The car swerved off-road and pulled up in front of a dark street, closed off with a barrier and a warden. He leaned out the window and said something to the warden in lazy Spanish and drove into the street, lined with houses that were decorated in blue, green and red fairy lights. It was like Nightmare on Elm Street, but I was moderately certain that I wasn’t going to die.
They say you should do something every day that scares you. Although I’m guessing they mean asking your crush on a date and public speaking, not getting into cars with strangers in foreign countries. But even though it went against every parent’s number one rule, it was exciting. I felt alive – even though there was the possibility that in ten minutes I might not be.
I whispered "Hail Mary" to myself, over and over – he didn’t speak English, so I don’t think he knew I was praying he didn’t have a chainsaw in his boot.
Not only was it out of character for me, it could’ve also been dangerous. Though, to be fair, no more so than going to meet HornyNHard84 for a Grindr nooner.
“Besides, he was too pretty to be a psychopath” I told my brother after he expressed his concern. I know that sounds ridiculous, but the man was wearing a roll-neck for crying out loud; the only crime he’d ever committed was against fashion. But I had wondered what had gotten into me, apart from liters of vodka. But I’m guessing it was more a case of something I’d let go of.
When you’re single, dating can feel a lot like work. Am I saying the right thing? Is he attracted to me? Why can’t I get him out of my head?
Not to mention over-analyzing every mixed signal. It’s like emotional overtime that you’re not getting paid for. The good thing though, is that you can take a holiday whenever you want. So when I got on the plane to the Caribbean, I left excess baggage and all other prohibited thoughts at the check-in desk.
I’d managed to sniff out (Google) the only gay bar on the island, and within 24 hours I was perched on a stool being groped by the barman. A couple hours later, I’d lost count of the drinks and decided to make my way home, when I locked eyes with this handsome local on the other side of the bar. It was one of them times when you know you’re not playing it cool but neither of you can look away.
And then he got up and left. It was so abrupt, I wondered if I’d been shamelessly ogling him. Then I noticed a hand beckoning me out of the corner of my eye, and saw him standing on the stairs outside. I wondered whether to go over, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of him.
“Come with me, in my car.” It was hard to get any more details, but I went anyway. But I’ve always loved danger… Having a wank five minutes before your parents come home counts, right?
Once we entered ‘Elm Street’, I quickly realised that each of the eerie houses was a motel. You pull the car in to the garage, and then a side door leads to a bedroom with an en suite.
I was so high off adrenaline that I didn’t care that I didn’t know the name of the man I was kissing, or that I was about to have intercourse on motel bed sheets. No wonder anonymous sex was such a fad in the 80s.
The sexual tension bubbled until we were kissing passionately and pulling each other into states of undress. Finally, I could rip that roll-neck off and throw it on the floor where it belonged. Our bare bodies stuck together, and his breaths were deep and warm.
It rapidly reached the point where we were both ready to ‘arrive’, and as the heat rose to my chest, and I began to feel flustered, the handsome stranger starts bellowing “MY MILK! MY MILK!”
Turns out he could murder a moment as well as an ensemble.
Even though the ending was awkward, in the lead-up I had no idea where - or who - I was. And I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to think about the consequences, or if he’d text me later.
I highly recommend taking a holiday from your headspace and sampling ’the dating detox’; where you cleanse yourself of any boy-related drama by being someone else for a while. And I understand why they say you should do things that scare you, because life starts at the end of your comfort zone. And, most of the time, looking back, it’s no scarier than milking a cow.
**This article in no way condones cavorting with strange men (unless they’re dressed like an alt kid from 2006).
Anthony Gilét is a London-based writer, blogger and YouTuber – follow him on Twitter @Anthony_Gilet.
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