Mystery Man at Midnight

When it comes to hooking up, there are several commonsense rules that you should follow: meet in a public place first, let a friend or family member know where you're at just in case things get dicey, trust your gut - if things are sketchy get out, know what the person you're meeting looks like, just to name a few.

I was incredibly dumb in my twenties; I didn't follow those rules. I allowed myself to be led by hormones, rather than logic; all I can say is thankfully, nothing bad ever happened to me. I was playing with fire, especially given my propensity for hooking up with "straight" guys. Looking back, it wouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility for me to have gotten beaten to a pulp or - worse - murdered. While the majority of my sexual encounters were in my car in the parking lot of my work, occasionally someone was interested in meeting up when I was at home. I pretty much refused to drive for sex, and I certainly wouldn't risk a public encounter; the last thing I wanted was to end up in jail or on the sex offender's list.

One early spring night, I was in bed doomscrolling on Grindr when a guy messaged me; he didn't have a profile picture, but his description: athletic build, beard, dark hair sounded appealing. I knew that I should insist on exchanging pics, but I didn't actually think we were going to meet; my car was dead and I certainly wasn't comfortable with getting picked up by a stranger. The last thing I wanted was to end up down a well in some freak's basement like in The Silence of the Lambs. As we continued talking, I got the impression that my anonymous partner was incredibly shy; he had told me that he was deep in the closet, which was par for the course. What really caught my interest was that he said he'd been to the pizzeria before and that he remembered me. My mind raced with possibilities of all the hot men it could be; was it possible I was going to get to fool around with one of the "straight" guys that made my day a little bit better by coming in? Against my better judgment, I told him that if he wanted to hookup, he'd have to come to my grandma's house, and we'd have to sneak out to the old outbuildings. Surprisingly, he was game.

He told me that he was coming from the gym in Midland; I hurriedly freshened up - I'd already taken a shower earlier - and went outside to wait for him. I should have been more nervous - after all, he could have been anyone - but I was too excited by the idea of the guy being one of my fantasy men that all logic left my brain, replaced by irrational illusions.

After a while, I saw a car come down the road. It started to slow down, then turned on its blinker and pulled into the driveway. There was burst of anxiety as the car came to a stop and shut off; I approached it, hoping that I was going to have a night that I'd never forget. As the window rolled down, I was immediately disappointed. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the guy was ugly, but he wasn't hot; he was plain looking, with glasses and a short beard. His eyes were wild with fear, like a deer caught in headlights. I immediately sensed that whoever this guy was, he wasn't a threat to me. He was probably a first timer, on the verge of shitting himself with fear. I found myself taking pity on him instead of being honest that I wasn't really attracted to him. One of my biggest fears was meeting up with a guy and then getting turned down once he'd seen me in person; I didn't want to do that to anyone.

I noticed that the guy was clenching his steering wheel tightly, his eyes frozen wide. "I'm kind of having seconds thoughts now," he mumbled, his voice coming out choked.

"Oh, okay."

I shifted my weight to my other hip, unsure of what to say. Was he just afraid, or had my greatest fear come true and I was being rejected? I knew that I wasn't hot, but I thought of myself as at least somewhat attractive. Guys often called me "cute," for all that was worth. If I was being rejected by this CHUD, then I was defintely going to end my life in the most dramatic way possible.

"Not because of you!" he replied vehemently, turning to look at me. "I'm just really nervous. I don't ever really do this."

"I understand." I shrugged my shoulders. "It's up to you. I won't be mad if you want to just leave."

He turned to look straight ahead again and then sighed. "Okay, let's do it," he said, getting out of his car and locking the door behind him. The alarm of the car locking echoed loudly, making me nervous. I didn't want my uncle to wake up and come outside to investigate what the noise had been; he was the type of paranoid nutjob to shoot first and ask questions later.

"We have to go out to one the outbuildings," I told him, heading off down the path. "I know it seems pretty sketchy, but I promise it's nothing bad. It's just an old building from when this used to be farm. I don't want my uncle to catch us."

