Thursday, 14 July 2011
Ramblings: Dating Part 3:- Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts
Warning: This story contains scenes of a sexual nature
In 1999, I split up with my partner of 12 years and was suddenly free to enter the world of flirtation and have some fun. Sadly, I met a very bizarre Greek bloke who for purposes of anonymity I shall call Stavros.
Stavros was an academic. He was 4 years older than me, shorter than me and stockier than me. He was very hairy with a classic Mediterranean look. He had a very sexy accent, olive skin and eyes so dark blue they were almost black. He had thick black hair and long dark eyelashes and was decidedly lush. He always looked like he needed a shave and had that bluish tinge to his chin and cheeks. I met him in a nightclub and he was a master at seduction. We ended up passionately kissing and copping a feel of each other on the edge of the dance floor. We exchanged email addresses (I was very late getting a mobile phone, I resisted for a long time) and he messaged me the next day.
He took me for dinner and was the epitome of gentlemanly charm. He opened doors for me and pulled out chairs, insisted on paying the bill. I loved the way he undressed me with his demonic eyes. He was interesting too. He'd written three academic tomes and worked as a college lecturer and academic. Pretty soon I was pressed up against the wall in the hall of his house being kissed. Crikey. It was a definite tonic after a long and unhealthy relationship which had died on its feet many years before.
We met regularly and I was mightily impressed. He was passionate to a degree which I'd never experienced before. He'd open the door to the house and usher me through, lobbing any shopping he was carrying down the hall, as he couldn't wait to kiss me. We'd often be picking up bruised tomatoes a few hours later when we emerged from his bedroom looking rumpled. His house was amazing. He had rich parents who'd bought him a three storey Victorian cottage and his furniture and belongings were the right side of quirky and stylish.
He loved English culture and dressed like an English country gentleman. He had a fine collection of clothes which he bought in Bond Street. He loved Pimm's cup, picnics and the Royal Family.
Within a week or two he was full on and I was enjoying the experience. He bought me a ticket to go to Paris with him in the Autumn and had told me he loved me (well, he shouted "Chrees, I love you!" at the point of orgasm if that counts). He cooked the most amazing meals too and we talked a lot. Oddly, he did make me nervous. There seemed to be something dark about him which I couldn't quite pin point but was trying hard to ignore.
After about a month the oddness started. He had a lodger, a young Cypriot lesbian, who he seemed to despise. If ever she walked through to the kitchen when we were there he would glare at her and look away, not speaking. I asked him why.
"I am punishing her for being an irritant." I thought this was a bit harsh and felt sorry for her. Luckily she wasn't there much as one of Stavros's favourite things was to whack his knob out when I wasn't expecting it and say "Go on. Give him a leetle kiss. You know you want to." Not exactly romantic, but fun nonetheless.
The next oddity was when he asked me to have unprotected sex with him. I naturally said no. He was outraged. "You think I have a disease? You think I'm a whore?" He was easily placated but persisted in asking me this every time we slept together. He was always greeted with the same polite refusal.
We'd been seeing each other about a month when I visited him one afternoon. He'd invited me over but when I arrived he said he had to do some academic work. I was cool with that. He had a comfortable settee and I had a novel in my bag, as ever. Four hours later he emerged from his office and the malicious glint in his eye suggested this had been deliberate. I was being punished just like the Cypriot girl. For what, I wasn't sure.
Then came the lies. He used to take calls from his mother in Greece some evenings and would always come back chuckling.
"I like to make up stories to amuse her. I always tell her a long story as a tease. Today I had bought a Jaguar and robbed a bank. She plays along." Harmless enough, I thought, a bit childish but harmless. Pretty soon he started to execute his teases on me.
The first one was harmless enough. He pretended he'd baked me a chocolate cake. He knew I don't eat chocolate as it gives me migraines but he maintained the pretence to watch me squirm. I was apologetic and explained I couldn't eat it and he maintained a charade of being offended and disappointed that his efforts were in vain. In reality he knew about me not eating chocolate and had baked me a lemon cake. I laughed politely.
The jokes slowly got worse and more outlandish and his sadistic nature became evident. Fast forward another week. We were about to go to sleep at night and he leant across and whispered to me.
"I have a surprise for you. I have left the front door unlocked and three of my friends are coming to rape you while you sleep."
I thought fast and decided two could play that game.
"Stavros, that isn't funny at all. I was raped as teenager by three men. I can't believe you could be so callous to joke about that. I'm really traumatised."
None of this was true. I enjoyed watching him squirm and apologise for his "joke" and the next day had a serious talk with him about his unfunny joke. He promised to behave.
It didn't work. A week later he told me he was a paedophile and had been banished from Greece for shagging a 12 year old goat herd. I could tell by the evil glint in his eye that this was another stupid wind up.
"I'm cool with that. As long as you used protection, I'm sure it was all fine."
"Well, I didn't use protection and I do have AIDS."
"Are you on medication?" I asked.
He told me he was so I challenged him to name them or to show me the packets. He obviously couldn't. It was another pointless and offensive wind up.
Needless to say, I got my coat and bag and left. As I left he told me he thought I was stupid and vacuous and that my lack of class meant we would never have made a couple. He also told me that he actually had a boyfriend anyway, who was living in America. This turned out to be true! Naturally, I told him, eloquently and calmly what I thought of him and retired home to have a consoling vodka or two, lick my wounds and reflect on what I now saw as a lucky escape. I must admit that I wasn't on his level when debating politics and he had asked me the night before what I thought about Cheri Blair and her meddling in politics. I'd answered that she had a gammy mouth, which I suppose wasn't too politically astute.
I saw him again one night 17 years later. He was almost totally bald and had gained a huge amount of weight. I bumped into him in a nightclub. He'd moved away and was still with his long term American boyfriend. They were up from Southern England visiting the area together. I couldn't resist a little light revenge. I chatted and flirted with him and his partner and implied I wanted sex. I suggested they go back to their hotel room and give me a number to call them on and I'd join them for a threesome a little later as I needed to just say goodbye to a few friends in the upstairs bar. His boyfriend was licking his lips and Stavros looked mightily pleased. They scuttled off like eager schoolboys, concealing their arousal, to shower and wait for me in the hotel room. I told them I'd be there in half an hour and would text when I was on my way. Needless to say I binned the phone number. Childish, I know but it made me feel a tiny bit better to think of them sitting in their bath robes waiting for me.