h2>Dating : He said…“You can lick my third nipple if you like?”
I arrived at Charing X a good 15-minutes before I was set to meet him. Of course, this was planned. I needed enough time before my date arrived so that I could:
- Run to the loo and see the state of my face after wearing my trendy af COVID-19 face mask for an entire 40-minute train journey
- Piss away at least 3lbs of nervous urine to help me look supermodel slinky in my skin tight crop top and skirt combo
- Wipe away any excess armpit/bum/fanny sweat that I had accumulated on my journey on the hottest day of the year
After grooming myself back to something that made me confident my date would recognise me from my Hinge profile I waited patiently outside the station for him to arrive 12-minutes late.
My first impressions were good. Solid hairline, good teeth, shorter and skinnier than expected, but impressed at his ability to pull off a violet coloured t-shirt. We exchanged an awkward hug, giggled like two teenagers, and started walking towards the direction of our date location: Mercato Metropolitano.
On our way we did the standard exchange of first-date pleasantries, “you look nice”, “so do you”, “you are more XX than I imagined”, “you are less XX than I imagined”. After what felt like the longest walk with a (near) complete stranger we finally arrived.
I felt like a complete lost part. I hadn’t been on a date in London for over 5 years and I felt like a total fraud. I had stopped coming to trendy places like this a while ago when I swapped it all for my easy suburban life. Being back in the city took me back to my early twenties and I felt sad that not much had really changed from then to now. BUT here I was with a young man that could pass for an 18 year-old in a neon purple top. I had to make the best of the night and ‘put myself out there’.
I think he sensed I felt a bit overwhelmed. He said he was going to grab us some drinks and asked me what my favourite tipple was. I told him I didn’t care, I wasn’t fussy. He bounced back with 4 glasses of champagne! I thought that was a pretty bold/niche choice given the setting but maybe he needed the dutch courage as much as me?!
With some champers down us, the conversation flowed. We spoke about our hopes, our dreams, our jobs, previous dating disasters (or in his case lack of), and exchanged our best travel stories. We clicked. It all felt pretty natural, but I also felt pretty drunk. I think he’d cottoned on to my drunkenness as he suggested we grab a pizza to share.
After a lifetime scouting around for a seat in this crowded fairy-lit oasis, we finally found a table and sat down to eat. It felt intimate. There we were feeding pizza to one another. Sharing secrets. Exchanging glances. Fixated on the company of one another. He asked if he could kiss me. I felt giddy. I said yes. The kiss was great. Good rhythm, enough tongue, and a bit of biting. I knew there was chemistry. Unfortunately, I also knew that my last train home was in 18minutes and it was at least a 12minute walk away.
Like a true gent, he walked me to the station. At the station, he told me he wanted to see me again the next day. I thought it seemed a bit keen but was also very pleased with myself for clearly giving off such a good first impression. We kissed non-stop like two lovesick teens. He kept stroking my back and tickling my neck with his kisses. In that moment I realised that I missed this intimacy, the closeness of another human being. I didn’t want it to end in the 3 minutes we had left and so I invited him back to mine.
We missed the last train because we were too busy sucking the faces off each other and so instead ordered an Uber to get us back to mine. Once in my flat, I realised I had left it in a complete state. Clothes and straighteners were strewn over the bed, hair was left all over the bathroom, and my recycling bin was overflowing. I ran around quicker than Usain Bolt trying to tidy up. He told me to calm down and sit next to him. I did what I was told. I missed being told what to do.
There wasn’t a lot of talking. The kissing got heavier and we both knew we were heading to the bedroom. He stopped and looked at me sheepishly. He said “I have something I need to tell you”, I knew it was too good to be true… “I have herpes”.
I mean what the fuck do you say back to that?! I wanted to interrogate him on how he’d caught it and if they had giant warts on their penis now but instead I said: “Don’t worry, it’s cool”. I mean it’s not cool really. Fuck sakes. I was now SUPER horny but I was not a GP and had no idea if or how I could or might catch herpes from him. He told me he had never had any symptoms but that when he went for a routine test it showed up. Everything very quickly slowed down. It was at this point he decided to tell and then proceed to show me his third nipple.
Now I have seen a few third nipples in my life and they have always looked pretty unobtrusive. Most of them have just looked like odd-shaped moles. Not this third nipple though. Oh no. This third nipple looked like a teeny, tiny version of a real nipple. I had no words.
He decided to fill the silence for us both with “You can lick my third nipple if you like”. I replied, “I think I’m ok”. He said, “Go on, I like it when people play with it”. So twenty seconds later I find myself sucking on this guy’s third nipple trying to look seductive. All that keeps replaying in my head is that episode of Family Guy where Peter Griffin has a mini Peter growing out of his shoulder. This was him and his nipple. They were pals. It was too fucking weird.
After licking his third nipple for a solid 10-minutes, having sex with him and his herpes no longer seemed like such a big deal and so we got down to business. Protected of course.
