It’s very exciting to meet another gay in Dunedin, so when you do, you have to make the most of it. My girlfriend and I were in the U-Haul stage — we were already planning matching scissor stick n’ pokes and she’d lent me her copy of Fun Home, so you could say that it was getting pretty serious.
She’s managing a show at this time (ew theatre kids but let’s be honest they FUCK) and we decide to meet at Poppa’s Pizza for dinner beforehand. Hot take: Poppa’s Pizza is pretty grody but we’re still in the honeymoon phase, and something about the overpriced $13.50 margherita is incredibly sexy on this balmy moonlit night. She begins to tease me under the table, sliding her fingers up my thighs, and I’m melting like Poppa’s parmesan while conspicuously shovelling gluten into my mouth. I don’t know what happens (probably ovulation) but a dark horny force possesses me and I’m overcome with the energy of butch tops of past, future, and present. I need to continue this literally anywhere that isn’t Poppa’s Pizza ASAP.
Quivering, I lean over the bench and whisper the ancient phrase into her ear: “Want to get out of here?”
I’m sopping wet and her flat is too far away, so we escape to her rehearsal room. It’s in an old building, more in a gulag way than a hot dark academia way, and her cast is still off doing horrible improv shit somewhere so we’re all alone. She picks me up and shoves me against the wall, kissing me with my legs wrapped around her waist. Oh mama.
It’s getting hot and steamy when I spot a mysterious ladder climbing up into the ceiling, to what I can only imagine is our perfect private honeymoon suite. I un-limpet myself and drag us both up. It’s weird and dusty up here and the only piece of furniture is a grotty old chair, but I make do and push my girlfriend onto it, whipping her pants right down to the Doc Martens. I’m on my knees. I make my way downtown and before long I’m smoochin the cooch while she’s speaking in demon tongues, blessing the building’s theatre kids and primary school teachers for years to come. I am fucking good at this. I literally only did a useless Linguistics degree so I could make jokes about cunning linguistics and clitics. I made that chair my bitch and you will definitely get legnant (lesbian pregnant) if you have the misfortune to ever sit on it.
My girlfriend has the phattest cum of her life and I go home, like a gentleman, leaving her to spend the rest of her evening doing freeze frames and trust falls. Sometimes we reminisce fondly and laugh.
Then a few months down the line, the block gets condemned for demolition. Because of asbestos. In the ceiling. My girlfriend probably got asbestos pussy. She might have got mesothelioma, but she also got a great nut so who’s the real winner honestly.