heart were becoming a severe hindrance. He’d been balls deep for two minutes and couldn’t feel a thing. In fact, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure his cock was still hard and Julie’s fake pleasure sounds were just making him feel worse.
‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ was all Dave could think. Christine was somewhere else. Christine was probably lying beside someone else right now. Curled beneath the duvet in another man’s bed with her breasts pressed softly against his back, running her fingertips in circles at the nape of the other man’s neck and whispering re-assurance like she used to do with him, her lemonade sweet breath like a drug.
He slammed down harder into Julie, hipbones grinding against hers, teeth gritted and toes flexing into the carpet, but his cock remained numb as his brain.
“Ooh Johnny’, Julie moaned.
“What?” said Dave.
“Oh, nothing, sorry. It’s just you look a bit like…”
“I know.”
Embarassed, Julie stopped pretending to enjoy herself and shut-up. She tuned into the noises of the other two who sounded like they were genuinely having a good time and stared at shadows, trying to identify toys and bit of clothing through the gloom. It was like a game, a concentration game to distract herself from the slippery poking feeling that was increasingly more upsetting than pleasurable.
“No, don’t do it inside me, do it on my belly”, hissed the bob-haired girl into the darkness.
“Sorry, bit late for that”, Alan groaned.
The sounds of more sloppy kisses and giggling from the other two served to annoy Dave sufficiently. Julie seemed to have tensed beneath him, her body stiff and unmoving and at last, her tight pussy was providing some physical sensations. Christine, Dave thought; Christine where are you?
His sudden orgasm surprised him. It was aggressive and unsatisfying.
Temples pounding, he rolled off of Julie and closed his eyes. Let her weep into the pillow. Let his cum dribble out between her thighs. Let her sleep on the wet patch. Taking her in his arms would be a betrayal and he’d never do that to Christine. Christine might have done it to him, but he’d never do it back.
‘Christine, you’re in deep, pristine
With a god-like glow
Christine, Christine,
Heart and the glory and me
Chaos and the big sea’
Lyrics by Guy Chadwick, House of love
Story and illustration by Rachel James