The moment I knew: I was holding in a fart and he tried to shake it out of me

In the winter of 2021 I was still adjusting to life back in Melbourne after a long stint overseas, cut short by Covid. I was having a crack at online dating when Alex’s playful profile caught my eye.

We matched, I slid into his DMs to comment on the lemons he had strategically placed next to his butt in his picture, and we were off and running. We clicked easily over text, and messaged often. But lockdowns kept postponing our dates. I think we both knew sparks would fly IRL, so we wanted to make sure it was a good one.

We eventually went for our first drink at a bar in Brunswick and it went beautifully. All the lighthearted banter from our online chats translated even better in person.

I felt as if I’d won the lottery and while we went home together that night and kept chatting, there were a lot of disclaimers. We were both very busy talking about how we had just come out of relationships and how intense our schedules were.

He was studying psychology and I was studying social work. Both being in the “feelings” field we were really upfront and honest with each other, trying our best to be very rational and set boundaries.

We’d hang out every few weeks, spend a few days in bed, laugh heaps and be silly together before retreating from each other lest things get out of control.

A few months in, an old flame of mine sparked again. I knew I was a lot more interested in Alex, but we’d set these guidelines about not taking things further so I went around to his place to let him know the score, that I was keeping my options open.

I took a bouquet of freesias and some earring-backs (Alex was always losing the backs to his earrings) to soften the blow. But when I started explaining, it looked like I had physically hit him. He sort of went into this slow-motion body recoil at the words coming out of my mouth.

We both knew there were big feelings between us, and he made it clear that he wanted to give us a real shot.

I didn’t need any more convincing, but we still took things pretty slowly. I mean, it wasn’t like we were casually passing wind in each other’s company or anything …

Then one day in his kitchen Alex did a star jump and simultaneously let one rip. It was totally ridiculous and hilarious and kicked off a “farts as performance art” routine which, while oddly endearing, I was definitely not ready to join.

One of my favourite things about Alex right from the start was just how at ease he made me feel. He’s so comfortable with himself that it’s completely contagious. He brings so much natural confidence and levity to any situation, it’s hard not to be inspired. Even when it comes to flatulence.

By the time summer came around we’d eased into life as a couple. One day at his share house, we climbed up into his attic to retrieve a fan. On the way down Alex went before me, in case he needed to perform some feat of chivalry if I lost my balance. He had his arms outstretched shepherding me when all of a sudden I felt this enormous pressure in my tummy.

I had been saving this first fart in his presence – after all, he’d made all of his so entertaining, I couldn’t just fart directly into his face on a dodgy ladder descent! Soon I was in agony trying to hold it in and as I scrambled to the bottom I rushed to get out of earshot as quickly as possible.

He quickly registered what was going on and without hesitation he swooped me up in his arms and started to shake me as he shouted dramatically “How dare you deprive me?!”

I started killing myself laughing and begging for mercy – I was still desperate to let this gas escape in privacy. But Alex wouldn’t let up, determined to shake both the fart and the self-consciousness out of me.

I can only assume gravity took its course, but to be honest I can’t remember. Whatever was emitted was drowned out by my tears and laughter.

Something I’ve always loved about Alex is that his mental framework is built around the idea that life is tough but it’s also pretty silly – why not clap twice and fart the third time? You gotta get the lols where you can, you know?

But even more than that, as we laughed and he tried to squeeze this fart out of me, it wasn’t just about being funny. He’s such a supportive, compassionate person that he really didn’t want me to suffer – like “why be in pain when you could let it out, I don’t care” – he always wants to ease any tension; to make things comfortable and fun.

Four years later, we’re both still pretty gassy, but Alex is definitely a bigger stinker than me. His farts-as-theatre continue to amuse.

* Names have been changed due to the nature of Tessa and Alex’s professions

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