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All the great things about overbites
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All the great things about overbites
New Page
New Page
About
Contact
New Page
New Page
About
Contact

Introduction

Einstein says that performing the same experiment over and over and expecting the result to be different is the definition of madness.

For a thousand different reasons and one specific one, I’m looking at you J junior, you are finding it really difficult to be in touch. (Fingers deeply crossed that this is not simply down to sheer boredom.)

So. New plan!

Welcome to Overbite, a deliberately boring looking dental website with a gentle, deeply private love story buried deep in it’s pages where nobody but you and I will bother to go.

It’s untraceable. No names. No specific details. No pictures.

It’s just a place where I can tell you stories about us. In case you are ever bored. Or feel unappreciated. Or want to laugh or cry or think about old times.

You don’t have to contribute (unless you want to).

But I kind of have to write it. Because I miss you. I miss making you laugh and cry and remember.

I totally understand what you can’t give. It’s only taken me eight years to catch up, ha ha.

But now I just want to be your friend in this tiny digital room. In case you fancy dropping by now and again.

The best sort of love is the kind that just wants to love and ask for nothing in return. Thought I’d give that a go.

(Of course, you could always ring me up now and then too!)

email@example.com

Okay. Let’s play “all the questions I never get round to asking in our truncated phone calls”!

 

Stuff that there’s not time for or occur to me after.

Ready? Go!…

 

First, and most important given the title of this page… when you bite into an apple, is there a two millimetre misaligned groove where your teeth haven’t quite met? Check it out next time if you aren’t sure. (Or are you one of those freaks of nature who eat everything but the stork? Eek.)

 

Have you ever kissed a girl?

 

What do you wear to potter down to the kitchen first thing?

 

Do you put olive oil on everything like you are supposed to now?

 

When was the last time you touched a monkey?

 

Can you sing? (Can’t believe I don’t know that! That makes me kind of sad.)

 

Dark chocolate or milk?

 

Alcaraz or Sinner? (Stupid question really: Coolest ever tennis player or scrawny drug cheat. Really only one answer, surely?)

 

Do you dream in colour?

 

Cramped first floor loo/dark soho side street/top floor on the last day of the year. Which was first?

 

If you could have any superpower what would it be? (Mine would be the power of “undo”! No costume or anything. I’d just shout the word and I could undo any mistake without doing anyone or anything any harm. Cool, no?)

 

What do all your exes have in common?

 

Isn’t back hair disgusting? (Leading question really but still counts.)

Sunrise or sunset?

 

Individual or shared duvets? (Obvious answer but still worth establishing.)

 

Did your nervous head wobble cure itself or did you work on it?

 

Do you ever let your hair stay curly all day long? And if not, why the hell not?

Ever kissed two different people in the same day?

 

Which movie makes you cry most? And why isn’t it You’ve Got Mail for heaven’s sake?

 

How did you sunburn your bottom that time?

 

Do you know the muffin man?

 

What has been your greatest accomplishment in life?

Do you sleep on your side?

How many times has your heart been broken?

 

Can you balance an After Eight on your forehead then wiggle your face until you get it into your mouth?

 

Did you ever read Bridges of Madison County? And why not??

How did your parents meet?

 

Can dog’s see ghosts?

 

Do you swim naked when you get the chance?

What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?

 

How do they grow seedless grapes?

Why is your sister like that??

 

Taylor or Dua? (Obviously Taylor but worth checking in case out turn out to be mad and I’ve never noticed.)

 

Most romantic kiss? Under the canal bridge or Claridges forehead to forehead?

More on that next time…

email@example.com

Hello again!

You have NO IDEA how long it took me to work out how to put up a website.

Duh.

But I’ve now also worked out how to put it behind a password wall. I know, fancy, huh? (I guess I must have told you that or you wouldn’t. be here now!)

I’ll still keep things anonymous, just in case.

But I like that it’s just me and you in here now. No people looking to get a little corrective dental work and doing their initial research.

Is it just you and me? Or maybe it’s just me! Imagine if you never showed up. That would be embarrassing.

Still, at least the toothy public will now not be able to witness me flirting with myself.

Important to look on the bright side, don’t you think? (See, I’m assuming you are there again! I’m a cheery person at heart.)

What shall we talk about today?

I think a quick game of “remember when” would be fun.

Let’s see if I can take you to different places in your mind.

I’m waiting there for you. Younger and much better looking.

(And, I fear, not quite imagining those days will ever run out. Young people are dumb, right.)

Still. We all have a time machine in our heads, I believe.

Hop in with me.

Try to really go there. See if you remember it being hot or cold.

See if you feel happy? Horny? Anxious? Excited?

