Good Idea, Bad Idea

I shouldn't have gone there. I shouldn't have gone there. I knew I wasn't 100% comfortable around him just yet, but that night, bad judgment was the least of my worries.

"You look lavv-ly", he said, smiling, gleaming white teeth behind his soft pink lips.

"Thank you." I smiled. Relax, I said to myself; what're you so nervous for? The first time sleeping with someone new is always a nerve-wracking experience, but why did this feel different, somehow? I didn't know yet, but I was sure as all hell about to find out.

"Sit down. Let me take-a your coat." Again, that gentle smile. But my nerves refused to calm down. "How are you?" "Good." "Did-a you find my place okay?" "Yes, thanks." "What would-a you like to drink?"

Nothing. I didn't want anything. For some reason, I couldn't calm this rotten feeling in my gut. He fetched himself a cocktail, sat beside me, and drew closer. "What is wrong?" "Nothing", I responded. "You sim nearvooss." I smiled, turned to him, and put my hand on his thigh. He placed his drink on the table, took my hand, and pulled me closer.

"Keess me", he insisted, to which I ever-so-slightly recoiled in muted horror as my eyes fluttered closed. His breath. Oh, god, his breath. "Did you smoke before I got here?" "Yes. For why do you ask?" "I'm sorry, I can't kiss you until you brush your teeth." "But everyone in Europe doss it." "Sorry." He obligingly got up and made a bee-line for the bathroom.

The guy was good-looking. 6'2", curly dark hair, eyes like Claire Forlani, a well-groomed but modest beard, and lips like my suicidal college non-boyfriend. I thought I wanted to seal the deal, but why did my subconscious refuse to settle down? He came back, minty fresh. "Keess me", he repeated, so I tried to quell my raucous inner monologue by obliging.

Piece by piece and minute by minute, the clothes came off. Just south of my coat draped on the chair, my vestments lay in a tiny pile on the floor. We kissed. Nothing. No butterflies in my stomach, no warm sensation flooding my extremities, and the lack of tingling in my brain signaled a curious dearth of endorphins. It wasn't happening. It just wasn't. I'd been squarely turned off by the ashtray mouth, but I nevertheless felt the need to soldier through. Stay the course, if you will. Stupid logic, huh? It applies in both situations. But... tangent.

He slid his large hand under my breast, nibbled softly on my nipple. I cringed. What a minute... cringed? This was not my usual response. Switch off, brain!

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the penis appeared. Glistening wet and seeping moisture at the tip, it unnerved me. "Keess it?"

I shook my head.

"I am clean, yes? Please to keess it. Keess it with dose wann-derful leeps, bella."

I instinctively withdrew.

"Keess it. Please to keess it. I keess yours in return." A hand snaked it way between my thighs.

I pressed my legs firmly together, dropped my head, and bit my lip. "I don't think so." Common sense had won me over, and I desperately and breathlessly searched for a good reason to get the ever-lovin' fuck out of there.

He grabbed my hand, a tad too insistently. "Touch me. See how wet you make me. I want you, yes?" One of my fingers slipped into his bellybutton on the way, and oh, -gasp- the horror. There were contents. Inside his bellybutton. Contents.

And not just "contents". Crunchy contents.

suppressing a bile-filled gag, I managed to mutter only, "I don't feel well." I knew it. My stomach had known it all along. Red alert, m'dear. Red. Fucking. Alert!

"You cannot. You stay please. You suck eet. Please? You suck eet?"

"I need a minute." I grab my purse and clothes, and rush to the bathroom. Leaning up against the cold tile wall, I pound my forehead with my palm. Think, Av, think! How to extricate oneself delicately from such a complicated situation? Cocktease or not, I needed to haul ass out of that freakshow before any more gross surprises reared their ugly little heads.

I stood there for a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. And amidst the mild nausea, it came: a eureka moment. The failsafe of many a single woman is to have a friend willing to make the call and bail us out of any bad date gone horribly awry. I whipped my phone out of my purse and shot off a quick 911 to my very sympathetic friend. Composing myself, I opened the bathroom door, and before he had a chance to query me, my phone rang. Alas, hope! You have not forsaken me after all.

"Hi sweetie, what's going on? Sweetie? Sweetie... OK, calm down. Calm down. Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. On the corner? OK. And you're alone? OK, I'm leaving right now. Right now, sweetie, I promise. I'll be there in just a few minutes."

He lies there, arms outstretched, erection dwindling. "I'm sorry... emergency. I have to go."

"Please to wait, bella..."

I deftly grab my coat from the chair. "I'll call you!" Never been less sincere about anything. I duck into the night air as the door slams behind me. A quick fumble with my keys, and in no time I'm creating distance between myself and a horrifying situation.

But why is my back cold? I'm too intent on getting away to investigate further.

I get home, ditch my stuff in the living room, emit a loud sigh of relief, peel off my clothes and trudge to the sanctuary of a steaming hot shower. A long while later, as I'm toweling off my hair, and walking back into the bedroom, I glance at my coat and a small cry escapes my lips.

There, in the middle of the back, where the lining was particularly soft, was a quickly-drying streak of white. Oh. My. Gawd.

The tainted garment, drenched in lighter fluid, is incinerating atop the concrete roof of the storage shed as I type. Just... ew.

Never again.