We walked out to the outbuilding that I lovingly referred to as "the Blair Witch House," and as I stepped up into it, I felt myself relax a little. Even if he tried anything, I knew the terrain; I had the advantage here. I stared up through the broken roof, looking at the stars and the moon glowing brightly above. Something about it was peaceful; I often fantasized about fixing up the building and turning it into my own studio apartment. I'd be close enough to still see my grandmother regularly, while having my own space and privacy; and it would piss my uncle off to no end, which was just an added bonus. Of course, it would take a lot of money, but that didn't stop me from dreaming.

The guy followed me in and then stood there awkwardly, looking around. "It's dark out here," he commented, casting a wary look at me.

"It's great for privacy. This is where I come to smoke; if my grandma caught me smoking, she'd kill me. I don't think I could handle knowing that I'd disappointed her like that."

"Yeah."

I was rambling because my enigmatic guest was not saying anything. I turned back to him, taking pity on him. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm just really nervous," he admitted. "I've only done this a few times."

"It's okay, I promise. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, we don't even have to do anything; we can just sit out here and talk." I'd like to think that I'd offered that because I'm a gentleman, but in all honesty, I wasn't attracted to the guy and just talking would prevent me from having to force myself to be turned on by him.

"No, I want to," he assured me, stepping closer to me in the dark building.

"What do you want to do?" I asked, feeling him out. I definitely didn't want to suck his dick - he wasn't hot enough for that - but I would probably give him a pity hand job just to give him material for his clandestine fantasies.

"Can I suck your dick?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Yeah, if you want to."

He stepped closer to me again; this time he reached down to the front of my sweatpants and started rubbing my cock. I closed my eyes, picturing someone hot, and felt myself swelling in my pants. As he touched my erection, he must have relaxed a little, because he quickly slid his fingers under the waistband of my boxers and tugged them - and my pants - down around my ankles. Before I could say anything, he dropped down to his knees and took me in his mouth.

His mouth was warm and wet and... not right; the attraction wasn't there. It wasn't that he was doing anything wrong, but if I don't want the guy, I have a hard time enjoying the encounter. I didn't have the heart to back out, so I just closed my eyes tightly and tried to enjoy the feeling of a mouth on my cock.

My cock must have turned him on, because he quickly lost his nerve and went at it with gusto. He was moaning low in his throat, and when he came up for air, he was panting, as if he'd run two miles. At least one of us is having fun, I thought, regretting even agreeing to the meet up. I should have known better than to allow myself to get carried away by the fantasy; there were maybe five hot guys in Pinconning; the chances of any of them wanting me were smaller than my chances of winning the lottery - and I don't play the lottery.

Suddenly, he stood up and moved behind me. As he reached around to jerk my cock - wet with his saliva - his other arm snaked around my waist, holding me tightly against him. Part of me immediately panicked and wanted to push away from him, but I allowed it, because he seemed to be getting more comfortable, giving into his baser urges. His breath was hot and sour, but I tried to turn my head away from it so that it wouldn't bother me or make it even harder for me to finish.

Finally, I came, exploding all over my shoes and the cement of the floor. As the aftershocks gripped me, I found myself thinking more logically. Why the hell was I doing this? I had no idea who this guy was, nor was I attracted to him. Had I become so desperate for physical affection that I no longer had standards? Was an awkward rough and tumble with an unattractive stranger worth more than my dignity?

It was then that I noticed that he hadn't loosened his grip on me. My anxiety flared, but I willed myself to keep a clear head; if I panicked, I would lose any advantages I had. I needed to stay calm, cool, and collected. He didn't seem strong enough to be a threat to me, but still, if he had a knife or a gun, I was fucked. Had I really been stupid enough to allow myself to get into a situation that I feared so greatly?

I decided to try pulling away from him. If he didn't let me go, then I could let my fight or flight instincts take over. Okay, I thought, you can either pick up a rock and bash him over the head, or you can take off and run to the woods. I'd spent a lot of time in the woods the previous summer; I knew the terrain well enough to lose the jerk if I had to.

As I pulled away, he let me go and I instantly felt myself relaxing. Okay, I'd been spazzing for nothing. I heaved a sigh of relief and pulled my pants up. As I looked at his sad, erect cock, I found myself taking pity on him once more. I wasn't going to blow him, I couldn't live with myself if I did that. He was going to get the hand job that I customarily gave out to most of my partners.

I took his small cock in my hand and jerked it. The entire thing lasted barely more than a minute.

