So, I’m laying in bed the morning after the night before.
In case your memory needs jogging, the night before was when Houdini, AKA Michael twat bag wank piece, vanished from sight on our first date. Ooh, if my mum is reading this, she will wash my mouth out with fairy liquid.
I roll over and pull open the curtains. Cor, the sun hits my eyes like a slap around the chops with a wet cod. And the realisation dawns on me that the previous night’s date was not a dream. It was a harsh reality. What could have happened to him?
I suddenly become all drama queen. What if he was kidnapped? What if he’s laying in the bottom of the Thames, with bricks tied to his feet? Before my imagination runs anymore wilder than John Wayne’s stallion, my phone beeps with a text message. My jaw slaps down on my blue pillowcase like a sack of potatoes. It’s only from Michael.
My first instinct is to lob my phone out of the window. But my calm, non-drama queen side kicks in and I decide to press open on the message instead. what a novel idea.
“I’m really sorry about last night. Everyone decided to move on to another club and we couldn’t find you to tell you.”
Mmm, my mind starts ticking. It seems a plausible excuse but then I think, why didn’t you just text me last night to tell me where you were?? I quickly text him my thought and he replies,
“I was just so drunk. I didn’t think. Sorry again.”
At least I now know he’s not a captive on some pirate ship or fish food at the bottom of the Thames.
As I drag myself from my pit, he texts again.
“Do you wanna do something tonight?”
My nostrils flare like George’s dragon. The bare-faced cheek of the man. Actually, not man. Boy.
But then I suddenly think to myself, I can’t be a bitter old queen for the rest of my living days.
“I’m going to an aerobics class with my mate tonight. You’re welcome to join.”
He accepts. But how events unfold later, it’s a decision he comes to regret.
Cue my very long and dear best friend, Tullene. Hell hath no fury like this girl when her gay best friend has been scorned by a boy.
I drive to Michael’s house and he jumps in the front seat. He is very bashful but he starts talking and I decide to let bygones be bygones. As we pull up outside Tullene’s house, I see her walk towards the car abnormally and uncharacteristically fast. She throws a death glare at Michael. If looks could kill, he’d been ten foot under. I can’t work out whether it’s her protective nature or the fact that she’s had to sit in the back of the car.
The car journey to the leisure centre is rather frosty and for a girl with a gob the size of the Grand Canyon, it’s also very quiet. I break the awkward silence.
“Tullene! This is Michael.”
Her nostrils flare. And if you know Tullene, this is a very scary prospect and sight.
“So you’re Michael? That scrawny little runt who just upped and left mark in a London club.”
She barked worse than a Jack Russell.
As if the car ride wasn’t awkward enough. I look in the rear view mirror and see Tullene’s ears doing an impersonation of a kettle.
Michael seemed lost for words which didn’t help his case against Tullene. She hates to be ignored. I see her arm reach for the seat belt and she goes to tug on it. I gasp and shout, “TULLENE!”
Phew! I saved the poor boy from seat belt strangulation.
In my capacity as peace maker, I defuse the situation.
“I’ve given Michael a second chance. So I’d really love it if you did too. For me.”
Her nostrils start to deflate to a normal size and I can see her starting to calm down. She also loosens her grip of his seat belt.
As we enter the aerobics class, I start to take a dislike to Michael’s personality. He’s very cocky and he actually begins to get on my moobs.
We manage to get through the aerobics class without talking and towards the end, he gets a stitch. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.
As we dab the sweat from our brows, I decide I can’t bear to spend another minute in the presence of Michael. I feel like I might develop a rash just by breathing the same air as him. We all go to get in the car and I turn to Michael.
“There’s only enough room for me and Tullene.”
His jaw drops.
“There’s a bus stop over there!”
Tullene high fives my orange palm and we drive off, leaving Michael doing a very impressive impression of a fish.
Now that’s gay power.
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Mark David Woollard graduated from Brunel University, West London in 2009 with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Creative Writing and Journalism. Since then, he has written for many publications as a freelance writer. He has been ‘The Undateable Gay’ for The Gay UK magazine since 2015 where he documents his unsuccessful dating life. He wrote an opinion column for the national Student Times, discussing LGBT issues.
He also writes educational pieces for ‘Massage World’ magazine, giving advice to Reflexologists about treating certain ailments. He authored a novella in 2013 entitled ‘The Fun and Frolics of FIFI a L’Orange’, the crazy adventures of a drag queen.
And is currently working on a series of LGBT books for children and a collection of flash fiction.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you'd like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.