The Coming of Derek (a quirky comedy)

by A. J. Carpenter

  It was around ten-thirty when Jessica called Felicity over to cover for her whilst she was visiting the little librarian’s room. Felicity surveyed the room in a way that James Bond himself would be proud of, before heading over to the desk. Despite the fact that she had fully intended to hide herself away in a barrage of bookcases, she had beautifully straightened hair, immaculately painted makeup and a padded push up bra that made her tiny kittens look like full grown tigers.

  ‘Raghhhh!’ she heard roared from behind her.

  It was Sean.

  ‘Not quite 007,’ she muttered in humiliation, sitting herself down behind the desk.

  ‘Hi, Sean,’ she said, with a combination of sulking and seducing. Actually she was just mortified but she couldn’t let Sean know that.

  ‘Hi…’ he said vacantly, looking for her name before landing on her pert piles.

  ‘Felicity,’ she chipped in.

  ‘Right, yeah,’ Sean said, finally dragging his focus up. ‘So did you have a good night on Saturday?’ he laughed cockily.

  ‘Uh…yeah…sorry about that… I…uh…I don’t know what came over me.

  ‘Oh right, so what have I got to do to make you come over like that again then?’

  Felicity was stunned.

  ‘Get me drunk’ she replied honestly.

  She knew that there was no way that she could function with Sean around without copious amounts of alcohol.

  Sean laughed.

  ‘I like you, you’re funny…’ he searched, before remembering her name. ‘Felicity,’ he added with a handful of slime.

  Felicity seemed oblivious to this and giggled coyly.

  ‘Right, I’m back,’ Jessica announced, with an unexpected strength.

  ‘Uh…uh…can you give me ten minutes?’ Felicity stammered, still stunned.

  ‘Sure,’ Jessica answered, before nudging her like a naughty school girl and giggling off into the bookcases.

  ‘Weird,’ Sean remarked, following her with his eyes before returning to Felicity.

  ‘So, Felicity,’ he said, emphasizing her name as though the Queen should write him a letter in recognition of his services to women, ‘what time do you get off?’

  ‘Uh, about one.’

  ‘One?’

  ‘Yeah, but I could get off a bit earlier, maybe,’ she said far too keenly.

  ‘I’ll see you at one,’ he smirked, before sauntering out without any books.

  He had a different sort of reading to do that day. Normally he wouldn’t go for a ginger but she had a pretty face and she was frisky as fuck and right now that was good enough for him. A man had his needs after all, especially one with as much testosterone as Sean, Sean, cock and brawn.

  11

  BALL HAMMOCK

  A man such as Derek took little pride in clothing his privates. Socks were replaced when holes became foot sized and pants were only replaced once they had lived out the last of their many years as dusters. The average spend per year was minimal because with such a limited criteria Derek favoured a market stall purchase or an extra value multi pack. But today he felt extravagant. It was probably due to the fact that in the past there had been sub zero possibility that he would be seen in a state of undress by another human being, unless he was raped for his clothes and that seemed unlikely. Today, however, the unthinkable was finally possible, unlikely, but possible.

  Stepping into the large department store, he was stunned by the sheer dazzle of it all. His nose immediately picked up the scent of a million flowers and fragrances squashed into a bottle with a bunch of chemicals and wafted around the ground floor like high class farts. Everywhere he looked were suited and booted women offering fragrant delights. Derek couldn’t help but notice the similarity between these girls and the girls that he knew extensively from his magazines. If the skinny, orange, peroxide blonde women spritzing by the escalator, were to dance seductively and remove their clothes to something by the ‘Pussy Cat Dolls’, the resemblance would be uncanny. On this thought, Derek headed down the escalator to the men’s department.

