Mr OMG called when I was at work in the temp gig office. In a shining example of disciplined behaviour, I grabbed my phone and bolted towards the exit to take the call. However, the phone was connected to the computer while the battery was charging. The USB cable ended up coming with me and it was only pure good luck that I didn’t haul the computer off the desk as well.
We had an easy and relaxed chat about Christmas and our previous conversation about mental health and the hardening state of his cock (I didn’t intend for us to talk about that). I rode along with his positive mood and we ended up agreeing to meet the following night. Later in the afternoon we exchanged about 20 text messages and he sent two nude photos.
Of course, what goes up must come down. At lunchtime on the day I confirmed the time and venue; an hour later the little voice in my head that knows he checks his phone at lunchtime said that he’s going to cancel. I finally received a message saying he had a family thing that he’d forgotten about and if we could pencil in the following night.
I took a few deep breaths and asked him to conjure a more convincing story, and to not bother about the next night. It’ll be a while before we talk again.
I received a series of calls one night from M1 (potted history: first man I met as part of this journey, haven’t seen him for more than two years, dominant, pissed me off by not being appreciative one night when I cooked a meal with my hands bound to my neck). I ignored the calls as he’d been sniffing around before Christmas and intimating that we should re-visit the past. However, his messages were so carefully worded that he could have feigned innocence if I told him I wasn’t interested in sexual contact, so we were in a stalemate of me waiting for him to overstep the current boundary.
The next morning I sent a note saying I couldn’t talk. A long reply followed saying the phone had been found, I was in the contacts list and could I contact the owner to collect it from the police station? Sure, it’ll give me practice at not being such a tetchy ex. I tidied things up via e-mail and he got his phone back thanks to the kind and persistent stranger. Then the real M1 called to ask me to lunch to say thank you.
I said yes and then began to regret leaving the door open to more contact. But we met and had a reasonably relaxed conversation until he said he had a DVD of mine and he’d bring it next time.
I don’t think I’ve heard that tactic to ensure a second date in advice columns since I was about 17 years old. I stared at his smiling look how clever I am face and didn’t know whether to slap him for being so cheeky or shake his hand for having the gumption to try. I said it wasn’t my DVD and he replied that it must be because he’d written it in his loan book. The whole hour had turned surreal after hearing that, together with his sidestepping mention of buying new bondage toys I might like to see one day but not inviting me expressly to test them, so I wandered off and wondered what it all meant.