The day after our date, I didn’t hear from #125. I also didn’t hear from Zoe, who’d disappeared into the nether regions of New Jersey in pursuit of a shag.
Zoe resurfaced first via text: "Hi darling I have just seen my phone am ok be back tom am getting sex major x did u do the swinger?”
No, I hadn’t done the swinger And then two more days passed and I began to wish I had because it was looking like I’d missed my chance.
Finally, I broke down and texted him: "Hi [#125] I’d love to get together again soon. You?"
Nothing. The next day, a friend of Zoe’s had a party at his store on Orchard Street. Evan met up with us and I told him about #125 and his leisure pursuits.
“They’re just geeks and nerds,” he said matter-of-factly, giving the entire subject a disinterested sneer. He’d done a magazine story on the fetish thing a few years back. “It’s people who can’t be intimate so they come up with this way of looking like they’re capable of it, but we all know sex does not equal intimacy. They feel like social outcasts, so they just want to feel like they’re part of something. All they talk about are their outfits. It’s like anything else, people who are really into something and get together and spend hours talking about it.”
“Like Dungeons & Dragons nuts or video-gamers…or like us, when we all get together,” I said.
He looked at me and said, “Yeah.”
I thought back to the black vinyl pants that #125 had seemed so eager to tell me he'd bought. He'd had someone put zippers up the sides and replace the crotch zipper with laces. It made sense. My first impression of him had, after all, been awkward computer guy. This was how he’d found a way to fit in. But instead of turning to video games, he’d turned to kinky sex.
I was disappointed and relieved at the same time. My unfettered—and fettered—futures were drained of not all, but most, of their intrigue. Now, swingers and fetish parties seemed a lot less glamorous, a lot less taboo and a little bit sad.
Three more days went by. Even though my excitement had waned, I hated feeling rejected. Zoe and I were having brunch at our favorite brunch spot that’s not really all that good, but we like to think it is, when she gave me Suggestion A, “Why don’t you text him again? He’s a swinger. Ask him if he fancies a blow job and a cup of tea.”
It seemed overwrought, so I went with Suggestion B, “Does your silence mean you don’t want to play? Just let me know :) “
He wrote back almost immediately: “Hi. No. Bad week ++.”
Zoe egged me. “He’s a busy man. He needs to know who wants it and who doesn’t.” Trusting that Zoe was probably more familiar with this territory than I, I took her advice on what to text next, although it was not something I would ever say and sounded like it was not something I would ever say.
“Hey Swinger, want to get my knickers off?...how big’s your willy? Hee hee hee :)”
Four hours went by. Zoe was baffled. “I thought you’d be over his place and back by now. Maybe he’s got someone there.”
Finally, an hour later:
#125: Very cute. Swinger?...How did you know
Me: A little bird told me…these things have a way of getting around you know.
An hour and a half later:
#125: :) Funny how things go. I wanted to tell you on our date but I figured you were not so interested. So nice research ;)
Me: I’m an excellent researcher. And quite interested.
An hour and a half later:
#125: Perfect
Me: Where shall we go this week? Another secret bar?
And then nothing. At this point, I began to ease out of feeling rejected and ease into viewing the relationship as a game and #125 as something to be played. We already knew he was a bit ADD about his sexual partners, but why not jump on an opportunity? Something was up.
The answer came one day later:
#125: ;). Perhaps dinner for three?
Ah, there it was. Now in full game mode, I wrote back:
Me: I’d like to get to know you a bit better first. Just out of curiosity, are we talking 1 of me and 2 of you?
25 Hours Later:
#125: ;). Yes. I wish I were able to share in person. But yes, Sarita and I are engaged and would love to engage you in some friendly fun. :)
He’d not once mentioned anyone named Sarita—and certainly not any kind of engagement. I went back onto Facebook to look at his photos and he must have given me greater access because all in almost all of the photos was this Sarita person. She was cute, sure, but this was not how I’d envisioned things going. There went my chance to be a voyeur in the world of swingers and fetishists. But, like I said, this had become a game, so I was not above a little lie or two.
I wrote back: Damn…I don’t do boy/girl couples…just one boy at a time…although sometimes two. Ah well, if you ever change your mind and it’s just me/you, you’ve got my number. :)
For the next week, I had great fun telling the whole story. Everyone was pretty much baffled that he would go trawling around on his own, pretending to be on a date but really looking for a woman to bring home to his fiancee.
Out to dinner with the 50/50 Club one night (except me, all men; half gay, half straight), I pulled Facebook up on my iPhone and got some professional opinions about #125 and his manty-clad package.
“It looks like he folds it up to make it look bigger. It could be long, but that’s it. It looks like he’s got everything squeezed up—and he’s even got it held up with laces. Yeah, it’s probably not that big.”
I showed more photos. One looked like it was taken at a family reunion, another looked like it was taken at a picnic. Everyone was dressed appropriately in shorts and T-shirts—except #125. There he was in his custom-made manties—one pair even resembled a Nerf Football, which I suppose makes it somewhat appropriate for a picnic. It was bright blue with red piping and white laces criss-crossed over what I don’t think anyone would argue was his best friend.
A selection of reactions:
“Oh my god, there are children around.”
“Wow, what a narcissist.”
“Maybe he really just stuffs the whole thing.”
But the general consensus—from many non-judgmental people—was that he was just a freak.
Signs of Hope: When he responded to my text.
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