The one night stand that went horribly, horribly wrong… (Part 2)

A tale of foot-sniffing, threesomes and coincidence.

(Whoah, whoah, whoah. Not read Part 1?! Back you go...)

I guess a normal person would have cancelled the date. Or come clean straight away.

I did neither.

We met in a park. I liked him. He had kind eyes and good hair. Yes, there were a couple of eccentricities that might have put others off — like the three large chickens tattooed on his chest. Or the fact that when he slipped off his trainers to feel the grass under his feet, I could see that his toenails were painted bright red. But hey, after the previous night’s events he could have turned up with a decapitated cat hanging from a necklace and I probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.

And so we talked, ate cheap burgers and kissed like teenagers. It was a good and, for the most part, normal date.

Or it should have been. But I already had a secret. And I don’t mean in the way that we all have fun little secrets on first dates — you know, embarrassing middle names, crazy exes and a thing for violent porn. No, a secret that related specifically to him, his life and a shared connection that he had no idea we had. A secret that meant our first kiss, instead of crackling with ecstasy and anticipation, flooded me with memories of his batshit crazy housemate — along with that kinda-sicky feeling you get with the first wave of a hangover.

Despite this resulting in oddly skittish behaviour on my part, when the end of the date drew near he looked at me sweetly and sincerely and told me that he would like to see me again. Normally this would have been good news but I knew, in the back of my head, that really it could only mean one thing…

The secret would have to come out.

We met again a few days later, in a bar that was just the right mix of casual and seedy. And despite his very questionable choice of jumper (something that looked suspiciously like the lovechild of a carpet and a poncho), I could tell I still liked him.

Which, in reality, was a total bugger. Because if I had changed my mind I could have taken the easy route out… ideally a hastily dug tunnel or a toilet window. But since I was still interested in checking out what was under that hideous knitted atrocity, it was time to come clean.

Now, with any big revelation, I find it is best to get it out of the way as soon as possible so I jumped straight in…

My tactic was to quickly and clumsily establish that we both knew his housemate. At which point, I would tell some half-assed half-truth about this little coincidence — just enough explanation that should we ever all be in the same room together, nobody would be surprised by the extreme awkwardness or the fact that I didn’t need an introduction.

The conversation went something like this…

“So, how’s the new flat? Housemate nice?”

“Oh, you know — he’s alright”.

“Yeah? What’s his name?”

“Baltazar” (Thank God for weird hipster names, this trick wouldn’t have worked with a John or a Frank.)

“Really?! I know a Baltazar. Berlin is such a small town. I wonder if it’s the same guy…”

“What’s he like?”

“Tanned… long hair… massive scar down his cheek…”

(A more accurate description would have been “raving pervert with a penchant for smelly feet” but I was doing my best to remain discreet…)

“Yeah, that’s him!”

[Insert grossly-exaggerated gasp from me — as if I had just stepped on a piece of lego or sat on a particularly large butt plug.]

“Oh my goddddddddddddd. HOW. BIZARRE.”

Honestly, if there was a category at the Oscars for “People lying on second dates about the fact that they almost slept with the person’s perverted housemate” I would have won it hands down.

Then it came. The question.

“So… How do you know him?”

In my head, the truth rattled around -

“I-was-going-to-sleep-with-him-but-then-he-smelled-my-feet-and-asked-if-his-housemate-could-put-his-penis-in-me-and-he-wanted-me-to-have-his-babies-and-move-into-your-room-so-I-left”

But what left my tongue was, “Oh friend-of-a-friend. Bit awkward really- he once asked me to have a threesome with him”

Now, this was not, strictly a lie. But what I failed to mention is that it happened just over a week ago. In what was now Caelan’s bedroom. After I had agreed to go there. For sex. And just after his housemate had spent a not-insubstantial amount of time rubbing his nose around my feet.

Look, I don’t like hiding shit as much as the next person but try recovering from a story like that. And honestly, at this point, I felt like the injured party. Was it not enough that I had to go through all of that in the first place? Never mind sabotaging my most imminent chance or resurrecting my sex life. And anyway, since it had all happened before I had even met Caelan, well… I figured I was being as honest as I needed to be.

But, despite my editing the events from something you would find in niche porn to the storyline of a risqué daytime sitcom, he looked at me shocked. This, I thought, does not bode well…

I waited but he remained tight-lipped. The temptation to fill the growing awkward silence was almost unbearable, but I was sure that if I spoke again the rest of the story would come tumbling out of me — in the same way lies fall out of the open mouth of a politician. Particularly as I had already had a number of alcoholic drinks (which, of course, is the state in which I tend to give away most of my secrets).

Luckily, he composed himself and did the polite thing — laugh nervously, change the subject and move the hell on.

A few hours later, with more cheap German beer inside us and the awkwardness of his horny housemate long forgotten, he asked whether I fancied a cup of coffee.

Now, I don’t know why this is the code most people use for sex — like who, other than Italians, is drinking espresso at 2 am? Still, the message was clear and the truth is I did want a ‘coffee’. I liked this guy. And, if you remember rightly, despite the depravity of the other night, I still hadn’t had sex in ages.

