He seemed very nice… floral language, keen insights, husky, low, lightly accented voice, full lips, gentle dark eyes. No, he seemed more than nice. He seemed… perfect. Our first conversations were playful, sparkling, witty. He wanted me from the first moment… there was never any hesitation. I was flattered, so flattered, by his attention, by his almost constant desire to have my attention, online, on the phone… whatever I would give him.

Gradually, though, that continued, single-minded focus became too much. I began to feel that he wasn’t hearing what I was saying. He disregarded my need to do other things, talk to other people, keep my life afloat under the barrage of his attention.

So, I ended it. I understood that if he didn’t listen to me then, he certainly wouldn’t later, when we might engage in a physical relationship.

***********

No. That’s not how it happened. Yes, the warning signs were there, but I ignored them. I rolled my eyes a little, and thought how sweetly annoying it was that he wanted me so badly that he chose to gently bulldoze me. He asked over and over again for an early meeting, before I really felt certain that I wanted to meet him just as badly. I talked myself into it. There was a convenient opportunity approaching. Why not? He was nice to me, attractive, passionate. What was the risk, really?

So, I met him. I told him where I would be staying, but I also insisted that we meet in the lobby of my hotel. He agreed, reluctantly, as though he couldn’t understand my hesitation. Neither could I, really.

I was seated in an armchair, nervously perusing every man who came into the lobby. When he walked in, I was surprised. He was older, obviously, than he had told me, and considerably shorter. Neither of those two factors made him physically unattractive — quite the opposite. But I knew immediately that a man who hid the truth from me now was likely to continue to do so.

I stood and greeted him, then we sat side by side on a sofa, and chatted briefly. He came almost straight to the point, and asked if he could come up to my room. I declined politely, and said I didn’t think it would work out.

**********

Damn. You knew it this time, didn’t you. That’s not what I said to him.

I hesitated. I convinced myself that a little white lie about his appearance was hardly enough to condemn him. And he’d driven all this way to meet me. He obviously wanted me. I was still flattered.

I nodded, stood, led him to the elevator. We didn’t talk on the way up, we didn’t touch. He watched me speculatively the whole way. Once in the room, I moved to the mini-fridge, wanting to offer him water or a glass of wine. He grabbed my shoulders from behind, turned me to him, and spoke.

“You are so very beautiful. You are perfect.”

I remembered then my initial feelings of attraction to his soft, seductive voice, and I began to melt into him as he kissed me. The kiss didn’t last though. He backed me to the bed, and pushed me, roughly, onto it, on my back, then pinned my shoulders with his hands, and straddled my waist. I looked into his eyes, and saw something I hadn’t expected. I saw desire, yes… no, not really desire. I saw cold, naked lust. He moved one hand to my blouse and began to pull at the top button. I felt suddenly powerless. I realized that I was afraid of this man.

“Wait. Please. You’re moving too quickly.”

“You know you want this.”

“No, I don’t know that. Stop. Now. It’s time for you to go.” And, with barely suppressed rage in check, he did.

**********

Obviously, it didn’t happen that way. I felt an obligation. I invited this man into my life, into my bed. How could it hurt to follow through? Perhaps I was being overly sensitive.

He pulled my clothes off of me, and off of himself, and, with his full weight on me, began to move his stiff member into position. I did stop him there… I told him that I needed to freshen up, and that while I was gone, he needed to put on a condom. I handed him the box I had conveniently placed on the bedside table. Condom use was something we had negotiated in advance. It was no surprise.

When I returned naked to the bed, he grabbed me and pulled me onto it, and began to manoeuvre into position again. My own arousal was heightened, but even then, I knew something was off. I reached down to him, and realized that he hadn’t, in fact, sheathed himself.

“You’re not getting inside me without a condom.”

“Yeah, fine, okay.”

He was clearly displeased, but we fucked then… quickly, impatiently, but at least with the protection on which I had insisted. He was skilled, moved in all the right ways, found all the right buttons to press, brought me to more than one rushed but volcanic orgasm.

And when we were both sated, I sent him on his way, knowing that I couldn’t deal with his level of selfishness and deception.

**********

Except that I didn’t.

Fuck. This is the part that’s hard.

He stayed. We fucked again. And again. And each time, I came, and each time, he tried to fool me, to get away with going bareback, despite my insistence otherwise. And then, finally, while I tried to sleep and block out the full understanding of how he was treating me, hoping he would just fucking leave, he mounted me one last time, and didn’t wait for my acquiescence. When I tried to pull away, yelled no at him, he held me down, told me that he wouldn’t take long. He pushed inside me, his bare cock inside my vulnerable cunt, pinned me with his weight, stared at me with his cold, dead eyes while I tried to turn away and disappear inside myself. He thrust roughly, over and over, while the tears ran down my face. This time I didn’t come. This time, I was horrified and guilt-ridden and full of disgust. With every thrust, I felt the risk I had taken, was taking, and how I was being punished for my arrogance and weakness.

When he had finished, when he had filled me with his disgusting self, he rolled off of me, got out of the bed, dressed, then bent to me, and kissed my forehead. He seemed oblivious to my tears and the way my body was curled protectively into a ball.

“Goodbye, darling. That was wonderful. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Get the hell out, you bastard.”

**********

No. That’s not what I said.

“Of course. Goodbye.”

Then I got out of bed, scrubbed myself clean in the hottest of showers, walked in a daze to my computer, went online to block him. Somehow, I didn’t quite manage to block his memory, or my shame.