Love Drunk

As with most of our relationship it was largely to do with alcohol.

I first met My Boyfriend in a gay club. I’d always assumed I’d never meet a partner in that kind of place, imagining instead I would meet them at a Philosophy Club, Writers Circle, Amateur Drama Company or some other thing that I have never actually been to. Instead, I met him in the club toilets, where, in impetuous, imprudent inebriation, he refused to let me use the Water Fountain unless I kissed him.

Then he gave me his e-mail address, got more wasted, and ended up going home with someone else. He doesn’t remember that night.

The next time was at a party. He was the designated driver, completely sober, quiet, shy, boring. He remembers that night, I’m not entirely sure I do.

A few weeks later I was upstairs in a straight club dancing with some friends when they said, “Hey, there’s this guy downstairs who’s so camp! You’d hate it!” Of course, it was him! He got me drunk, and we ended up at the corner of the dance floor making out, causing a girl to scream as she walked past us. I’m not sure either of us really remembers that night.

And on Saturday night, we were back in the Gay Club, not the same one where we first met, but they are all replicas of each other in someway. As our friend was chatted up by the one straight man in the club, we sat on the couch, drank and talked about marriage. We’ve discussed it many times before, what we would do, how we would do it. And amongst sips we confessed our love for the millionth time. He brought me a rose. We hugged, we kissed, we danced badly to pop music, And we promised each other we would be together forever.

And both of us remembered.

Sunday morning we lay in bed recovering, holding each other, talking, being together, the two of us caught in the glow of the night before.

He kissed me, then got out of bed and knelt down beside it, next to where I was lying. His eyes, which were still half asleep, looked down into mine. His hair had suffered from a drunken slumber, last night’s style caught in a tangle of weakening gel. The floor was covered in smoky clothes, the stale smell of alcohol on our breaths. And it was the most beautiful moment of my life.


Regular readers may have noticed two quirks with this blog. Firstly I have avoided posting anything like a picture of myself or My Boyfriend. Secondly I have always referred to My Boyfriend simply as My Boyfriend, preferring to hide him behind a witty pseudo name (note the Capital Letters) than share him with you.
Well today I’d like to share.

So on the left is me, Simon, The Freelance Cynic, in the flesh.

And on the right is Dan. My Fiancée.Lingering Love

• Gays at the Hotel
• Love's true nature