One Month Before Departure
I know I can’t be the first queer person in my family. But as far as I’m aware, I’m the first one who’s out and open.
As of writing, my dad doesn’t know I’m trans. He probably has his suspicions though: leaving breadcrumbs is one of my more satisfying hobbies. Normally…
I was sitting in the living room with my parents when the news of the first lockdown came out. The three of us, clutching onto coffee cups like lifelines, stared up at the screen as history unfolded before us. There’s something chilling about your mind being stuck in a loop of paranoid questions, and ours…
Me: Have you ever done cybersex?
Him: If it’s essentially getting freaky on FaceTime, then yes. You?
Me: Nope.
Him: You swear?
Me: Oh, shit. Maybe.
My Hinge match is a year older than me. I’m 23. He has 6’4 worth of body to snuggle up with – his words when I said I was…
The groggy fog of your afternoon nap begins to dissipate. The thundery rumble of an ignored stomach calls you to action, and when the gnawing reaches fever pitch, you know it’s time to go. Of course, because you’re not a local, you don’t know where. The suggestions of a previous traveller, a close friend, ring…
Jason*, our Hugh-Grant-lookalike Airbnb host, was prone to wild sporadic fits of weeping. It was the kind of animal uncontrollable wailing that you often hear in new wave Indie films or in a final year art student’s all-immersive video installation piece.
Raw, carnal and generally pretty distressing.
We would find out later why. And the…
“You’d be more attractive if you smoked and were less of a feminist,” he slurs, sloppily, arm slung like a dead weight over my shoulder as I walk him home after yet another drunken escapade.
These words were not those of a nemesis nay, not even an acquaintance. No, instead these words came from someone…
Our conversation switches from jovial to awkward in an instant. His words come out staunchly. Like there’s nothing you could say or do that would convince him otherwise.
"People in small houses aren’t happy."
I splutter on my lukewarm Earl Grey. Alfie is the closest thing I have to a best friend in England. We…
It hits around 1am and the bar is heaving, as per. I wriggle through the masses, stacks of glasses wedged under my left arm, balanced precariously, waiting to tumble over from a stray elbow or a wayward backhand.
Kez stands behind the bar, chatting to a woman whose face I can’t see. Classic Kez. He…