A catalogue of dating misadventures... as well as of those things we've all said and done to get out of the next date.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Unsavory tale

I met this man, whom I shall call Mr. Mushroom Head (for reasons I have no intention of divulging), at a dinner party. He wasn't particularly attractive, in fact he was a bit too rotund for my liking, and he was not at all tall; but he made up for his (literal) short-comings by being witty, slightly sarcastic and very at ease with himself. I had so much fun that evening, laughing until I was doubled over in pain, talking about anything and everything. There was something wonderfully different about him, and come to think of it he was actually quite sexy… So when he asked for my number at the end of the night, I gave it to him.

He called a few days later and we went out for dinner, and again I felt totally relaxed with him. He was slightly more suggestive, we flirted and it felt good. And there was definitely something very sexy about this short, slightly podgy man. He didn't try to be cool, but nor did he seem to feel at all insecure. It was rather attractive combination. Now, I'm normally not particularly moralistic about the "doing it" bit, I didn't grow up in a country where one has to abide by the strict rules and regulations on what is supposed to happen and not happen at various stages in the dating process. If you get on, if you fancy each other, then why not?

But for some reason Mr. Mushroom Head and I went out several times and merely kissed, and although the kissing did get quite hot at times (it is very sexy kissing a man who is slightly shorter than you), it simply didn't go any further.

Until that fateful night when he invited me to his house for dinner. I knew he loved food (and not just from his generously sized self), so I was really looking forward to the evening. And yes, I admit it wasn't just the food I was anticipating…

The food was delicious, the wine was vintage, his house was beautiful, I was beautiful. It was all going perfectly, and whilst he disappeared to use the bathroom I shamelessly entertained thoughts of living here in this house overlooking the sea, and…

My daydreaming was interrupted by his voice calling me from, well it sounded like the bathroom. He wanted to show me something. I got up and went into the hallway. The lights were turned down and I could see the shadows of flickering candles on the walls. I was surprised. Had he drawn a bath for me? But we had just eaten. I entered the bathroom (which was gorgeous by the way) and there he was, lying stark naked in an empty bathtub, and while doing things better left unmentioned in this respectable publication, he looked up at me and said in a dreadful little boy's voice: "Pee on me, please pee on me, I have been a very naughty boy".

By Waspgoddess

2 comments:

La Cubana Gringa said...

Uhhh...how much therapy did you have to undergo to be able to pee again after that?

YIKES.

Waspgoddess said...

Well if I wasn't such an open-minded person I would probably still be in therapy...

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending how you look at it) I have several other unsavoury tales I can share. I think it's all down to living in England, they are all perverts in one way or another, especially the public (meaning private) school boys.

Great idea for a blog btw.