JAMIE. Cor, that name takes me back. I can’t quite remember when he was in my life. Let me just ponder for a moment. I’ve got a feeling it was back in 2015.
That was back in a time when I had quite an addiction to Grindr. At one point, I thought I was going to need therapy to wean myself off the app. I’ve since deleted it as Grindr gets right on my tommys these days.
But one night, I think it was a cold winter’s night in February 2015, I was just finishing work and I fancied a bit of jiggy jiggy and a glass of wine. So, I turned on Grindr and waited for a ping.
When I was an avid Grindr user, I would never initiate a conversation. Call it fear of rejection or whatever you like. But just as I was taking a sip of Savvy B, a message pinged up.
It was a very handsome man, in his late 30s and he lived in Weybridge. My antennae started whizzing around. Oooh, I thought. An older man is just what I need. He’ll be mature and experienced, I thought. And he lived in Weybridge. So I assumed he would be rich, even more appealing.
Before you could say blow job, Jamie had invited me over to his gaff for a glass of Savvy B. Which we all know is secret code for sex. Well, maybe not so secret.
Pardon the pun, but when I walked in, he really blew my mind. Along with something else.
It felt different with Jamie. For anyone not in the know about Grindr, you normally walk straight through the front door and then, more often than not, you head straight to the bedroom.
But not with Jamie. He already had a glass of plonk waiting for me and told me to take a seat on the sofa. We actually got on really well and I could feel my heart skip a beat as he looked at me as we laughed.
After two glasses of Savvy B, he came in for the kiss. Obviously, it would have been rude of me not to reciprocate. There was a real passion in the way he kissed me and before you could say anal, he had dragged me into the bedroom. Not that I needed much dragging.
I pulled down his trousers and I nearly fainted. He almost had my eye out. His penis was already fully erect so as it escaped from his flies, it came at my face like a coiled spring. I had to dodge it otherwise I fear I may have been blinded in my right eye.
And I hate to be crude, but my word, it was rather large. I do believe I could have used it as a canoe.
As I stripped off my clothes, I saw him lean over and open his bedside drawer. When I saw him pull out a pair of handcuffs, I think I turned white.
Everyone who knows me well, knows my complete obsession and love of the well-known TV show The Bill. But I didn’t know how I felt about being handcuffed to a bed.
Before you could shout, “Arrest that man!”, he had handcuffed me to the bed and I actually found it quite exhilarating.
After an hour of passionate lovemaking. I call it lovemaking as, contrary to popular belief, I am really a hopeless romantic. After the deed was done, he released me from the cuffs and I kissed him goodnight. As I drove away, I hoped he would ask to see me again.
A few weeks went by and we had started to see each other on a regular basis. Although it was only for sex. I become quite accustomed to being handcuffed. I used to scream, Next Time on The Bill!
We never left the house together or went to a restaurant or anywhere in public actually. It was just sex. But I had started to fall in love with my fuck buddy. Oh shit. What a big faux pas.
On numerous occasions, I begged him to take things to the next level.
“Why don’t you take me out for dinner?” He would always fob me off when I asked that question.
“I’m tired.” Not too tired for sex, I used to think. Not that I was complaining, it was very passionate and I enjoyed it.
One day, after quite a few months of handcuffed lovemaking, I insisted that I would be round on Monday when he finished work, to cook him a lovely home cooked meal. If he couldn’t take me out for dinner because he was too tired, I would bring the dinner to him!
I gauged his reaction and considering he’d never tasted my cooking, I could tell he wasn’t keen on the idea. And then he came out with it.
“I think you want more from me than I want to give you.”
OH. My face dropped. Obviously not literally. I’ve had far too much botox for that to happen. But you get the picture.
“But you keep asking me back”, I was ashamed at how needy I sounded.
“Yes, but I just want sex.”
Heartbroken. I walked out of his flat, taking my half drunken bottle of Sauvignon Blanc with me. I felt no desire to share my expensive New Zealand wine with that bastard.
A year had passed me by and Jamie hadn’t entered my thoughts in a while. Until one day, when a message popped up in my inbox.
“Do you still do beauty treatments? I need my eyebrows waxed please.”
My first thought. You cheeky bitch. But then, I thought of the money. What did I have to lose?
I turned up at his flat, armed with my wax strips. I lay him on my beauty couch and got to work on his bushes that housed his eyes.
Strip after strip, he yelped out in pain. I decided he wasn’t worthy of my usual gentle touch I normally use on my clients. I was quite enjoying inflicting some pain on him.
“WHOOPS!” I suddenly screamed out. He shot up from the couch and looked straight in the mirror. He looked horrified as the realisation dawned on him that he had a rather large chunk missing from right in the middle of his brow.
Feigning complete innocence, I pulled my best sorry face that my botox would allow.
“I’m so sorry. It was a complete accident.”
Needless to say, he never made another appointment.
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