It's a common misconception that if you're young, single and in London, endless guiltless hot sex is yours for the taking. Rentist has documentary evidence that this is not the case, as you will see in our series 'London Sex Disasters'. For volume 1, we spoke to 'Paul'...
Rentist: So, start at the beginning. How did this meeting come about?
Paul: I have a thing for height. People taller than me get my interest. Where some people go for enormous appendages I scan carefully for people of a stature no less than 6 foot. I also have a thing for blondes. So when someone who is taller than me and blonde takes an interest in me I can be somewhat easy to persuade. Anyway, there was a fine fellow who fit that narrow category of being both of those things and attracted to me to boot. He messaged me on Manhunt and we chatted on and off meaningless couplets for about a week before agreeing to meet on a sunny weekend.
Rentist: Where did you plan to meet? Was this a seedy sex date, or a sophisticated flat white?
Paul: It was a date. Relative to the majority of other profiles found on Manhunt we both had written something a little more sophisticated than “if “online: meet now”
Rentist: Where did you meet?
Paul: We were going to do the getting-to-know-you walk whilst milling around Notting Hill markets with the wonderful punctuation mark of a sophisticated cupcake and coffee meeting us halfway. A perfect date if ever there was one.
Rentist: Sounds cute. How could this go wrong?
Paul: Well I got to Notting Hill around 11am and after waiting for about 15 minutes for a tall rugged Scandinavian looking gent I texted the date for an update on where he was. He replied that he was really sorry but a work thing had come up and he was going to be about an hour late.
Rentist: An hour? That’s grounds for walking away…
Paul: He had mentioned in our prior exchange that he ran a growing tech company and was suitably apologetic enough for me to let this slide, so I coffee, cupcaked and marketed sans man.
Rentist: And when did he finally arrive?
Paul: Certainly not then. I prompted him after an hour and a quarter with an increasingly agitated tone, to which I received a text that he was trying to pull himself away from a meeting and that he expected to be up to an hour longer. I did not take this well, and said I was going home.
Rentist: Doing the maths, he’s going to be 2-and-a-half hours late. Unforgivable.
Paul: It must have been the caffeine and sugar rush because somehow the text I received after that made me change my mind. It was also the fact that it was sunday and I was in west London that I thought fuck it. He was immensely apologetic and said that I should meet him in Kensington, near the Whole Foods, and he would explain everything. He was adamant he wanted to meet me.
Rentist: Be honest. Was it the Whole Foods bait that swung it?
Paul: I kind of wanted to berate him to his face. I felt that I should actively give him clear examples about how to conduct a date.
Rentist: That’s very selfless. Was he finally prompt?
Paul: Well I made my way to South Kensington. No sign at the station or outside Whole Foods. After 15 minutes a text arrived with instructions on where his house was. I wanted to punch him in the mouth.
Rentist: House? This wasn’t the plan…
Paul: It wasn’t mine either. This guy was a jerk and I was going to tell him so. But his house! His house was hot.
Rentist: Sexy hot or sweaty hot? And where. Give us a neighbourhood, so we can judge him.
Paul: It was a rah house in Mayfair. A London townhouse. Anyway he buzzes me in. I walk upstairs and there he is IN A TOWEL. Sorry, he says, I just had a shower after the business lunch. I said I wasn’t going to stay, and in a cool deflecting tone described how he was demonstrably a cunt. Cue puppy dog eyes…and a growing realisation on my part that this guy was really, really fit.
Rentist: Oh now this is a tough choice
Paul: He took the verbal takedown and said he wanted to make it up to me.
Rentist: I think i’ve heard that line in a Eurocreme. Smooth.
Paul: There was a growing acknowledgment that I was “definitely the dating type” and after a drink of water he was talking about me in glowing terms. He had put on a shirt at some point during what would have been a 20 minute conversation. But it was now clear he wanted to take it off again. And mine
Rentist: At this point, the ‘date’ seems no disaster. Not entirely as planned, but with a potentially happy ending. How could this go wrong?
Paul: Yes, it was a somewhat lively coup to what had been a shitty first non-date. We made out on the couch till we weren’t wearing any clothes, before I asked what the rest of the house looked like. He obliged and showed me through what was a pretty fuck-off-awesome pad. The final room we reached, expectedly, was his. He sort of pushed me through the door so that I landed onto the bed in a swift single motion. The bed was not empty
Rentist: Oh my.
Paul: It contained a small, fully erect Brazilian with a comely expression plastered over his face. My head was basically in his lap, and so he motioned to put my head where he thought it ought best go
Rentist: What was the Swede doing at this time? As shocked as you to find a hard Brazilian in his bed?
Paul: Somewhat shocked at all this and not fully comprehending the situation, I did felate the Brazilian whilst my date-loving Swede talked up how taut and tanned his very real teddy bear was.
Rentist: You sucked him out of shock? Like a pacifier?
Paul: It was a reflex! I remember him mentioning something about how he loved to do this every weekend and how great it was that I was here to enjoy it too. Then he started to try and fuck me without a condom. My ass was there - he just thought he’d try and pop it in
Rentist: Shit.
Paul: It was at this point I came to my senses! I don’t even fancy Brazilian guys!
Rentist: So what did you do? Another quick suck to calm down?
Paul: Ha. I pushed him off and got off the bed and said I’m leaving; this is not my thing. I walked out of the room and into the corridor with out turning my back to see if he followed – which he didn’t - and made my way to the sofa where I’d left my clothes. To my surprise, I found they were being closely monitored by another naked man stroking his cock.
Rentist: Fucking hell. Another secret naked man? Fuck.
Paul: Where the hell this guy came from was an unknown. Had he been in a cupboard?
Rentist: You had a full tour of the house right? And he wasn’t there?
Paul: This house was definitely not a sauna on initial inspection.
Rentist: So this sounds both awful/intrusive/scary and a tiny bit hot. How were you feeling at this point?
Paul: Sadly I had had my fill of surprise sex for the day and submerged my reflex to felate. Instead as soon as I saw him I shouted “oh for fuck sake”, dressed and left
LGS : Was he surprised that you weren’t delighted?
Paul: He was! And for the next three days I fielded countless text and internet messages asking if we could - and i’m not making this up - go on a proper date, like the movies.
Rentist: Amazing. Did you ever get back to him?
Paul: I cut him off. Bareback surprise sex with an extra two unwanted Brazilians plus a 3 hour delay on the first date = no thanks. But at least I had a cupcake.
Rentist: What a wonderful story. Thank’s for sharing. Final question: What did you learn? What’s the moral?
Paul: I often think i’m a fairly unprincipled person, but I guess I learnt you can never underestimate the ability of others to out-unprinciple yourself.
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