  It was a maze. A vast expanse of quality cloth hung like chocolate treats from a Christmas tree. Everywhere Derek looked he could see colour, patterns and over priced goodies. Brushing through towards the underwear section, the clothes felt soft against his skin. As he squeezed passed a man who looked old enough to have served in the Battle of Hastings, he came skin to skin with a sumptuous silk shirt. Derek gawped, turning to look at the delectable delight. It was charcoal grey with a large pocket to cover the left nipple. Derek stood there stroking it like a cherished cat, before noticing that the price tag read more like a quarterly gas bill than an impulse purchase. Walking away, Derek wondered what it would feel like to adorn such finery, imagining himself pulsing and gyrating in order to brush his chest up against the luxurious fabric.

  Having eventually prized himself away from the desirable shirt, Derek made his way into the underwear section, before becoming alarmed at the splattering of women in the area. He looked back towards the escalator in order to confirm that he was indeed in the men’s department. He was, so why were all the women there?

  ‘What sort does he like?’ he heard an old, pink-haired woman ask.

  ‘Oh, well he likes to have briefs. I did get him a pair of those short things once. Just to try something new, you see. Boxers. Boxers they call them, don’t they? God knows why, they look nothing like the dogs. Anyway I got him some and he hasn’t even worn them! Can you believe that? I certainly couldn’t. I mean really, Edna, what a waste, what a waste.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t find them comfortable, I know my William didn’t. The young ones do, of course.’

  ‘But he didn’t even try them. He’s such a stubborn shit!’

  Derek was shocked by her language, especially for a woman of her age and appearance but he continued to listen as he looked vacantly through the rails.

  ‘I don’t want to get him white’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘I don’t want to get him black.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘So…so…’

  ‘Coloured?’ The lady with the pink rinse suggested.

  This suggestion seemed to do the trick because the two women finally settled on a mixed pack of plain blue and blue checked pants.

  Derek would have followed a similar trend, but seeing the living dead buying them made him realize that he wasn’t eighty and that he shouldn’t be behaving like he was. But with willy warmers ranging from shorts to thongs, hot pink to hot lips and from the price of a chippy to the price of a small family house, it was easy to see why Derek was bemused by the entire experience. As a first bridge out into the world of sexy underwear, he did not want to stray too far from what he was used to and felt comfortable in. At the same time he wanted to push his limits and not fall back on his usual safety hammock.

  Just at that moment, a tall, muscular looking man in a well structured suit strode purposefully to a section of boxed underwear in the corner. Derek had originally dismissed these, presuming them to be socks or something of that ilk. But seeing such a fine caliber of a man choosing them made Derek want them too.

  His attention was pricked as he walked over to where the man was picking his shorts, trying his hardest to give out a cool and sophisticated demeanor to alert the man that another alpha male had arrived in the area. The effect was somewhat different, with the man looking Derek up and down before proceeding passed him with a defiant, demeaning snub. Most people would respond to this by calling him a wanker under their breath or by praying to the heavens for a brick to fall on his head. Derek responded by presuming that it must be very stressful to be one of the beautiful people and justifying his behavior as completely understandable.

  Looking at the boxes, Derek soon decided that the style he liked most were the ones that looked like shorts but clung like pants. They had a handy flap on the front and a branded elastic waistband that Derek worried would dig into his fat. Having decided on these, despite
his nervous concerns, Derek was now left with the choice of what size and what colour. On inspection of a pair of medium sized shorts, Derek realized that what may have been a medium in the Crackerley supermarket was, in fact, a large or an extra large in the world of posh pants. Seeing the price tag, Derek decided to opt for the extra large in order to get more fabric for his money. Holding three boxes in his hands, one blue, one grey and one a plummy purple colour, Derek was struggling to decide. It was, after all, a matter of life or sex.

  ‘I’ve already got blue ones,’ he muttered to himself as he batted between them. The grey ones were nice, he liked those, probably because he could picture himself wearing them with that silky shirt that he would never be able to afford or justify. And the purple pair were bold, very bold, especially for Derek. But they were so different to anything that had ever touched his sleepy sergeant in the past that he took the brave decision to purchase the gorgeous grey ones and the gutsy plum pair and scooted off to the ‘Please Pay Here’ section.

