I cannot believe that I started a column about being single and immediately found somebody who offered me papaya salad (for added context, read my previous melancholic lament about the struggles and tribulations of riding solo in the kinky community). Well, shit. Now what? I mean we still have not had that conversation with this guy, whom we’ll call Mr. Pig (I’m still the Carrie Bradshaw of this magazine after all), but I’m kinda hopeful that after about a couple of months of seeing my eye bags in the morning, this is now on the verge of the r-word.
Relationship. There. I said it. The demise of all sex drive, the heavy tombstone on the vigour of youth, or simply what straight people call it, happiness. We met on Grindr, obviously, let’s not even pretend that gay people meet each other any other way. I have yet to this day to make a decent human connection face-to-face in a gay bar or club. The only connections I make in gay bars are strictly oral. If I’m feeling frisky and douched, I might even look for something to sit on, but that’s rare, and most of the time, will end up slipping and sliding on some lube in the dark of a basement anyway.
The only time that I felt sexy and flirtatious in a bar I was in the Duke of Wellington in Soho, London, and I approached this guy at the counter with a killer line: “Hi, are you by yourself?”. Yeah, I know, how creative. But you have to remember, I was 23 and still under the impression that I had some twink powers in me. For the record, twink powers are what adults call delusions, when you basically think your naïveté and hairless slender body will get you to where you want in life, or at least fucked…I’m sure all of us have at least one friend who still thinks they have said powers and have to constantly remind them that “no, Bertrand, that crop top will not hide your 45-year-old brick face”. But regardless, I was bored and on my phone, so I did it. We proceeded to have a lovely conversation and this guy even told me that he was learning Italian, to which I said, “Well I am Italian”. How fortuitous. Then my world came crashing down when after giving me his phone number, he said “Hey I’m meeting a friend and they’re outside, so maybe text me later and we can meet if you’re still around”. Needless to say, he had given me a fake number and had no friend waiting for him outside. My self-esteem was crushed and I spent all night thinking about all the things I could have said to get stood up so badly. But anyway, enough of that Christmas weekend.
As you probably guessed from my last column, I’m not very lucky with guys, so imagine my surprise when Mr. Pig, who I absolutely thought was a catfish because he had few pics and not a lot of info on his Grindr, actually shows up and seems, upon initial assessment, to be an actual real person. And not only that, he turns out to be very funny. Which is essential if you want to hang out with me. What was even more surprising was the fact that during our initial conversation, he let it slip that he was also very kinky, to which I thought “corporate kinky or actually kinky?”.
When I worked in a sex shop in London we had a lot of finance bros come in with their girlfriends and mouth-water at the sight of the bondage wall, only to go home with another clitoris vibrator… “but honey this one has an anal suction option AND comes with a sachet of seaweed and seasoning!” So I am very familiar with the frustrated kinky type that will use a pair of flimsy handcuffs when they actually want to try breath control and vacuum beds.
Turns out this guy is my kind of kinky: wild, but with an eye to the fact that tomorrow’s Monday and we both have to work; crazy in bed but also “did you bring your toothbrush?”; unhinged and borderline scary but also “do you want to use my keratine conditioner?”. So I feel like I hit the jackpot right? My very own Mr. Pig. He’s so kinky that if we left anything out after playing, his cleaning guy would be traumatised for life. But then again he likes to talk about philosophy, so maybe he’s the one.
