my imaginary one armed, one eyed, club footed midget friend with scoliosis can play better soccer than patrice evra.

and golden point sucks. there's no email submission option? wtf? are they still using type writers and model t fords or something.

Three years back, when we first started out, I never thought this was what it would be like.
We went to plays, we clubbed, he brought me to playgrounds to ride the swings and the see-saws. We sat in the dark and looked each other in the eyes. We were like kids; twenty three year old kids. We printed out fake name cards one year, and went down to the beer festival pretending to be pub and restaurant owners just so we could get a few free beers from the suppliers trying desperately to get their beers on tap somewhere. They were desperate for a reason. Their beers sucked. We drank and we ate, and we drank some more. After the festival, we drove up to a quiet place he knew near the river front. We crawled to the back of the car and talked and laughed and made stupid jokes. I was warm from the free beer and I could tell my cheeks were flushed. My words were butterflies in my head, giggling dead moths when they came out of mouth. I felt like I was in love with the world, everything in it. I waved at the other couples in their own cars, on the park benches, and they would take one look at me and duck away like frightened rabbits.
‘Funny bunny,’ I shouted at them, laughing. ‘Hunny bunny funny.’
‘I love you, J,’ he said, and kissed me on the nose. His face was pink. His breath smelled of stale ale and pork. He looked at me and declared.
‘I want to marry you.’
‘Mm.’ I giggled and kissed him back.
‘I want to marry you too.’
We were cuddling in the back of his car, a little Suzuki Swift, and I was wearing a short skirt that exposed a lot of my legs. I saw him gazing at them.
‘Where shall we get married?’ I asked him, watching him, loving him.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.’
‘How about Paris?’
‘Cheesy.’
‘Pusan? I’ve always wanted to go to Pusan.’
He thought for a moment.
‘Hmm.’ He paused. ‘Let me think for a second.’
He was still staring at my legs. But at the same time he wasn’t. He was frowning that cute little frown of his that made his face, normally boyish to the point of being baby-like, age ten years. He was serious. About the marriage. About me. I wanted him.
‘Can you kiss me while you think?’ I asked, and leaned against him, pressing my chest against his arm.
‘That may interfere with the thought processes,’ He said softly. ‘Let’s see.’
And he leaned over and kissed me, one hand tilting my chin up to meet his. I love it when guys do that. Touching my face as we kiss. It seems some how, more. Intimate. His tongue flicked against mine and he reached up with his other hand. I took it and guided it to my breast. My heart was pumping away and I felt like I was sixteen again, like the time I went speeding down the highway at three in the morning in my mom’s car, with no other vehicles in sight. Three lanes wide and no one to stop you.
I wanted him so bad.
‘Mark?’
‘Yes.’
‘Make love to me? Do you want to?’
‘Yes,’ he said, a shadow in the dark. ‘I would like that.’
‘Now. Right here.’
‘Yes.’ I could see his eyes, wide in the dark, looking at me. They glinted in the street light.
“Oh, J,” he said, and when we met, I imagined a thousand cupids applauding somewhere after shooting our asses full of arrows.