Harry came to my house to pick me up for our second date. I opened the door and was greeted with the sight of him in very dated, baggy jeans circa 2003, a purple and black nylon top, a baseball cap that he had on the wrong way around and shades. Not sunglasses but shades. He looked ridiculous, like some kind of early 90s rapper, and I instantly went off him a little bit.
Harry drove us to a local picnic area where he laid a blanket on the ground, took a huge speaker out of a bag and started playing loud music. It felt as though I were on a date with a teenager, not a middle-aged dad. After a couple of hours, it started to get too hot so we decided to go elsewhere. Harry opened up the boot of his car to put the speaker back into it and I noticed he had a large holdall in there. He turned and saw me looking and casually said, “That’s just my kink bag” and followed it up with, “It’s a bag to store all my kink stuff in, do you want to see?” Morbid curiosity got the better of me and I said yes.
He had handcuffs, masks, gags, paddles, a cat o’ nine tails, wax, nipple clamps and a spreader bar. This was at odds with the man that I thought he was. He’d been coming across as pretty normal (until I saw his clothing choice), but this threw a whole new light onto who he really is. I asked him if he likes to give or receive. He said he was a giver. He asked if I was into kink at all and when I said no, he said that it wasn’t a problem for him as he can take it or leave it! It was a very large holdall with an impressive array of toys for someone who can take it or leave it. Of course, the biggest question was why he kept it in his car boot. He said that he couldn’t keep it in the house in case the kids found it!
Harry then suggested we go for dinner but I’d completely lost my appetite. It was early and apart from the terrible dress sense and the kink bag, he was quite nice company so we decided to pop round to his house, which was nearby, for a cold drink. The living room had dated wallpaper with a dated wallpaper border in the middle, dated curtains and a dated burgundy carpet. There were cheap frames on the walls with cheap pictures of tigers on display and what seemed like hundreds of photos of his deceased wife everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. It was like a shrine and made me very uncomfortable. I finished my drink and asked if I could go to his bathroom. I sat down for a wee, looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of his dead wife and her mum and I wondered what pleasure he got from looking at their faces as he does his business. This is one complex or damaged man and I need to find out which.