After he pulled his pants back up, we made our way back to the house in silence. I was really hoping that he wouldn't suggest we do it again sometime; I wasn't sure that I could bring myself to see him again, not for sex. As we approached his car, he turned back to me. "You said you've read Love, Simon and liked it, right?"

I could vaguely remember discussing it with him earlier, before we'd even talked about meeting up. I didn't point out that book was called Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda; I doubted that he would understand it, let alone knew what homo sapiens meant.

"Yeah, it was really good. I can't wait to see the movie," I replied, hugging my arms around myself. It was getting cold out.

"Do you own it? Or did you get it from the library?"

"I bought it. I prefer to own books."

"Would it be possible for me to borrow it? I really want to read it, but I don't want to get caught buying it or checking it out of the library."

I wanted to tell him no, that I hated loaning my books out to people. I have always been incredibly fastidious about keeping my books in pristine condition; no broken spines, no folded corners, no bent covers. The few times that I had loaned books out, I'd either never gotten them back, or gotten them back in such terrible condition that it broke my heart. I couldn't think of a reason to tell him no, though, without sounding incredibly rude.

"Let me go see if I can find it, I think my friend still has it..."

I crept into the house, careful not to wake my uncle up. He was passed out on the couch, TV blaring, snoring like a saw. I hurried down the hall to my room and was greeted by my twin ginger cats Alistair and Romana, and my calico, Cersei.

"Hi, babies," I whispered, enjoying the warmth of the room. "Daddy's safe. He didn't get murdered; you're not orphans." As if they all understood me, they took turns rubbing on my and begging for pets.

I found the book laying on the little table beside my bed - still pristine. Did I really want to lend it to a stranger and risk never getting it back or having it get damaged? Was it really that important to me? I debated messaging him on Grindr saying that I couldn't find it, that my friend must still have it, but my conscience won out over my anal retention.

He was still in his car when I went back outside. "Oh, great, you found it," he said as I handed it to him.

"Yep."

"I'll read it and get it back to you." He put it in the backpack on his back seat and then said, "well, I should get going."

"Yeah, I'm cold and it's getting late..."

"Well...thanks..."

"Yeah...thanks..."

I didn't even bother to watch him back out of the driveway and head off toward town.

I never saw him again, nor did I ever get my book back. A year or so later, I was telling my friend Racheal about the experience when she dropped a bombshell on me. She told me that when her oldest son was about eleven or twelve, he'd gone to the Boys & Girls Club in Pinconning; my random hookup had worked there at the time and got caught watching Racheal's son in the shower. She said that he had a fat, ugly, girlfriend, maybe fiancée. Great, I thought, another pseudo-straight guy who cheated on his girlfriend with me. And he's a pedophile, even better!

After I learned about the true nature of the guy I was even more put off than I'd already been. He messaged me on Grindr a few times after that, wanting to meet up - no mention of my book other than identifying himself as the guy I'd loaned it to. I always said no, that I was too busy, or was having a major depressive episode. Not even the offers of getting to fuck him in the ass were enough to make me change my mind. I wanted to be blunt and tell him that I knew what he'd done to Racheal's son, but I knew that he would just deny it and then turn it around on me to make me the bad guy for gossiping about him.

After that experience, I vowed never to let my hormones take the lead again. I would never meet up with a stranger without at least exchanging face pics and much worrying about my safety. Sometimes I think back on that night and how badly it could have gone...I'm grateful that I'm more fortunate than some. I'm grateful that my anxiety stops me from making reckless decisions - frequently - and that I have a family that cares about my wellbeing and demands to know if I go to a guy's house; not everyone is so lucky. To this day, even though I live alone, I still try to let someone know if I'm meeting up with a guy - whether it be for a date or a casual encounter - the idea of putting my family through the horror of me getting murdered or going missing and never being found is too much for me to bare.

Now in my mid-thirties, the idea of hookups doesn't even appeal to me; if it was a friends with benefits situation - with someone I knew and was comfortable with - that would be one thing, but sex - of any kind - with a total stranger gives me the major icks. I'm perfectly content sporadically blowing my straight friends or taking care of myself for the time being. At least with myself I know what I want, I know my intentions, and I don't have to worry about figuring out a polite way to ask myself to leave after the fact; all in all, I'd say it's a pretty good deal I've got going on.