Chapter 6 #2
I was right. There was something about him that made him seem slightly dangerous and unpredictable, albeit in a playful way. Maybe it was because he was a few inches or so taller than me, conveniently positioning my eyes at just above chest height.
Luckily, the drinks arrived at the table to interrupt my creepy staring. A pint of craft lager for me and a Whisky Mac for Ben. God bless the ‘Spoons app.
Ben was straight to the point.
“You're my second date today, you know? Please lord, be better than the last one,” he said, jovially.
I genuinely didn't know how to react. I was not accustomed to this ‘doubling up’ that he spoke of so flippantly. I had to process this in my brain for a second.
I realised that it was not like we were going out properly.
He wasn’t technically cheating on me, considering we’d just met each other, but still, it was just a bit of a weird opener.
Thoroughly modern, but weird. So, although we didn’t have any sort of hold over each other, it still made me a tad huffy.
We sat down and Ben took his overcoat off to reveal his crisp, flouncy shirt clinging to his perfectly rounded muscles. He gave me a look as if to say ‘I know’ and I did my utmost to make out that I was looking everywhere except at his magnificent frame.
Out of politeness, I felt compelled to ask Ben how his previous date was, which was a sentence I never thought I’d be asking a potential love interest.
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” winked Ben.
I laughed nervously.
We found ourselves a booth with high stools, away from the other seasoned punters with their bulbous, veined noses which looked like little Ordnance Survey roadmaps. Ben climbed up onto his stool, purposely showing me the rump of his thigh in his skinny jeans.
“You like?” he said in a delicious but fake French accent.
He took a slurp of his Whisky Mac and gave me another cheeky wink. The sight of his long eyelashes fluttering over those big puddles of brown that made up his eyes made me go all shuddery.
I completely fancied Ben from the off, and he was reeling me in more and more by the second, not least because he reminded me that he was something of a sexual deviant. From our previous conversations, I had already learned that he was a fetish scene enthusiast.
From what I could gather, this fetish scene seemed to me to be a kind of social arena exploding with some extremely open-minded types who were into alternative and quite frankly intriguing sexual practices. I had dabbled in this sort of thing in the past, but only at an embarrassingly novice level.
A guy I went to college with once tied me to my bedframe, utilising my Taz and Homer Simpson comedy work ties. He also blindfolded me with a Rupert the Bear style scarf. It was pathetic, really. I was hardly at ‘gimp’ level, not that that was something I aspired to be.
It didn't take long for Ben to divulge what kind of fetishes he was into. Some matched the sorts of things that had previously bought me moments of joy during two-minute clips I’d seen on the interwebs. Others just seemed downright terrifying.
“So, you think I’m corruptible?” I said.
“In a good way. You just look like you’d be up for trying stuff. Stuff I like. Anyway, you got my attention because you were pretty much the only person not to have sent me a dick pic. Well, apart from the Dick Van Dyke one. I stole that joke, by the way.”
“You’re welcome to it, I stole it too. I’m a regular Robin Hood.”
“Are you saying I’m poor?”
Well, you haven’t bought a fucking drink yet, I thought, but didn’t say.
“Nooo,” I opted for instead.
He sniggered, still looking me over in that sultry, almost predatory way that was turning me on so much, then the topic of conversation moved on to what each of us did for a living––a topic that I had to say usually comes up before sexual preferences.
Ben said that he was a master practitioner of Neuro Linguistic Programming.
NLP seemed to be quite popular these days—so much so that even my mother had started to practice it. I always thought of it as something a bit like hypnosis, which made me wonder if that was why I didn’t really seem to care about buying all the drinks tonight.
As the evening progressed, Ben started to get more and more tactile, probably due to my outrageously flirtatious manner. The Whisky Macs had clearly made him a bit feisty too. Then he became serious. Really serious.
He pulled me close and whispered into my ear, asking me if I was okay with public displays of affection, albeit a couple of minutes too late.
After a quick scan of the place and assessing how inebriated and into their own business people were, I nodded like a plastic animal stuck to the back shelf of a Nissan Sunny.
“Good. Lick my boots then,” he whispered.
Oh God. This. We had been having a bit of… well, a lot of online sexy chat which drifted into the realms of Ben’s fetish world and this was one of the scenarios that we had talked about. Still though, surely there was a time and a place?
“Excuse me?”