  There was a queue. The smart guy in the suit was at one of the tills and a line of about seven ladies stood behind him. Derek joined the back, clutching his potential purchases close to his chest. As he stood, he tried his best to distract himself from thinking about Felicity and whether or not she would like them. He would certainly need to go home first before going to the library, in order to change out of his wank worn briefs and into his quality new boxer shorts. It was rather exciting and he was struggling not to let the anticipation show on his face.

  ‘Oooh, what a lovely colour!’ a woman in her mid-thirties with warm blonde hair commented. ‘I love it when a man wears purple, where did you find them?’

  ‘Over there,’ Derek gesticulated toward the corner, clutching his pants proudly.

  The decision was well and truly made and Felicity would go weak at the knees, just like that pretty lady behind him had. And the rest, in theory, would be history.

  12

  A KICK IN THE PRIVATES

  People always say that when you really like someone you get butterflies in your stomach at the mere thought of them. For Felicity, however, the butterflies came a little further south. She was still in shock. Having spent the past week getting used to the idea that she had cocked things up with Sean and that any teeny possibility with him was well and truly ruined, she now came face to face with the fact that he was gagging for her.

  It was twelve-fifty, ten minutes until closing time and ten minutes until her date with the lovely Sean. Felicity was at the front desk and the library was quiet.

  ‘Hello, Felicity,’ a voice came from behind her.

  ‘Derek!’ Felicity responded enthused, swiveling around on her chair to greet him. ‘Wow!’ she burst. ‘You look great!’

  But she couldn’t put her finger on what was different about him.

  ‘Thanks,’ Derek replied, slightly embarrassed but loving the way that his soft cotton plum shorts hugged his babies.

  ‘Are you bringing these back?’ Felicity asked, pointing to the pile of books in front of Derek.

  ‘Yes, except for that one,’ he replied, motioning at the ‘Guinness Book of World Record’, ‘I’d like to get that one out again, if I may?’

  Felicity laughed fondly as she checked the remaining books back in.

  ‘It’s a lovely day outside,’ Derek chipped in cheerfully.

  ‘Oh, is it?’ she sulked. ‘I wouldn’t know, I’ve been cooped up in here all fucking morning.’

  ‘Not long now though,’ he smiled positively, angling for a date.

  ‘No,’ Felicity grinned excitedly, ‘not long now.’

  Before entering the library, Derek would never have imagined saying what he was about to, but the feel of his plush plum pouch gave his balls a new lease of life.

  ‘Do you want to do something this afternoon?’ he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable.

  ‘Oh great!’ Felicity thought.

  ‘Derek, I can’t. I have plans. I’m really sorry.’

  She was really sorry, it hadn’t occurred to her up until now that she could have given him the wrong idea.

  ‘Can we do something another time?’

  Just at that moment Sean minced back in.

  ‘Alright there, sexy arse!’ he shouted from the door. ‘I’m ready to get you filthy drunk!’

  ‘Hi,’ Felicity replied awkwardly, looking at Derek with guilty eyes. Derek just stood there. Not knowing what to do.

  ‘Listen, Sean, I’m gonna be another ten or fifteen minutes, can I meet you in the pub?’

  ‘Alright, but don’t keep me waiting too long, will you?’ he schmoozed greasily, before leaning over the desk and planting a kiss inches from her mouth.

  Felicity’s nether regions started pulsating again as she followed his arse out of the door with her eyes.

  Derek wanted to leave but his legs felt as though they were strapped to the floor.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked coldly.

  ‘What?’ Felicity replied astounded by his forthrightness.

  ‘Who is that?’ Derek asked again, stressing every syllable.

  ‘It’s Sean,’ Felicity answered reluctantly, confused at Derek’s behavior.

  Derek didn’t know what to say or to do, so instead he just started running out of the door.

  ‘Derek!’ Felicity shouted after him.

  But it was too late. He was gone.

  13

  FAT CHANCE

  Why was it never her? Why did Donna go through life with no one offering her love, or a chance to make something of herself, or just a little bit of luck? Why did everything she ever tried to do get thrown back in her face? She had never been a lucky person and she had begun to accept that. But luck isn’t the same as effort and despite all her efforts to achieve something, she was never rewarded. She had always blamed the way that she looked; like a man, despite the oodles of fat crowded onto her chest.

