I have had a guy ask me to lick his nipple. I have had a guy ask me to stick a finger in his pink (I assure you, I did not indulge this request). I have had a guy ask me to choke him.
Look, to each his own I suppose but I am a pretty normal girl.
There is nothing really that would surprise me anymore and although there was nothing extremely perverted about Harry #1, I have this lingering sense that he was just simply weird. I’ve labelled him Harry #1 because, as you can safely assume, there were two men of the same names that I happened to ‘date’ relatively close to one another.
Harry #1 and I met on Tinder. I had been in my new country for about 2 months and already I was a dismal dating disaster. I had met only one guy so far and it had veered horribly off course (not that I could blame him though- he was and is very young and deeply complex- more on this surprising development later). I was a bit tentative when it came to this one… he was a weight-lifter who had competed in several professional competitions or some such (SERIOUSLY MY TRACK RECORD RUNS LIKE THE WHO’S WHO OF GYMBAG DOUCHERY!).
OK, so maybe I have a weak spot for a finely corrugated abdomen and biceps the size small bowling balls. Harry #1 was half American and half Arab, not so tall as he was wide, swarthy skin, thick wavy hair- the boy damn well cleaned up well, I say. There wasn’t a speck of hair on his body, too. I bet if he greased up you could slide right off him like an amusement park ride…
He checked off the boxes relatively quickly- good looking, engineer, educated, English proficient and he was in the market for a serious girlfriend. Yes, folks. Harry #1 looked good on paper.
He collected me from my apartment in his very posh and expensive car and whisked me off for dinner and drinks at a nice restaurant about 30 minutes off-island. Jesus, the man could eat. Without preamble, he ordered for himself the biggest cheeseburger on the menu, a starter portion of cheese fries and chicken wings followed by the chocolate brownie dessert and the plate sized double chocolate chip cookie smeared with cream and yet more ice cream. He consumed it all like a hoover.
He was sweet though albeit a bit goofy. I couldn’t quite get used to his sense of humor… it was almost under-developed. Quite childish. I felt like he was on the verge of telling me a knock-knock joke half of the time, and he would giggle (yes, giggle) at slapstick trip ups and farts.
However, it was a first date and so far it wasn’t all bad. He did not let me pay for anything and drove me back home. We proceeded to kiss in his car for a spell and I knew by the way that he moved his lips that he was experienced… the boy knew how to kiss. Warning maybe?
Anyway, I did not take Harry #1 upstairs (Hurrah! Gone was the sluttish, misbegotten ways of my youth! I could refrain for a whole first date without pouncing on him. Such willpower…) and I was mildly surprised when he called and asked to spend some time with me that weekend. At this point in my transition to a new country and a new apartment, I was still living in some unfurnished hovel. My recent pay cheque had a nice little back pay that I quickly spent on some IKEA furniture. Well, Harry #1 had his uses in the end….
[Quick IKEA side rant- What kind of fucking company lets people assembly their own fucking furniture? Jesus Christ. I am already giving you my money, just fucking deliver the shit fully assembled to my door, you twat monkeys! Is this a foreign concept to you, well-off European country?? I could totes understand the need to assemble one’s own furniture if I fucking collected the wood for my fucking bed from the fucking tree in the BARBARIC JUNGLE I was dwelling in!]
So Harry #1 helped me assemble my bookshelf and subsequently a friend’s bench. I learned a particular thing about him during this procedure- he had no idea what to do with a hammer. Or how to follow instructions. Or anything remotely to do with assembling something (engineer?). His fancy car, his high paying job, his lifestyle- these were all entitlements and he unknowing acted like they were too. It became abundantly obvious to me that this was a man who would not be able to cope should he have to one day fend for himself.
It was very off-putting.
So I fucked him.
What made the sex so good was that despite the fact that Harry #1 didn’t quite know how wield a hammer or tie his shoelaces without the assistance of a hefty entitlement or a servant, in the bedroom he was a beast. He took control. He lasted an acceptable amount of time. He balanced the right amount of sexy aggressiveness in his voice when he was aroused, a startling and welcoming contrast to the soft pansy-like quality otherwise. He finished (a bit too loudly).
And then he farted.
And then he giggled.
And I despaired.
Was I inhabiting some other worldly dimension where this was acceptable bedroom behaviour?
And it got weirder.
He gave me a live, naked demonstration of how his mother would whip his ass if he had done something she didn’t like.
Yeah… hashtag: GET THE FUCK OUT.
I blocked him soon after that, and then one night drunkenly unblocked him. He would message me occasionally and harp on about how broken he was over his ex-girlfriend or some such shit but this was one guy I was happy to not care about at all. So in conclusion, I don’t miss or yearn for Harry #1 in the slightest but his brief sojourn in the chasm of my life was weird and profoundly… well, weird.
I wish I could make this stuff up.