D1D2

We met at the exotic Le Jardin Tropicana beach resort, on the island of Guadeloupe. It was love at first-sight for me seeing Danny there, sat on the grass giving his money away. I mean, he was literally throwing it up into the air for anyone to catch and keep. Our meeting on that day had seemed fated. You see, my name’s Danni too, now how about that!

Of course, I already had a boyfriend, one much closer to my own age. Danny is my age times two-and-a-half. Yes, I know, totally mad! Anyway, I had to think of an excuse pretty smartish to break up with Roberto. We’d only been together for three weeks, first meeting on the plane and in the airport, then sharing a taxi to here.

Italian, tall, blonde and handsome, it turns out Roberto is an amazing dancer, but an extreme disappointment between the sheets. I’ll spare you the details, as far as to say he is very fast out of the blocks. Within minutes of meeting Danny, I’d sent Roberto a brief text explaining that it’d been nice and thanks, however I’d met someone new. I imagined there would be some sadness at the disco tonight.

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Katie and Bradley

Katie’s story:
“After we kissed for the very first time, I felt a little lighter, less blue than before. It was the first French kiss I’d ever experienced and admit, it’d seemed rather novel, leaving me feeling somewhat mysteriously stirred and happily bemused.”
Katie giggles.

Bradley’s story:
“When she agreed to a date, I determined in my mind that should she give consent, I would kiss her with my speciality, slow-repeater tongue-tip poke, kiss technique. I already knew it as a winner, with all the other girls I’d tried it on.”
Bradley beams.

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Dry Lips Kiss

As a spectacular, high summer holiday sunset splashed red across the sky, a glockenspiel-version of their joint favourite Ramones’ song played out from speakers, atop the departing ice cream van. However, already all was not as well as appearances might suggest, evidenced moments earlier outside the door to number 12A, Fulchester Lane.

Tom was no fool and had read a significance into their most recent kiss. If honest with himself, it’d begun to bug his brain. Managing only to poke his tongue into Brooklyn’s mouth for but a brief second or two, their dry lips parted, leaving him momentarily lost for words and uncertain what exactly to say next.

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Being Gay

Of course, we’d found much more to talk about than work. Then I’d let him see me home, that was my first mistake. We’d reached the door to my apartment and although it was late evening, the town lights had lit up the whole scene around us.
“Joshua.” I said, admiring his finely formed facial structure, responsible for a pair of prominent, killer cheekbones.
“Jakob?”
“Joshua, you-know I’ve had a great day, a great evening…” As I said those words, with the crashed intonation at the end of the sentence, I stood stock-still staring at Joshua, wondering. Did he fear what was coming next? Could I detect an outward appearance suggesting anticipatory dejection? I decided it best to press on. “A really, really great, fun time with you, Joshua. However, I am not the person you probably think I am, or perhaps had hoped me to be.” Still, his precise demeanour I could not decipher.
“You mean, you’re not actually gay, are you Jakob?”
Reading his expression in the light of the streetlamps, I came to understand Joshua as being a little ahead of me in the plot. This realisation left me somewhat taken aback, feeling foolish and naïve.
“How did you know?” I spluttered, “What we did together earlier, under the altar table in the church. This, followed by the restaurant meal afterwards and then the cocktails and dancing in that flashy, basement bar.” I quickly regathered my thoughts together. “When did you know? How exactly, did you work it out?”

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Frozen Ball

“Doctor, how do you expect me to take you seriously? It can’t be who you say it is.” Nurse Anna Kuznetsov declared. “It’s the year 1955, was he not supposed to have died nearly ten years ago to-the-day and in such a fashion as to leave no trace of his body?”

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They Sail the World Alone

What did you just say?” Professor Quentin stiffly looked up from his morning newspaper, disbelief ringing throughout almost each syllable of his query. Easily distracted since birth, nagging jagged thoughts began shifting neurological gear cogs through his mind, engaging with more questions. Such as, when would his wife notice his empty side-plate? Would he be likely to receive additional slices of freshly toasted bread? What’d happened to the whereabouts of the small, glass jar of delicious orange and lime marmalade he’d received recently, as a gift? Would she accuse him of having finished it off yesterday all by himself, just as she had done every morning of this week so far?

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