  Usually when Donna was down, she would suppress it with a battered Mars bar or a packet of ribbed potato chips. But since becoming an emergency swimming pool for Derek’s sick, she had been as healthy as an Aussie. She was starting her day with a bowl of porridge, having a baked spud for lunch and something lean with a salad in the evening. She was running every morning before work and her army thighs were getting hard again. She had tried to lose weight before but with no luck, but this time, this time she was going to do it, no matter how hungry she got. Otherwise she was convinced that she would end up a barrel of batter, on her own and disgusting.

  As Donna stepped onto the scales, with all the negativity of a graduate three years out, she was pleasantly surprised. She suppressed a smile as she stepped off proudly. And like magic, looking down on her scantily clad self, she didn’t look so bad anymore.

  Heading to the bedroom to get dressed Donna was definitely feeling more positive. Staring down into her underwear drawer, she reached for her sexiest stuff. It was a red lace balconette set and although the pants dug into her stomach a bit, for a stodgy old cake it was the perfect icing. Jiggling her boobs deep into the cup, Donna raised her nipples so that they were central. Understandably, she was completely unable to pass any pencil, ruler or laptop test, but with highly sensitive, cold detecting nipples, it was important to Donna to give the impression that her nipples were much further north than was scientifically possible. Today was one of those days, her Smarties were sitting tall and proud and Donna began wondering if the word nippy originated from cold nipples. She threw on her usual work staples of jeans and a long black jumper but pinky and perky were still desperate to be seen. In the end Donna gave up and began rubbing them warm whilst she looked for her keys.

  Picking up her handbag, it soon became apparent that her keys weren’t there. So she looked in the kitchen, still rubbing, but they weren’t there either. So she went back to look in her handbag again.

  ‘Come on, you must be here,’ she muttered, beginning to remove all of the bags content. But they still weren’t there.

/>   After she had tried the bedroom and the bathroom with no luck, she returned again to her handbag to look for a final time. But they still weren’t there. So she plonked herself down on the sofa and gave up. She sat there motionless for the next few minutes, before reaching for the phone to call Wesley.

  ‘Wesley, it’s me, Donna,’ she said in her croakiest voice.

  ‘I’m on my way, I’m almost there,’ Wesley panicked.

  ‘Good,’ Donna thought, ‘putty in my hands’

  ‘Wesley, I’m sick,’ she said, still feigning.

  ‘What like aids sick?’ Wesley asked somewhat bizarrely.

  Donna didn’t know quite what to say to this but settled on, ‘No, I have a cold’.

  She had meant to say that she had the flu, but she knew she couldn’t go back on it now and so she decided to ham up the snot. ‘Listen, I’m like a flem factory here and I don’t think it’s hygienic for me to work.’

  Donna waited for Wesley to say something. But he didn’t, so she continued.

  ‘So can you call Roger and ask him to come in and do six until ten. That okay? Wesley? Wesley, are you listening?’

  ‘Yeah, no worries, I’ll call him.’

  ‘You okay to lock up?’ Donna checked, reverting back to her sore throat midway through.

  Yet again Wesley said nothing.

  ‘Wesley?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s covered,’ he said, as though he could handle it with his little finger.

  And with that he hung up.

  ‘Wicked,’ he thought, ‘no reason to rush.’

  So he plonked himself down on his parents’ sofa and watched the end of ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ on Challenge TV.

  14

  LOVE LETTER

  Derek was stupid and deluded and because of this he had an overwhelming urge to punch himself. He had never been the sharpest tool in the box, he was well aware of that, but the fact that he had led himself to believe that a stunning and lovely girl like Felicity would ever be interested in him was ridiculous. It was like the tramp that slept in the alley by the train station thinking that he stood a chance with Angelina Jolie. The truth was that he didn’t and Derek had been brought back down to earth with a loud and painful smack.