Can you even remember what you were wearing? (I might help with that here and there.)

Anyway. Take a minute. And come with me. Again. If only in your head.

Always good to start at the beginning, so…

Zap!

A photo of you on a beach with your toes in the water. You aren’t wearing much, actually. In the picture that is. In real life you have a long camel coloured dress on. It feels like cashmere but probably wasn’t as we were neither of us paid much back then.

But then you always felt like cashmere. Whatever you were wearing. Or weren’t.

There’s a big, noisy Australian girl outside. She hasn’t realised that she is no longer required in this particular game of chase. It takes a while. But in the end she gets the picture and goes away.

And then. Oh my God. We actually kiss. An unbelievable forever kiss. Stolen quickly and all the more delicious for it.

When I get home I sit for the longest time with my hands over my nose and mouth trying to smell the finest scent of you.

Heaven.

Where next? (Hey, this is fun!)

Zap!

Forehead to forehead in Claridges maybe? Did you pick that one in the Q&A above? No worries if you went for the canal. I’ll get to that later.

We hadn’t seen each other for a while. Some random ban. You or me, I can’t remember (but probably you!)

Anyway. Anyhow. We ended up in the corridor looking for somewhere to kiss.

And you leant in. And our foreheads touched. And that was enough for the longest time. Just my skin on yours.

There was a kiss. Eventually. But it was all the more intimate for taking forever to start. Magic. Tiny magic. Bt definite magic.

How about a speed round? Let see what this time machine can do under pressure…

Zap!

Rain in soho. You’re wet and warm. Literally steaming, actually. And I’ve made some cardboard privacy in the car. Fast and hot.

Zap!

First Christmas after the eight year break. More steam on the windows. (Aren’t cars great?) Cat that got the cream card. Sent to work! Hilariously reckless. Wonderfully exciting.

Zap!

Regents park. You balancing a little human on your knees playing aeroplane. Chaste and sweet and weirdly a vision of a different sliding doors life. Just for a minute.

Zap!

Train to Manchester. I write what I’m going to do to you when we get there on my laptop and have you read it in the crowded carriage.

Zap!

Second kiss. Soho side street. Backless dress under your coat. Black a spangly, if memory serves. I get to touch your gorgeous swimmer’s shoulders for the first time. Just for a few seconds. And still better than any sex I’ve ever had. Just a touch. Just a moment. Under a coat. People walking by. Life changing.

Zap!

Much later. Big, chilly room. Now you have nothing under your coat. The coat is much more expensive. Grey I think. Or maybe that was the posh room. Or both. Your astonishing grace and beauty. Intimidating actually.

Zap!

The last time. Eight years ago now. How is that possible? You tear your dress a little wrapping a leg around me. Intense, beautiful, desperate. Like I know I’ll never get the chance again.

Zap!

Under the canal bridge. The most romantic moment imaginable. Cold again. Autumn. Someone takes our picture from across the water because, I guess, we look like love made flesh. Which we kind of are. Later your give me a lovely print of a canal scene that looks very like it. Still have it, hidden somewhere.

Zap!

Back in our skulls. Let’s do this time travel again together, another time. Here or somewhere else.

TBC. In our heads, anyhow.

It’s quite hard to keep things totally anonymous, huh?

No names is easy. No dates or specific locations. No age or religion. No identifying physical details.

Even though it feels risk free, there’s something secretive, conspiratorial, intimate about writing about stuff that only you will properly understand.

I can run my tongue underneath your (admittedly tiny) overbite and nobody is going to be able to tell if you are Jean Shrimpton or Daffy Duck. (Though just for the record, I don’t kiss cartoon ducks or sixties supermodels).

I can write “you always walk into a room kind of tits first'“ and it’s just a description of someone who leans forward a little when she walks.

That’s millions of people worldwide I imagine.

Of course there’s stuff that’s only true of you. Your endless kindness. How smart you are. How you are always smiling but not always happy.

The way you are nobody’s fool.

That you can be tough and practical and decisive when other people (mentioning no names but I’m the only other one here) are befuddled and slow and too lost in love to be able to think clearly.

These things are all just you. Only you. Uniquely you.

But nobody could add them up and put your name to that combination of qualities unequivocally.

Only you laugh like you. Only you finds it ridiculously hard to say sweet and loving things on the phone.

You are the boy in this relationship, I’ve always thought. You might look as feminine as the sexiest movie star. But you are the boy, still.

Okay. Let’s take one tiny risk.

Since we are behind a password wall on a website that nobody would dream of going to even if it wasn’t.

Here goes.

I love your olive eyes. Ohh. That felt good. Daringly specific.

I love your olive eyes, otherwise untraceable girl. x