The other day, when I was chained in full rubber and hooked to a fuck machine, I got to thinking, why can’t I seem to get a serious date in the fetish community? As a 28-year-old, attractive, smart, talented, fabulous and very humble young man living in Amsterdam, it feels like I’m bouncing from dungeon to dungeon when I am actually looking for a more permanent solution to my solitude. Maybe a chastity cage? Who knows.
Lately, I’ve been finding myself stuck in very extreme and kinky situations, but at the same time wanting to go get a cup of coffee and have a little innocent make-out session afterwards. But it’s a bit difficult to take off that no-eyes rubber hood, after drinking a gallon of piss and sniffing so much poppers that it melts off the glue of that same hood and go, “Hey, there’s a great Thai place down the road, wanna grab some papaya salad?”.
As much as I’d like to remove my gear only to reveal a beautiful, lush, blonde ponytail when I de-drag, I actually look like Neo from The Matrix in that gross scene after taking that red pill. And who wants to go on a post-bdsm date with someone who looks like they’ve just been birthed? I’d like to think that I leave these sessions looking like Carrie Bradshaw, but I always look more like the guy that reeks of piss on the train that makes you change your seat.
My only weapon here is my sense of humour, though I feel like sometimes that actually makes things so much more embarrassing. I remember one time I was at a very intense and hot private party in Berlin. I built up all the courage I had and went up to someone dressed like the hottest cop you’ve ever seen and told him, “Hey, you can check my driver’s license and registration anytime”, only for him to laugh nervously and get back to his conversation. I thought that was a killer line… Even if the jokes land, however, it’s a bit difficult to have a heavy session with someone after you made them laugh their face off.
Most of the time I’m stuck in this limbo where guys wanna either gag me, so I stop talking, or they just wanna gag me to stop me from making jokes. In both cases, the point is I shouldn’t talk and that’s not a great start to a first date. Sometimes it seems like in this community we all take things too seriously. The last time I was in Berlin somebody asked me on Recon to explain to him how submissive I was, to which I replied by just sending him some examples of what I had done in the past. He then proceeded to say that he basically wanted a more general and philosophical answer.
I have a master’s degree in philosophy and even I found that a little pretentious. I’m not gonna write you a ten-thousand-word essay, someone I’ve never even met in person, arguing why you should want to tie me up on a Thursday afternoon for an hour and a half, ‘cause then we both have to go back to PK to see our friends and listen to Cher’s If I Could Turn Back Time. That makes no sense. And then most of the time, even after I comply with whatever demands these doms have, we end up having a terrible session.
More often than not I find myself quite literally stuck in weird bondage predicaments only because I’m too polite to leave after the dom says, “Oh yeah, if you smell something, it’s my three cats.” One time, I was staying with a friend in London when I started talking to this guy on Recon in Manchester. After about ten minutes of conversation, I decided to go meet up with him, because why not, it’s only two hours by train. I had my fag bag ready with my rubber and douche and was feeling impossibly horny. Not desperate at all. After a long train ride, a trip to a sex shop downtown, a long tram ride and a ten-minute walk, I get to this guy’s house. He failed to tell me that he had multiple dogs that, as you walk in, immediately want to say hello. So already I can’t get in the mood if I’m just hearing huskies wail because they need more attention than me.
We get upstairs, I get ready, and everything is fine, then suddenly this man proceeds to jerk me off, way past the point of edging and makes me cum within fifteen minutes of me taking off my shoes. At that point, I was thinking: What am I doing in Manchester? I get this man out of the way, tell him I had enough and proceed to get the f*** out. I walk to the tram station, get on that tram, get to the train station, which for no reason had all the gates open, get on the wrong train and end up in Wales.
After realising I’m not where I’m supposed to be, I get on another train and finally get home around 10 pm, but not before messaging my friend asking if there was any Shepherd’s pie left, which is what he so lovingly made for dinner. His reply pretty much sums up all you have to know about me: “You’re a curious fellow, Leo”.
I didn’t even tell you about the many times that I was the one responsible for terrible sessions. Regardless, I guess what I am trying to say is that I’d like to have a session where at some point I look over at your bed stand and go, “Wait, you read Jane Austen to MMMMMMMMPH?!”, and then we both fall in love. Is that too much to ask?