I stared at him until he sultrily leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
“Lick. My. Boots. Pretty please?”
How on earth could I refuse now? After another quick scan of the place and not being able to make out any misspelt words tattooed across anyone’s knuckles, I decided that I was going to go right ahead and do what he asked. When in Waterloo, eh?
I waited until everyone around us seemed to be looking the other way, then I pretended to drop a straw, before proceeding to lick his boot.
However, whilst I was mid-lick, I accidentally inhaled a passing tumbleweed of fluff from the floor which lodged in my throat.
I was desperate to cough it out but chose to try and hold it in because I thought any spluttering might ‘spoil the moment’.
I must have looked like an aubergine when I resurfaced, suppressing my coughs and smiling politely until I swallowed the offending dust ball.
“There you go, all done,” I said, all business like.
”How did that make you feel?”
I thought about it as I felt my face returning to its usual shade.
Mildly terrified?
Slightly humiliated, in a good way?
Wary of any potential homophobe I missed wondering what we were up to during my brief scan of the surroundings?
I went with: “Okay,” which seemed like a safe bet.
“Good boy,” he whispered, his oaky smell surrounding the airspace around my mouth. That seemed to calm me down for a bit, along with the gentle pat on my leg.
Ben spent the next hour telling me about all the nice things that he could do for me, all the ways he could tease me whilst I was at his mercy.
I was incredibly excited. This man was like a human Viagra pill, not that I would ever need such a thing around this guy.
He would whisper right into my ear, and I could feel every breath on my neck as I closed my eyes and inhaled his delicious woody musk.
“You’re really easy—but fun,” he said, scanning me up and down.
I can't remember a time when I wanted to have sex with someone this much. The explosive sexual chemistry was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
Ben had sunk his fourth Whisky Mac of the evening when he uttered the sentence that nobody wants to hear on an online date after they’ve been teased within an inch of a few million sperm’s lives :
“Drink up, I’ve got to go. I’ve got an early morning client tomorrow.”
My face dropped, and Ben let out a deep, evil laugh as he gave me a final stroke of the cock, squeezing just hard enough for it to throb and seep a little.
“Aww,” he said, pursing his lips playfully.
He had sprung the ‘early morning client’ excuse on me so quickly that I had no time to think about unsexy things in order to deflate my phallus.
Unfortunate—as I had nothing to cover it with. I had left my man-bag at work in case I got drunk and left it somewhere and added to that, my coat only came down to waist level.
The only solution was to walk behind Ben as closely as possible, although the fact that we were in a cheap boozer meant that everybody was far too hammered to have noticed my damp, throbbing erection. At least, that was what I preferred to think.
When we arrived at Waterloo Station, I decided to step up to Ben and go in for The Kiss.
The gamble paid off. It was a good, solid one this time, with lots of purchase.
A nice snug fit. I’d almost go as far as to call it ‘textbook’.
His lips tasted of watermelon lip balm as they brushed across mine sexily, whilst my nose bristled against his short beard, inhaling the sexy scent of his cheek.
He ran his tongue gently across my teeth and then playfully held my tongue between his with the perfect amount of pressure for me to think that I was going nowhere unless he decided I could.
He was totally in control, and by the sweet lord above or below, I was fine with that.
He released me and exhaled his now very familiar deep cackle once more.
“I could have a lot of fun with you,” he said as he grabbed both of my wrists and moved me to an appropriate distance for a final inspection, exhaling thoughtfully.
He stared at me and looked as if he were plotting hundreds of evil and potentially wild scenarios, which unsettled me just a tiny bit.
I just hoped he didn’t want to go all Human Centipede on my arse.
Whatever the case, Ben made the promise of a second date, which of course sealed the deal like a spit and a handshake at a Freemason’s meeting.
So, I sauntered off down the underground with my tongue feeling a little like a piece of chewed biltong.
As soon as I got home, I crashed into bed and called up some pictures of Ben on my phone, which I expertly thumbed through with my free hand. On closer inspection, I could see now that the table-tennis bat in his profile pic was actually a spanking paddle, which made way more sense now.
Due to my ever-decreasing concentration span, I almost immediately got distracted with the thought of finding another date, so went for a quick swipe (not a tacky euphemism).
As soon as I logged on to my dating app, a white speech bubble from Ben appeared in the live chat box on my screen:
‘Caught you! x’