Warning: This piece contains themes of a sexual nature! Not for the faint hearted
I've had a few bad experiences of dating over the past few years and some of them are (just about) appropriate to share in the public domain. Actually, I could write a whole book about bizarre men I've met but that would just be depressing. I've changed the names of people to protect the guilty.
I met Ross (not his real name) online in 2008, on one of the more sedate and less sexually orientated gay websites. He was in his mid 40s, six foot three and well built. Shaved head, piercing eyes and broad shoulders. He was ex-armed forces, lived about 45 minutes drive away, had his own teeth/car/flat and a good job. He sent me pictures which were very appealing and did actually include his face. This can be a rarity on gay dating websites where a request for a picture can result in a crotch shot quite often. He looked a bit like Ross Kemp, craggy and a bit of a hard case (hence the name I've allocated him). I'm a big fan of the craggy hard case of a man. (I'm also easily impressed by posh blokes and latin types, but more of that later).
I was never much for chatting endlessly on line, as it's no way to get to know someone, so we spoke at length on the telephone. He was surprisingly eloquent, bright and very polite. He'd also recently experienced the death of a parent, as had I, and he was empathetic and kind. We spoke a couple of times and he asked if he could take me out for a meal which sounded good to me and we planned to meet. I had a couple of minor reservations: he went on a bit and had dropped into conversation that in his armed forces career he'd had to kill people. Hmm....why mention that? I ignored the alarm bells ringing out loud and clear.
He'd also asked me what my waist size was which I thought was unusual but guessed he was just trying to size up my physique. We met in the town centre on a Saturday. I wasn't disappointed by his physical presence. He was lush and definitely lived up to expectations and he clearly thought I was hot too. The meal went well initially. He was charming and polite and arrived armed with two boxes and a wrapped up bottle of wine. (I was still drinking alcohol at the time). The meal progressed and we chatted nicely. Things started to go down hill when he gave me the gifts.
The wine was nice and the chocolates were good quality but I wasn't too sure about the electric blue Speedo swimming trunks. Unusual choice of gift on a first date. He said he hoped they were the right size and I liked the colour. I was a little confused. In my view, Speedos are what middle aged Germans wear on holiday in the Canaries, when they're not supplementing their mullets with red trousers and a cardy draped over the shoulders.
"Thank you...erm...I didn't have any of these. Just the right size!"
"It's a fetish I have. I hope you're ok with that. I'd like you to wear them later so I can wank off and come all over you.". He said this in a voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. I hastily gulped more wine and noted with alarm that he was knocking back his second glass of wine with abandon.
"Erm...don't you need to drive back? Do you want me to order you a soft drink?"
"Oh, sorry. I thought I could stay over. I'm sorry if I've over stepped the mark. I didn't mean to be forward. I apologise. I could stay in the spare room. It's not a problem. I shouldn't have mentioned the speedos. Sorry."
Again he was politeness and gentility and I tried to ignore the pair of speedos in their gift box by the side of my chair. He drank more wine. I acquiesed. Don't judge me! He was hot and had a nice car. I wasn't about to send him on his way over a minor optional fetish. We all have our little foibles.
We got back to my place after a lovely meal, give or take a pair of nylon swimming trunks, and we started kissing. He was very hot. Things were going well until he whispered in my ear:
"Can I tie you up?"
"No!" I said emphatically.
"Can I put you in a half Nelson during sex, then, at least?"
"Errm....that would be a no, sorry." I said more emphatically.
"How about if I just pulled your hair a bit?"
"Look, pain really isn't my thing and my hair is thinning as it is. That'll be another no. Before you ask, I'd rather not wear the speedos too. OK?" I was getting worried.
"Light slapping? A pinch or two?"
Well, I'll gloss over what happened next, but needless to say it wasn't especially satisying for either of us. Him, desperate to slap me or put me in a wrestling hold, me knowing he wanted to do that...not a good mix for passion.
His pillow talk wasn't so good, either. He started to tell me that due to his armed forces training he was an experienced assassin. Reassuring to know when you need to sleep next to a man you've rejected as a scary deviant. I nipped downstairs and left a few stategic notes round and about with his name and phone number and address on so that when my dismembered corpse was found the police would know who to arrest.
It took me some time to get to sleep and when I woke the next morning I was startled to see him lying on his side staring at me with a look of malice.
"You snored all night. I came close to wanting to kill you." He said grumpily.
"Oh dear! Well, up and at it. Better get myself in the shower." I said nervously.
I don't think I need to add that there wasn't a second date. I still have a pair of 30 inch waist Speedos in my drawer though, if anyone wants them? They've never been worn.