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Love and Romance
LOVE STORY No. 1
Their meal was expensive, but worth it; afterwards, they walked down to the harbour, then out along the pier. Gazing upwards, she realised how much city street lights generally prevented her from seeing the night sky.
Reading her mind perfectly, he said, “Lovely night. The steak was done to perfection.”
“That’s Orion,” she said.
“That German pinot noir was amazing,” he agreed. “I was slightly doubtful when I saw the price, but it was great, wasn’t it?”
“Is that a planet?” she wondered, nuzzling into him, putting her arm around his waist. Then: “I love you.”
“Me too,” he said.
LOVE, SCOTTISH-STYLE
The skin-headed fascist Scottish thug yelled at his upstairs Polish neighbour.
“Away back tae yer ain country, ya bam!”
“Leave him alane,” the thug’s pregnant girlfriend cried, “he means nae harm!”
“Away you and shut up,” the thug shouted. He drew her closer, then grabbed her by the neck, kicked her, forced her down, then kicked her again repeatedly in the stomach as she lay curled up on the floor. Fortunately at that moment the police appeared to save her.
As the police took his statement, the thug said, "I went too far, I only wanted to propose to her.”
LOVE STORY No. 3
Arlene gazes at the skies. "Its going to be a beautiful day," she says.
Her boyfriend Rab, a dour Scot, grunts, "Aye, right."
Arlene's confused. "Isn't that an oxymoron, Robert? You said 'yes' twice." She's not Scottish and understands neither it's people nor it's language.
"No, its just an oxy, its not a moron. 'Aye right' means no."
Suddenly the heavens open. Arlene seems sure to get soaked but suddenly Rab produces an umbrella big enough for them both.
"I'll never understand you, but I love you," she says, gazing at him.
"You'll never understand the weather either, will you?"
A FINE ROMANCE
The evening was going well.
They’d met through www.findmyperfectmate.com; now they sat in a city-centre cafe. Mark called Shelley ‘brainy’, but he was pretty intelligent himself.
They shared many interests – books, music, and unusual foods – kidney, liver and – remarkably – sweetbreads. The evening flew by.
She considered inviting Mark to her flat, but decided that it was too soon. Instead – to his disappointment – she settled for a shop-doorway lingering kiss.
Suddenly, he pulled away. “Have you ever experienced a Norwegian kiss?”
“No. Go on.” She closed her eyes expectantly.
Her body was discovered next day, minus all of its internal organs.
ROMANTIC FIREWORKS
On 5th November, of course.
“Hi there.”
“Hi. Weren’t you here last year?”
“Must have been someone that looked just like me. My name’s Roman.”
“Mine’s Catherine. Roman? That Polish?”
“Chinese, actually. Not long arrived in the country.”
“Me too. Look, could you give me a little breathing space? I’m feeling rather pinned to the wall here.”
“Oh sorry. Thoughtless of me.”
“Not your fault. This stranger came by, we started talking, then suddenly he was off like a rocket.”
“How rude.”
“Unlike you – you seem to have some sparkle. Have you got a light by any chance?”
“Sorry, I’m trying to give up smoking.”
LOVE IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
As daylight filtered through half-open curtains, Alison and Martin made love once more. Enjoying the afterglow fifteen minutes later, Alison reflected that practice was making her man perfect. Having him round to stay over three times weekly was working.
Suddenly, her mother shrieked from downstairs. “Alison! Time to get up.”
Quickly, she ushered a rapidly-dressing Martin out via the bedroom window and the garage roof. Alison, meanwhile, showered, dressed and casually wandered downstairs.
Without looking up from his newspaper, her father said, “Will we meet Martin some time?”
“Not yet,” Alison said. “I’m not ready for that level of commitment.”
TENDER IS THE NIGHT
Christine studied the man lying with his back to her, asleep.
She smiled. She knew she should probably get up and go to the bathroom, but she wanted to retain the moment for as long as possible. The bed linen could wait until morning; it had been worth it.
John had taken her – probably both of them, to be honest – to a place she hadn’t been for years, had thought perhaps she wouldn’t ever visit again. He knew: he always insisted that he could tell from the glow around her neck.
Thank goodness life continued to be full of surprises.
DINNER ON ST VALENTINE’S DAY
When he returned from being out, she had his dinner ready to eat on the table, and she knew he was happy. The table was laid out beautifully, adorned with red roses that she’d chosen lovingly for him, and she’d cooked chicken, his favourite, poached gently for twenty minutes just as he liked it.
It being Valentine’s Day, she’d dressed for the occasion; she wore his favourite dress, a red velour figure-hugging piece that she’d picked up in a boutique the previous year. As he studied her, she smiled: how she loved him.