But there was a problem. In a rookie move I had chosen our date location based on the merits of the bar and not on the proximity to my bed. Which meant we were a 5 min walk from his place and an hour and two S-Bahn trains from mine. And as I had just desperately underplayed the depravity of the situation with his housemate, I would be hard pushed to put a case forward for us travelling the length and breadth of Berlin. At the same time, returning to his would be returning to the scene of the crime. And while a little bit of drama can be good, I had already had my fill for the week.

The fact that I was quietly going through a sexistential crisis must have been written all over my face because it was then that Caelan reached out, touched my hand and assured me that he would check if his housemate was in and find a way for us to avoid him completely.

My head said no, but my pussy screamed yes.

Anyway, it turned out the latter was stronger because off we went.

And actually, if anything, it added a sense of adventure to the whole thing — a naughty clandestine twist that had us laughing all the way back to his. But when we arrived and he disappeared inside, the reality hit me. What the fuck was I doing?! I had run away from this place like I was road-runner, my oh-so-high-in-demand feet barely touching the ground. And here I was, coming back of my own accord, just over a week later. I was just about to do my second escape job in seven days when Caelan’s head popped out the door with a reassuring smile and an assured nod, “The coast is clear”.

I looked up to the sky, and wondered what the slutty drunken Roman God’s would say.

To hell with it…

Once inside we went straight to his room (that fact that most Berlin apartments don’t have living rooms sure speeds along the whole courtship process), kissing the second his door was closed. So much for coffee.

He reached out and turned on the lights.

Of course, I had seen it all before. The bare room, the mattress in the middle of the floor. The only difference I noticed was a couple of suitcases in the corner.

Oh, and the naked man passed out on the bed.

Wait…

I did a double take.

Now, we can pretend that we don’t know who it was. But we know. We ALL know.

I should have been shocked. But really with everything that had happened so far, it made sense. Why wouldn’t good old foot-sniffing Baltazar be naked and spread eagle in the exact same spot I was hoping to have sex?

Still, the question needed to be asked and so I asked it…

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Suddenly a horrible thought flashed through my mind. The last time I was here it had seemed quite clear that at least some of the residents shared more than just an electricity bill. Perhaps Caelan was after a “housemate special”. In fact, maybe this was his way of broaching it — in the same way that you might show someone a chocolate cake before you ask them if they want a slice.

But from the way the colour was quickly draining from his face, I could tell that this was not, on this occasion at least, the case….

“I… I…. I don’t know.”

We stood there for a while, taking in the entire glorious scene. Not only was he naked but by this point he had also started snoring like an obese warthog. If this had been his way of tempting me, I couldn’t say it would have worked.

He stepped towards him… “Better wake him up.”

At which point, I pulled him back with such violence that part of me was surprised a limb hadn’t come off.

“WHAT?!”

“Well, what else can we do?”

Oh, I dunno… run away. Preferably to the moon. Live there forever, setting up a safe place for people, who through no fault of their own, ended up in the most fucked up situation known to man and now need to run away, never to deal with said horrifying situation again.

But mentally I conceded that he was right.

The thing is, there was no way in hell that I could be the first (second, third, millionth) face this guy saw when he woke up. While I hadn’t strictly lied about our former meeting, I sure as hell hadn’t told the truth either. And what would he say if saw me anyway?! “Oh, back so soon?!” Jesus, it was a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

As if things weren’t bad enough, by this time their other housemate had also appeared to see what was going on. A geeky looking guy with glasses and mousy hair — I wondered if he knew that we had kinda almost had a threesome. This thought alone was enough to tip me over the edge and so I ran to the bathroom, quickly and firmly locking myself in.

There, stood in a small room of questionable hygiene, ear to the door — I seriously questioned every decision I had made in my life that had lead up to this moment. I mean, I had only been in the city for a fucking week.

I also wondered if I was destined to never have sex again.

I could just about hear muffled voices and what sounded like a small but laborious struggle — what I imagined was Baltazar’s naked body being dragged from the room. After 10 minutes and having not received an invite to leave my small and smelly prison, I considered the fact that it might never be safe to do so — screw the moon, maybe I would have to live here from now on. I would be forced to drink straight from the tap and lick the mould for nutrients. Still, it was better than facing whatever was going on on the other side of the door.

Eventually, when silence fell, I decided to make a break for it — whizzing past the open door of the kitchen, where I could just see a naked butt out of the corner of my eye. I picked up the pace to one that would make Usain Bolt look hungover and I bounded back into Caelan’s room with all the grace of Bambie learning to walk after drinking a bottle of tequila.

We stared at each other.

“Well… that was weird.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and started to laugh. With disaster averted, we could relax and get back to… well, you know…

But Caelan continued to pace the room, wringing his hands nervously. He grabbed a pouch of baccy out of his coat and rolled a cigarette with the nervy desperation of a man minutes away from lethal injection.

Which is when I noticed an acrid smell in the air.

“Caelan? What’s going on?”

He turned to face me and then looked slowly and sadly down at the mattress — the same mattress that so far had offered me nothing but false promises of sex and a whole lot of fucked up happenings.

He braced himself, took a breath and then…

“He pissed in the fucking bed.”

And in the distance, I was sure that I could hear the unmistakable sound of slutty drunken Roman God’s laughing…

The End