August 27, 2010

A Guest Post by LEESA

My Most Memorable Good Date.

I’m not normal. My dating history isn’t normal either. In fact, I can safely say that since 1986 I have had only a handful of ‘normal’ dates (dinner & movie – that sort of thing).  None of these dates are worth remembering, so you won’t be hearing about any of that nonsense.

Over the years, and over countless boxes of wine with female friends I have come to understand that I have been the fortunate one (in my estimation) to have encountered a plethora of strange and delicious ‘dates’ that are worth remembering and sharing.

In the mid-to-late 80s ‘chat lines’ were all the rage. I was there. It was hot. Or hilarious. Depends. My friend, Jenn, was a regular on the ‘chat line’ circuit. She had a harem of guys who she spoke with regularly. She left me a lengthy message one afternoon…it filled up the all the tape of the mini-cassette in my answering machine. Thankfully, that’s a problem I no longer have for several reasons.

Anywhore…

Due to Jenn having a chronically full ‘dance card’ she usually had some leftover men, and she offered one such man to me.

‘He’s a bit weird,’ she said, ‘He’d be perfect for you.’

Ian called me that night. I was nineteen and I had my own bedroom phone line. It was a high-end heart-shaped phone with a picture of me in a bikini under the plastic cover where my Top Ten numbers were supposed to be.

Ian lived at home. He was 23. He described himself as the spitting image of Robin Zander, the front man for Cheap Trick.  Okay, so I wasn’t into blondes with pale skin, but he liked beer and darts and he was awkwardly confident.  The beer and darts thing really intrigued me. So, did the awkward confidence.

We talked on the phone every night for a few weeks. He wasn’t particularly ‘weird’ at all, but there was something about him. Maybe it was his deep voice and the way he carefully selected his words. Even though I knew he had blonde hair, his voice was definitely brunette.

I’d promised to meet him in person if he could come up with an interesting plan for our date. He called me back 15 minutes later. His plan? A Midnight Picnic. He’d bring a magnum of champagne and we’d pop the cork at the stroke of midnight in a nearby park.   A) I wouldn’t have to travel; B) He was bringing champagne. Not the usual drink for our demographic;  and C) A midnight picnic with a virtual stranger was incredibly risky. I was sold.  There were thrills AND savings. Score.

11:45 pm. Ian was on time. He was cute. He had a perfect swimmers body. Okay, I could overlook the blonde locks, just this one time. Sure, we were both a little nervous and awkward around each other initially, but it wasn’t anything a magnum of champagne couldn’t fix. Ian laid out the blanket by the mouth of the bike trail and like clockwork it was midnight! We popped the cork and drank furiously. The buzz came fast and dirty.

About 20 minutes into our date Ian said he had a surprise for me. He asked me to close my eyes and put out both of my hands, palms up.  I remember thinking, ‘Nice try serial killer. As if!’, but because I love a good thrill I closed my eyes and put my hands out anyway.

I soon felt something being placed into the palm of my hand, and then something of similar shape and size in the other hand. I could tell it wasn’t a body part or handcuffs. Phew, I was safe. He told me just another minute or so and he’d be ready for the big reveal. The anticipation was somewhere between Christmas morning and a full on throbbing clitoris.

“You can open your eyes now!” Ian finally said, his voice sounding distant. Muffled.

I opened my eyes and Ian was on all fours, bare ass in my absolute direction, face buried in the blanket. I had a ping-pong paddle in each hand.

He’s not friggin’ serious, is he?

He waggled his butt at me and whispered ‘Spank me!’

Oh God, he’s totally 100% spanky seriousness. Who was I to crush his dreams? I obliged.  It was a first for me and I didn’t know if I was doing it right. He wasn’t a very good coach so I just did what came ‘naturally’. He moaned and waggled, waggled and moaned and I paddled. He stroked his cock while I paddled.     

My paddling him while he was on all fours created a sort of rocking motion and with the champagne sloshing around in his gut, Ian promptly puked all over the picnic blanket.  Our date had come to a natural end.  We cleaned up, packed up and went our separate ways.

Ian tried unsuccessfully to date me after that. I stopped returning his calls.

Dinner and movie?  Forgetaboutit.

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