Page 22 of The App Trap
‘What time are you finishing work? My date’s shite and I made him cry. I keep making people cry. What is up with that? Fancy a nightcap and maybe more? ;)’
Oh, I fancied a nightcap and definitely more, all right, not to mention some unpredictable and possibly dicey sex. There was absolutely no chemistry going on here. The chemistry I was looking for wasBreaking Bad, notMalcolm in the Middle.
No, I didn’t really know what that meant either, but it sounded sort of clever and niche, didn’t it? No? Okay then.
‘Not sure. Reckon I may be able to get out in an hour or so as it goes. Could meet you East somewhere if that’s good for you?’ I replied.
I was in Ben’s manor (East London) anyway, so was probably about five minutes away from his house. Now all I had to do was invent an excuse so that I could end my time here with Luke.
I waited for a reply from Ben, but it didn't come. I had to get back out to re-join Luke or it’d look like I had some number two-related issues, a bad coke habit, or possibly both.
I returned to the table, sat back down, and smiled awkwardly at Luke, who mirrored me. A message alert went off in my pocket. Typical. I was desperate to check it––so much so that I faked yet another toilet visit. I’d lost all investment in this date so actuallywantedLuke to think I had the squits, or better still, a penchant for the old ‘recreationals’.
‘Ok x.’read the text from Ben. Well, that was totally not worth the journey to the toilet.
I sent back a lazy ‘thumbs up’ emoji to seal the deal.
Back at the table again, I had a brainwave. I could use my fake toilet breaks to my advantage. I was just about to tell him that I was suffering from a huge bout of diarrhoea when Luke dropped a very unexpected bombshell.
“Do you fancy coming back to mine?”
I didn’t before, but now that he mentioned it with a seductive eye-waggle, I sort of did. The thrill of kissing someone new seemed to override the possibility of being hung, drawn and quartered by Ben. I’d virtually promised to see him later and now I had to make up a far-fetched lie about why I suddenly had to blow him off again.
A few months ago, I would have chuckled if you’d have told me that my biggest problem would be having to decide who to have the sex with on the same night.
“I would love to. Hey, I’m just going to go to the toilet. Again. Do you live close, or…?”
“Ten minutes away. Um, are you okay?”
“Weak bladder. Once you pop, you can't stop! This is definitely the last one. And it’s definitely bladder for the record… not y’know…” I said, pointing to my behind with a squiggly-mouthed expression.
He stared at me, blankly.
I went into the toilet and texted Ben enough information for him to think that I possibly had the shits, but not enough to think that Idefinitelyhad them. I still wanted to keep Ben on the back-burner, so didn't want to conjure up any sort of negative imagery that could harm any future scenario between us.
No text came back for a few minutes, so I bit the bullet and went back to see Luke. He had pulled his nice Belstaffjacket on and was ready to leave. We walked back to his, which turned out to be a residence comprised oftwoconverted warehouse flats. Luke apparently owned both of them. He lived in one of them, but how the other property was put to use surprised me a tad: he rented it out to a fetish film company as a filming studio/sex dungeon.
I found it odd that he didn’t mention this during our plethora of late-night saucy chats. I had found myself going down the same road with Luke as I did with Ben. Luke and I had played out a number of scenarios that I probably should have thought through before meeting him, one involving a game of Russian Roulette, but with a Viagra pill; kind of like picking out something from a handful of sexual Revels and hoping for the best.
So, long story short, Luke had it in his head that I was fair game and I had led him to believe that he was correct to think that.
He excitedly gave me a tour of both of his flats. I popped my head into the dungeon flat and saw all manner of cages, stocks, crucifixes, benches, whips and a rack of metal tools that looked like different variations of nutcrackers. In a way, I suppose some of them probablywerenutcrackers.
As he walked over to a studded leather suitcase, I took that opportunity to drop Finn a pin… just in case.
He flipped the case open to reveal a muddled mountain of sex toys. The contents were arranged almost like a fan-builtGame of Throneschair. First, he pulled out a fistful of condoms, followed by a bottle of lube, followed by what looked like about thirty metres of rope to the untrained eye then after asking me if I was okay to play, he asked me to strip.
Was I okay to play? Sure, I was. We’d discussed boundaries during our text chats, so I was… excited to embark upon this journey.
A smile crept onto his face, but before I couldsay or do anything else, he cupped my face, adding a playful, low snarl.
“You sure you’re good?” he asked.
I nodded like a busy woodpecker.
We had already whispered our recent sexual history to each other on the way here and therefore decided we were hot to trot, so Luke undid my belt, which was the catalyst for me to pull my trousers, underpants and socks off in one slick, smooth action.
We had upgraded from virtually no eye-contact whatsoever to intense predator-prey like stares. Wasting no more time, he started to tie each of my limbs to the posts of his Gothic metal bedframe.