Alice would do anything for her cat.
THE PRICE OF LOVE
They'd met on the internet. Their first date really couldn't have gone any better; glorious food in a wonderful restaurant. He paid, and they made to leave.
"Your place or mine?" he asked at the door.
"Not tonight, not yet," she breathed softly. "Next time, I promise. Let's part here tonight."
He sighed, then smiled. "Spoilsport," and hailed a cab for her.
"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me like we're making love. Now." The taxi driver waited.
Later, alone in the taxi, she reflected on her evening: a wallet, credit cards, a Rolex watch and four pounds twenty-six in change.
AN AGE-OLD STORY
Through the park they walked. They sat on a bench, ambled around the pond, then found their favourite quiet spot. Soon, they were as one, legs entwined.
"I love you," he said. "Will you marry me?"
She looked doubtful. "Is it allowed?"
"Don't you want to share your life with me?"
She stammered, "Yes, but – "
He looked away. "Is it because I'm a frog?" he snapped. "Am I not good enough?"
"Of course not. I'm a frog too. Don't be silly." It was her turn to be upset.
They had this conversation every day.
Post coitum, omne triste est.
HER FINAL MEAL
"Can I get you anything?" I asked her. She'd been flitting in and out of sleep, and looked tired. She struggled a smile saying, "I could perhaps eat something."
I knew what was required. First I dry-fried a cinnamon stick, ground cloves and cardamom seeds, added a little oil then gently sautéed some sliced onion. Next, I browned some diced chicken then added coriander, cummin, fenugreek, turmeric, ginger, garlic, chilli, salt and some chicken stock. Twenty minutes later, I served it with basmati rice.
"Ah," she said, "to die for."
I was like this every week. Next Friday, beef curry.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, DARLING
For their anniversary, they'd bought each other printed tee-shirts. She'd bought him a black shirt with a Harley-Davidson motorbike on the front; he'd bought her a specially-made white thing bearing his own face, gazing upwards Ché Guevara-style.
"Oh, how lovely," they said in unison, although she'd opened her present first.
"I thought you might wear me out," he grinned. "Get the joke?"
She reflected on the passing of another year. Five years of marriage, five anniversary presents: a mop, a toil
et-seat, a year's car insurance, and last year's humdinger, a budgerigar. All things considered, she'd got off lightly this time.
DAVID AND MARCIA, A LOVE STORY
In memory of our near-neighbours.
David and Marcia’s retirement was never active. On summer evenings they sat outside on folding chairs, greeting neighbours and passing strangers alike. They measured time not in hours and minutes, but in “gin-and-tonic inches”, glasses refilling miraculously without either of them ever moving.
Marcia smoked like a chimney and used her low gravelly voice to boss David about and make grand pronouncements about the declining state of the country. Neighbours simply smiled benignly.
But David loved her, and when Marcia’s heart suddenly gave out, he faded away within months. They’re together now, I’m sure; their ashes are, at any rate.
BREAKFAST ON ST VALENTINE’S DAY
On St Valentine’s Day they had breakfast in bed: scrambled eggs topped with smoked salmon, and Buck’s Fizz. To save washing, they fed each other naked. It was just an excuse.
Drizzling Buck’s Fizz over her, he gazed into her eyes. “Have I ever told you I love you?” he asked.
“Occasionally,” she said. “Do you know how much I love you?”
“I’ve got the idea,” he said.
He kissed her feet; she kissed his in return.
“I could eat you alive,” he said.
“Mmm. Me too.”
And so they did. The last couple of mouthfuls were a little tricky.
LOVE DOWN THE DRAIN
Eric the drain stood erect just a couple of feet from his partner Kerry.
“We drains belong together in the world,” he said. “We’re already living together - can't we just tie the knot?”
Kerry stood impassively. “I think we work better this way, doing our own thing,” she said.
Just then, a bath began to empty. As the water coursed through her, Kerry’s beautiful voice echoed in the night sky.
“You and I could make such sweet music together, Kerry,” Eric said, just as someone flushed a toilet in the same bathroom.
Kerry smiled. “Eric, you’re so full of – ”
ILL-STARRED BY MOONLIGHT
They’d met in a club, a holiday romance; one thing had led to another.
They lay on the beach in the warm night.
“I love you, Claire,” Asif said. “Will you marry me?”
She knew he wasn’t being serious. “I love you, too. But my parents will only let me marry a prince.” That wasn’t the real problem, of course. “Let’s count the stars together instead.”
Asif took the sky on the left. They counted 714.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Let’s elope.”
“Where to?”
“I have friends on Pluto.”
“That’s it, then,” said Claire. They kissed on it.