“Sticks & Stones May Break My Bones but Whips & Chains Excite Me..”

Ok so I had lunch with a terrorist today. I’m pretty sure that’s going to top the list
but of course I’ve said that before. He wasn’t a blow people up terrorist, he was on the wrong side of a political party in the wrong country terrorist, but still when you’re sitting across from someone and that comes out, it causes pause. Of course, that wasn’t the most shocking part of that date, because really….are you not keeping up with these blogs?

What was concerning was in an email just before meeting where he said, bring your whips
and chains you promised a fun date. I had promised a fun date, I’m pretty sure I hadn’t said anything about whips or chains. Now the reason this made my eyebrows go up and not the terrorist comment is while you never know when someone is kidding, you do have to run the odds. Email has a funny way of being wry and not wry and you have to use your powers of ESP and intuition and some other things the aliens who abducted you may have left behind to ascertain what’s what so it’s a fine line.

So the reason the whips comment made me pause is this: not the first time.

Someone had once sent me a profile she had seen for a guy who was into spanking but you had to bring your own brush. I found this curious. Not the spanking fetish, the equipment requirement. I mean, I’m a horse person, I have my own reins and saddle. I’m into golf, I have my own clubs. It seems if your fetish is spanking you would have your own plus a few to spare. Come on, $2.99 at Duane Reade! Is there some sanitary consideration I am missing? For instance, bring your own vibrator – that I understand. Does one need a special brush? I would guess using the same one on your hair as on your ….. well wherever, there might be an ick factor. But honestly I don’t know, it’s not my thing.

But I digress.

So I had once met a guy who was salt and pepper hair, a little extra weight, lived upstate in the country, was a crunchy granola type nice guy, mild mannered, belt a little too high on the pants. You get the idea. He was into S & M, kind of in a big time way. Parties with capes and masks and the obligatory whips and chains. You’d NEVER have guessed. At least I wouldn’t have (didn’t).

It reminded me of the first time I saw porn. Now I was no wilting wallflower, shocking I know, but I hadn’t see porn until I was about 25. I was living in Italy and the opportunity came up and I thought, sure, why not. Something new. The movie opened up with a long shot of a country scene, pastures, meadows, chirping birds and it narrows in towards a barn – you probably see where this is going but I had no idea – and then comes up on the barn, into the stables, onto a horse….let’s just say the horse wasn’t alone and he wasn’t with other horses and about 5 minutes later he was smoking a Gauloise….do you follow?

Well this guy was like this movie. A beautiful pastoral meadow and then bam….something more insidious in the barn. I don’t judge, if everyone’s consulting adults, that’s cool. Not my thiing but cool. He assured me he could do ‘vanilla sex’ also (so, let me see you’re calling the sex we haven’t even had yet, vanilla aka the most boring thing ever? How long is THAT
relationship going to last?)

So point being, the whips and chains comment, not taken from nowhere sets one a-
wondering. Turns out that part WAS a joke. The terrorist thing, not so much.

So back to lunch.

Then of course, there’s the who are you (I’m taking notes because google here I come as soon as I get home) and now that you’ve fessed up this thing to me are you going to see me again? Am I going to wake up with a Men In Black flashy thing in my face? (Oh….. wishful thinking that I only COULD erase half of what happens to me.) I mean he joked about the second date, on several occasions and even said, whether or not this works out I want to cook for you. (I mean if that’s not a basis for love I really don’t know what is.) But while I used to take men at their word that they had a good time and would call, I’ve learned that where this is concerned … Toto, we’re not in Kansas any more and this comes from experience, not self-doubt.

I once dated a guy, actually dated, (as in saw each other, called, texted, dinners) for a while, and we had plans to go to the US Open and the Monday before that have dinner, and a sexy night with candles and a bath, the whole shabbang. Sunday I emailed, so what
time tomorrow?

Nothing.

Monday, are we good for later?

Nothing.

I had a friend email his business requesting work (he had his own business).

Nothing.

So he became “my boyfriend who got hit by a bus.” Just vaporised. What else could possibly be the explanation?

From then on guys who I met, spoke to after, texted, emailed and then disappeared
became the B:HBAB Boyfriend: Hit by a bus. Pronouced: BeeHuhBob. It’s a new acronym. Feel free to use it.

So I liked this guy, Mr. Revolutionary. We even talked about people who said they
would call and didn’t. And we laughed about it. (Then I punched him in the mouth [go look up Woody Allen does the borscht belt] I didn’t really.) I emailed him, “that was fun, look
forward to seeing you again.”

Nothing. 

Sent him some business info we had discussed.

Nothing.

New acronym – B:TIP BeeTip. Boyfriend: Thrown in Prison. I hope he doesn’t make any whips and chains jokes in there.

[Teaser: I actually did have a boyfriend thrown in the clink, but he called. From prison. On Bubba’s phone … ah ..but that my friends..is another story for another day.]

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