Product Lifecycle

[Chicklet’s Note : When we called for submissions for the second volume of Gaysi Zine we received a lot of short stories from writers all over the world – unfortunately, far more than we are able to feature in zine. Therefore, we are delighted to be able to publish the best of those stories here on the blog.

In this piece, Lady J, our veteran writer has experimented with an interesting style of writing signifying a shift in love-speak during these modern times.]



Hey! You here?

Hey!!! You’re online!

Yeah…logged on for some work. Saw you online. Thought I should ping and say hi.

Hmm.  🙂

🙂 Anyway. Gotta go get ready. Have to leave for work.

Oh ok. Sure thing. You take care.

You too!

Cool…I will ping you if I ever see you online.

Yeah, do that!




Hey! It’s Millie.

Hey! What’s up?

Nothing much. How you doing?

I’m good. How are you?

Good…good too!

I’m glad you called. It feels nice to finally hear your voice.

Yeah, same here. Finally graduated from chat.


Hmmm. So? What’s up?

Hmm. This is weird. You sound so different.

Different from…?

I don’t know. You don’t sound like I thought you would.

Yeah? What did you think I’d sound like?

Umm…I don’t know. Your voice doesn’t match the way you talk.

Is that a good thing?

It’s just different. The way you talk and write is kinda serious. Like someone who’s really old.


No, wait. I don’t mean that as an insult. It’s just that your voice is so nice…and soft…and light.

I’ll take that as a compliment, then.

Yes, please do!



Hey, you.

Hi, baby.

I’ve been waiting for your call.


Yeah. I just can’t get you out of my mind, like Kylie says.

Really now?

Un hunh. I kinda miss you when you’re not around…on the phone…or online…you know?

Hmm. I do. I miss you too.

Really now?

You know I do.

How much?

Why don’t I come there and show you just how much I miss you?

Mhmm…Yesss, please!



I can’t believe I’m here…with you. I can’t believe I’ll be coming home to you every day.

Believe it.

Hmm…You know, right?

No, I don’t. Say it.

I love you.

I love you too, baby.

I want to make love to you.

Why don’t you?



I love you.


You know…why don’t you say it more often?

Well…I don’t always feel like saying it.

You used to always say it earlier.

Why do you keep comparing what I do now to what I used to? It’s always ‘You don’t do this…you don’t do that.’ It’s like nothing I do is enough. You’re always complaining.

That’s not true. I don’t complain. You’re always defensive. We can’t have a discussion anymore without you accusing me of complaining or nitpicking or some other fucking shit.

Oh…There we go again. It’s all me. I’m the fucking problem. Whatever.

You know what, I can’t do this shit again. I’ll just fucking leave you alone.

Yeah. Why don’t you just fucking do that? Please!



We need to talk. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.

Yeah. Whatever.

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Lady Jughead lives and writes in the city she loves and hates, Bombay. Without meaning to and harbouring mixed feelings about it (You’ll see the irony in just a bit), she’s forever wandering in the murkiness that exists between straight and gay, clear and clueless, butch and femme, cute and hot, and genius and insane. All of which leave her with a question that often occupies a significant portion of her cognitive capacity – is she Just Perfect or is she falling fast into the deep chasm of obscurity called Just Average?
Lady Jughead

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