In the name of The Father

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tequila Mockingbird. I am a single gay man living in London, and I have decided to write a blog about my non existent sex life, and maybe give some laughs, and hope to some of my fellow Lavenders out there.". In fairness I've never really liked it a huge amount nor have I been lucky in the sex department. I always end up drawing the short straw and I think this is what has caused my lack of appetite in this area. I simply cannot be bothered to have sex anymore, because I always end up being disappointed. Lets give you an example. My last encounter was with a friend of a friend type set up.......... Why on earth I decided to go along with it I will never know, because historically these things tend to be disasters, especially in the World of Lavender (the gay world). This is because our heterosexual friends always automatically assume, if you're gay, and he's gay, you will of course want to screw each others brains out. They seriously think that you and this other gay man are the only two on the planet, and therefore MUST sleep together. Hold the phone? It is a sweeping generalisation but it happens the world over. Friends of Homo's please note- not ALL gay men are George Michael and will sleep with anything that resembles a human, a tree, or a bench on Hampstead Heath. Ipso facto, some of us have standards.

Against my better judgment, I went for drinks with an old friend known as Big Sis in a watering hole just off Brewer Street and down a dangerously steep staircase......... This was the place I was to meet my date, Jacques. I had told Big Sis the ONLY way I would consider meeting him was if she was present. At least that way if this guy was the cretin I had predicted, I would have someone to talk to.

I was fully expecting a monster, so I was more than pleased when he arrived and appeared to be tall, attractive, funny, articulate, and IN TO ME. Right from the start he was extremely forward, and I found his confidence intoxicating. At some point later the penny dropped and I saw that his confidence was actually arrogance, which of course just made him even more desirable.

He charmed the Calvin's off of me, and I broke my rule. My rule not to act like a common dog who eats the face off someone in a bar. I feasted on his face like a tramp on chips. After a good 4 hour's drinking, and realising poor Big Sis had made an exit, things between Jacques & I started heating up.

Before I know it I was in a cab on the way back to Clapham and Jacques is practically trying to have sex with me. Truth be told I'm just as bad. He kept asking what my fantasies were saying he would fulfill every one of them. Now my fantasies are MINE and MINE only. Fantasies are not spoken of. Fantasies never come true, so I like them left as fantasies. I told him so too. I tried to explain that we had just met and I wasn't really comfortable discussing my deepest darkest secrets, but was looking forward to some torrid sexual liaisons. I I was trying to stop this fantasy talk, as it was starting to make me feel raw and exposed. Like a Virgin Atlantic Air Steward without 3 inches of make up.

But if he asked it once he asked a million times. Alarms were ringing, but I couldn't hear them above the dangerous levels of wine I'd consumed. What is fantasy etiquette? Is it the same as the 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' playground standard I wondered? I didn't want to ask him. Lets be brutally honest- asking someone what their fantasy is can be akin to having unprotected sex: you never know what you're going to get.

We get back to his hovel of an apartment and I manage to suppress my urge to run around with bleach and clean the place. So he makes me a drink. It was Advocat. ADVO-fucking-CAT. Had I been transported back to the 60's, landed in Fanny Craddocks living room and been left for dead? There was no way I could ingest a drink that looks like raw scrambled eggs and the smell of sink was starting to make me feel light headed, so I pounced.

Now Jack can kiss. And Jack is good with his hands.......... but he keeps yapping on about bloody fantasies. And that's when it all went wrong. Jack whispered in my ear 'now I can tell you what my fantasies are'. I went cold and came crashing back to earth. I may not have done this casual sex thing very often, but I have enough nous to know when someone whispers that in your ear, its likely going to end with a fan, and shit.

I quickly scanned the room, taking in as many mental images as I could, as I knew that when my half dead body was found washed up on Brighton beach wearing half an inner tube these memories might be useful when trying to trace my captor. "I want you to pretend that you are my father and rape me" Jacques says, quite loudly and with a look, you just know was the last thing Ted Bundy's victims saw. Whilst terrified and in fear for my life, I was also repulsed and couldn't stop my self asking him if this was some sick joke. This is when he became somewhat indignant and started chanting "my father is watching us, he wants you to fuck me". Without looking, Jacques pointed, causing my eyes to follow to what he was pointing which was a picture of a man above his bed, whom I am assuming was his father.........

"um, this isn't working for me" I said in what I intended to be a really assertive and almost threatening tone, but instead a shrill sound omitted from my mouth like Mrs maple on helium as I am tried to get the hell out. But now he is whimpering and waving his arse in my face saying "come on and rape me you f*cking f*cker" So engrossed was he in his role playing that he was oblivious to the fact that I was fully clothed and asking him for directions to the nearest cab office. I ran out of that house like a refugee running for the border and swore that I would never be set up on a date by a friend again. In fact to turn lesbian, to be celibate, to chop my gonads off and become a eunich. I sent Big Sis a text to say "honey you're fired" and then got a cab home. It was at this stage that I realised just how sober I had become, and what an utterly frightening experience it has been, and once again how typical it was of my life to end up with such a complete and utter freak.

I got a text from him the next day saying 'I was really drunk last night, can't really remember much. Hope I didn't do or say anything embarrassing. I'd really like to see you again'

I sent one back saying 'Who's your daddy?' He hasn't responded.