The Guy Who Couldn’t Control His D*ck
By The Anonymous Nobody
Years ago I met this guy on Tinder, he was a handsome suit and I was in my phase of really being into ‘suits.’
We both lived in the Bayview area at the time, so of course it made sense to shit where we sleep, right?
We met at a swanky ass bar in the area, and me being my punctual self arrived five minutes early to grabbed two stools at the bar and get started on a drink.
This suit arrived ten minutes late, threw his briefcase on the bar, kissed me on my left cheek and then my neck, as if we were long lost lovers rekindling some sort of long lost love.
Let’s be clear, this was a first date.
It was blatantly obvious that this guy was forward, confident, forceful and five minutes later, I learned he could also add ‘cocky as fuck’ to his list of swooning traits.
I know I could have left right there and then, but douchebags intrigue me. I want to study their kind and find out what makes them act this way.
Without sitting down, he flagged the bartender over and said, “We’ll be at the corner table at the back of the bar, and I’ll have two ounces of Oban, neat!.” Now, he was just showing off. I was kind of into it — for research purposes of course.
Now normally on a first date a man and a woman sit across each other, so you can fully see someone without having to constantly turn your head.
This guy didn’t give me the option; he pulled my hand to sit next to him, in a booth seat clearly made for one. Oh, and then he swung both of my legs over his lap and began to rub them under the table.
I politely grab my own legs back from him and sat in the seat across him and said “how about we get to know each other for a second, Mr. Hyper Frisky.” Let’s call him that from now on, first name Hyper, last name Frisky.
Between doses of douchebagness, sat an intelligent man who was madly in love with his family, scotch and made it very clear that I was number three. I saw through all his bullshit, but made sure he didn’t know that I knew he was a dingleberry.
So we talked. He threw in some interesting stories of his grandparents meeting Indira Gandhi and their travels through South East Asia back in the 70's, which kept my attention. He barely asked me anything about myself, as I imagine the sounds of his own voice turned him on.
He would also without any smooth transition, throw in how attracted he was to me, and once I showed the slightest bit of flirtation back, he unsubtly eye-fucked me and said “you know I would love to have sexy pinup style photos of you plastered all over my private office bathroom, to jerk off too.” Yes readers, that happened.
More importantly, how big was this bathroom!?
I tried to divert the conversation into something nonsexual and he seemed normal again.
We both share a love for single malt scotch and he made the point to tell me he had a nice bottle of 18-year-old Macallan at home waiting to be cracked open. Since I have yet to try this silky, smooth mature number, I was down to drink his liquor, even though I knew it would come with a price.
Just to be clear, at no point was I scared for my safety. He didn’t give off a rapey vibe. Plus, I’m one of those ridiculously strong chicks as a result of my 18 years of playing hockey and not shying away from hockey fights.
He wasn’t joking, the second that we walked into his pompous condo he opened that sexy new bottle. I did a quick scan of the apartment the way any personal security guard would before a celebrity enters a room. I gravitated towards the black and white photos that Hyper Frisky had hanging on his wall. They were old photos of his family and well known humanitarians, including Indira Gandhi. I wanted to know the backstory on these photos as I enjoyed his scotch. All he wanted to do was get nasty, with no lead up.
He mauled me on the couch, trying to make out with my face, not just my mouth and undo my pants at the same time, not forgetting to grab a proper handful of titty. Nothing was working. Nothing was graceful.
Dude even smelled his fingers in front of me, several times when he barely touched the goods.
I told him to ease up and he reacted as if I was speaking Tagalog.
I poured myself one last quick shot before putting on my shoes to leave. I told Mr. Hyper Frisky that he needs to control himself and his dick.
On the way home, he called me to say the following sweet words, “Listen! I want you to come back, you have a tight little body and I want to fuck it!” As I was about to hang up, he threw in, “I’m so hard, I can’t sleep, I need to fuck you now.”
I hung up, and in my head I replayed the fact that he actually said the things he said, as a desperate demand.
He called again at 2am, while I was sleeping. I blocked his number.
Moral of the story; he’s the guy that couldn’t control his dick and it was gross.