One Little Indian

Monday, December 12th, 2016 | The Dating Game

It all happened so fast. I had just settled into bed when he texted, said he’d be over in 45 minutes. He arrived, we met, we kissed, he said “Let’s get naked,” and then after an hour and several emissions, he was gone.

I was very nervous, almost trembling as I met him at the door. His dark hair was shiny, like superhero shiny. His round dark eyes looked me up and down as he followed me up the stairs. He beamed this incredible smile at me and said in sumptuously Indian-accented english, “You are really quite handsome. Many guys don’t look like their pictures, but you look better.”

We’d been chatting and teasing each other for months, but somehow the time to meet had never been right. He’s married. His husband doesn’t know that his lover has what I assume are a profusion of playmates. He says they’re happily married, just that they don’t engage in intimate relations anymore. Or, I wanted to add, honesty. But hey, whatever works, I’m not one to judge. Or usually participate in any sort of deception… but there he was, this beautiful Indian man, almost all butt, out of which sprouted soft furry legs and arms and a mini Tom Selleck mustache and a smile that almost glowed in the dark. In short, pushing a lot of buttons.

I’m generally a very nervous person when it comes to intimate relations, preferring to engage in them only after lengthy courtship rituals and detailed examination of all previous relationship experience and film knowledge. And there I was, really enjoying getting to know this delightful man when the “Let’s get naked” comment came. I didn’t even have time to respond, he was suddenly in my bedroom, pulling items from his little bag and arranging them in a row on my nightstand: a bottle of lubricant, a single condom, a bottle of poppers (“I hope you don’t mind?”), and a small towel. He asked about my HIV status, if I was on PreP. He ripped off my clothes and glued his eyes to my central nether region, glued pretty much for the entire experience. When he asked if he could slip his prophylactic on me, I asked if he minded if I used my own, which, I didn’t say, are more comfortable and I know where they’ve been. With a sweet smile he said,  “I would prefer if you would use mine, please.” I remembered a demonstration by my friend Kimberly in college, putting one over her whole head, and said with a smile “Sure!”

When kissing, he tasted of Manny, a flavor sensation from 32 years ago. I just wanted to stay there and be in that kiss, to savor the memories from that first taste of my great love, now dead for 24 years. I really didn’t have time to stay in those reveries, for my Indian had a plan, and this plan included twisting and positioning me for his maximum pleasure. I made no objection to his orchestration, I was on a roller coaster careening through an amusement park of sensation. Suddenly, immediately after his second finale, he jumped up, beamed that lovely smile at me and said “I have to get back to my dog,” threw on his clothes, packed up his items from my dresser, hugged me, and was gone.

2 Comments to One Little Indian

December 12, 2016

GONE?? “…hugged me, and was gone.”? And THAT’S where you’re going to leave us??? Well, I never … Harumpf.

December 12, 2016

The story does continue, you’ll have to stay tuned 😉

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