I hate first dates. Not dating itself. Just the starting part. I dislike the carefully choreographed dance of over-thought emails needed to set-up a suitable meeting. I worry about how and if I should slide the topic of kink into the conversation. The cynical mathematician living in my brain computes the worldwide ratio of first dates to successful relationships and whispers that I’m probably wasting my time. Most of all, I hate the uncertainty of the end. Do we hug, kiss or fuck? Seeing as I’m British I sometimes settle for shaking hands, which might help explain why I’m still single.
I need to meet up with a few more ladies like the one in the drawing by Rodzo below. The man might not be all that comfortable. The whip might be painful. Oxygen could start to be an issue. But at least he doesn’t have to worry about that awkward moment on her doorstep at the end of the evening.