This story is not for anyone under the age of 16 or who has strong feelings about pre-marital sex. This story will also get a little bit graphic and for that I am sorry – this is just a cautionary tale to men and women alike.
This one starts off like many of these stories – a pretty boy, some good conversation and a plan to hang out. The bottle of red was bought, the time was set, and the outfit was cute. The plans were made hastily and seemed to be pretty standard, and something I enjoy doing from time to time on a date – hang out, drink wine and talk, see where it takes us. Ready for a night of good conversation and good wine, I showered and made myself look and smell like a functional human being (when at the time I had a nasty sinus infection and felt less than functional.) And even went so far as to change my sheets to ensure everything was as appealing as possible. But more on that later.
Simon showed up in a suit, apparently having been to an event beforehand, which wasn’t what threw me most about him. What threw me most was actually his height. I don’t claim to be anything except petite – I am an incredibly small person, standing at only 5’1. But Simon was not much taller than me, and while he had listed his height at 5’10, he was barely taller than me, coming in closer to 5’6 than anything. I know it’s shallow to be thrown by this, but having expected him to be significantly taller, this was a bit of a surprise to see he had lied on his profile. I moved past this fact, not wanting to appear too shallow, but was then thrown by his voice. His voice came out sounding a little bit like that of a pre-pubescent boy rather than a 26 year old man. Hmmmm.
Again, for the sake of the evening I moved past it and tried to enjoy the conversation… Until he told me he had accidentally put his age in wrong on the app. Oh no. At this point, I knew he lived at home and was still at uni studying (a Bachelor’s degree, so I had thought it was weird at 26 but not completely unheard of.) Combining this with the fact he was still rather short, had shown up in an uber (and not driven himself) and sounded like a younger boy, I started panicking a la Monica Gellar when she discovers her boyfriend is actually a senior in high school, not college. According to Simon, he was only 24 – so not too far off and definitely not as bad as I had thought, but still quite a shock when all of these facts came to light. So, I continued on with the date, enjoying his company more and more as we got to know each other.
Then things started heating up, and this is where events really take a turn. Disclaimer – this is your last warning, things aren’t pretty after this and I do reference sex and a sex accident. Click away now if that’s not what you came here for! Go read about poems and milkshakes and live in blissful ignorance as I wish I could when it comes to this story, leave thinking that the worst part was the amount of weird inconsistencies in his profile and information.
When we started kissing, Simon immediately shoved his tongue in my mouth and held it in there stiff like a dead fish. Not fun, but not awful, and I tried to keep the kissing as closed mouthed as possible. But then he wanted to take things further, and put his hand down my pants – fine, this is how these things start, I guess we’re not going to waste any time in getting there! I felt a little sting and just assumed it was a nerve or something, not given much time to think about it before he started rubbing his flat hand up and down, side to side down there. Yikes. The weird rubbing became more vigorous until he pulled his hand out and used it to push my head down. Again, fine, I guess this is where things were going anyway, I was just a little disappointed that he had used that hand to push my head down, as I had freshly washed my hair and was not happy that he had done that. After the shortest 2 minutes of my life, he used that same hand to pull my head back up to keep kissing. When we then got to the not pants part, the no-pants-dance if you will; it was as quick and disappointing as I can possibly describe – to the point where we weren’t actually doing anything, he was just rubbing himself against my stomach and panting. Images of Will and Charlotte in The Inbetweeners flashed through my brain, as I lay there wondering why I had done my hair and put makeup on if this is how disappointing it was. After a moment, he seemed to be done and rolled off me, happy with his effort. It was then that I noticed that I had a bit of blood on my leg.
I caught sight of the blood and subtly checked my half of the bed, holding a tissue to it to stop it from dripping on my brand new, beloved quilt cover. I went to the bathroom and discovered his finger nail had sliced my inner thigh – as close to my noonie as possible, but not in or on it. What the actual fuck. I wiped it clean with some water, and wiped the blood off my leg and shoulder (obviously from where he had touched me in the process.) I asked him to leave, claiming I had an early start the next morning, and went to bed. I woke with the alarm I had set to make sure I was up and ready to go on time – as I had another date with someone else; when I noticed it. On my brand new quilt cover. My clean, white, patterned quilt cover that I had saved up for and splurged on when it went on sale – a blood stain in the shape of a finger. This little fuck-knuckle had realized I was bleeding, and rather than ask me if I was ok or check to see where the blood was coming from, he had wiped his fingers on my brand new quilt cover. And how do I know it was his and not mine? Because he was the one laying on the other side of the bed that I don’t sleep on or use – right next to the full, open box of tissues.