We were well past saying I love you anymore. We both knew we’d said it to previous lovers and even after the first month of using it we realised we’d killed off those notorious three words if not the feeling. We’d only started saying it to get a stamp on our feelings, but the words themselves quickly became stale and vapid. I’d say that her checking how I liked my coffee showed more love than saying ‘I love you.’ I’d been with lovers who’d told me they loved me all too often, but had never cared about the quantity of milk in my morning drink.
We also knew neither of us were ones for poetry. Sure, we tried that sometimes early on too – spilling out clumsy phrases that we’d taken from a book or film that had come our way: ‘you’re everything to me’ and ‘you complete me – without you I am nothing.’ – and several other clichés of that nature. We probably rattled through a couple of dozen of those before we started taking the piss out of them. Again, I knew she loved me more when she was sarcastic with and acting all fake when saying these things.
We got to a stage where we ran out though. Sure, actions show love and all that – we know that from love and from crap soul songs, but we still wanted words for it. I’d say it took us another month or two until we found how. I say we found how – she introduced it:
‘My cunt fucking stinks.’
‘Does it? Sorry, what did you just say?’
‘It stinks like fuck of your cock.’
‘Ha! Wow! How is that darling? We haven’t done it for a couple of days?’
‘It’s sending out a search-stench – to check it’s still there. Calling it for more fucking and man fat.’
I jumped her with a comedy pirate’s laugh and I want to say we fucked like it was our last – but that’s a cheap description. It was nothing like our last – just our best. Love made whole from the nostril-flaring hardness of flesh, the smell called ‘funk’ and our sweat, juices and cum on and in each other.
The tone was set. We'd found a dialect which worked for us.
Whispers in the supermarket by the fruit.
‘I’m gonna bend you over and fuck you in the ass. You’re gonna be the first woman to have girl-cum shoot out of your fucking shithole.’
‘I’ve already been doing that one with you, you dirty, fucking animal.’
Halfway through watching some rubbish on TV:
‘Why don’t you wank that cock hard at shove it in my mouth you lazy cunt?’
‘Well, flick me some ripe fucking pussy lips open and I will.’
I could go on, but will leave anymore up to you. All I can say is that I’d never been more in love, because this is where failed attempts at love had taken me. I’d say it was the same for her too, but we were talking love like this now – so I could never really ask.