Tag Archives: love
Ridiculous arguments I’ve had with my boyfriend
A long time ago on the internet, a guy called Mil Millington catalogued the arguments he’d had with his girlfriend. I have no idea how old this website is, but it’s old enough that it’s one of the first things I remember reading on the internet for ‘fun’ – before Twitter, before Facebook… even before I had a Livejournal. It’s mostly arguments about silly things like the rules of Robot Wars or how to correctly slice a kiwi fruit. And although it’s been a long time since I read it, I think it’s still percolating in my head somewhere because over Christmas I wrote the following post: ridiculous arguments I’ve had with my boyfriend.
My best friend is a boy
My best friend is a boy. We sit together in pub gardens in the freezing cold, fishing weird white bits out of cold pints of cheap scrumpy. We laugh at each other, and ourselves. We fight over whose round it is because we always think the other is more skint than they’re letting on.
And when people find out that he’s a boy they ask some version of this: ‘so have you fucked?’
Love is not dead because two people fell out of it
If my other half is beside me when I die at the age of ninety, it will come as quite a surprise. Not just surprising that I’ll have lived until ninety, which is unlikely given my lifestyle. It will come as a surprise that we haven’t yet split up.
You excite me. Even after years: you excite me
When we first got together, I was excited about dating you. I remember the outfit I wore on one afternoon of peak excitement, when we had nothing planned but a long day of drinking and then fucking on the carpet in your flat. I wore boots, shorts, and a semi-transparent top. Badly applied make-up and a giant grin. I was excited, in a horny way. And in a general way too: you excited me as if we were on our way to Alton Towers and not just the pub up the road.
The day my body was perfect
I wanted to shout out to him as I heard him come down the stairs. I knew it was him. I could tell from his footsteps, and the way he made slightly more noise than he normally would – treading heavily to give me notice that he was awake. I’d been lying on the sofa for an hour or more, heart thumping and mind running over the things I wanted to say. The one thing I wanted to say: take me. Fuck me. Now, while my body is perfect.