Tag Archives: Fetish

PantyhoseLover81

2 Jul

Have you ever had an experience where, as you are going through it, you wonder if you are living your last few moments here on Earth?  That’s how I felt on Sunday night when I went out with a gigantic, pantyhose-wearing man.

I must admit that I was fully aware of what I was getting myself into when I answered a message from someone named PantyhoseLover81 on OKCupid.  His profile picture was of his hairy legs sheathed in a sheer, nude hose.  I responded because he mentioned that he also had a “regular” profile and I was curious as to what type of man fancied womens undergarments.  I figured his regular profile would feature a photo of a diminutive dweeb who was an office worker by day and a top secret hose fiend by night.  These dual profile people creep me out because they make me wonder how many “normal” men I have gone out with who have also had a secret sex profile.  But at this point there was no going back… I was intrigued.  So I got down to brass tacks with PantyhoseLover81:

PantyhoseLover81:  Hey how’s it going?
Me:  Wait, I don’t get it. Do you wear the pantyhose or does your date?
PantyhoseLover81:  Well if everything goes ok we both do lol
Me:  Like under our pants? Or just a nude hang out with hosiery?
PantyhoseLover81:  More like in the bedroom although I have been known to wear them under my pants on occasion.

He showed me his other profile, which was not at all what I had expected.  He was a giant, clean cut Italian man who was covered in tattoos.  He looked like a cast member of The Jersey Shore.  Under the question “Would you prefer your life to be simple or complex?” he answered “Simple.  Keep the drama for the movies.”  Additionally, I discovered that he didn’t drink– he was a sober lover of hose.  I concluded that all of these variables warranted a date.

PantyhoseLover81 lived in Little Neck (I have no idea where that is) but was driving, so I figured it wouldn’t be too much trouble for him to transport to my area.  I selected my least favorite bar in my neighborhood.  That way, he wouldn’t easily be able to track me down in the future because I rarely go there… but, at the same time, I could potentially make a quick escape to my home base if he tried to bind and gag me with hose and throw me in the back of his truck.

I went into the date with a massive headache due to the fact that I had spent the previous two hours looking at magic eye puzzles and could no longer focus my eyesight.  Tony Chiccorino, the man himself, walked in as I was taking a shot of tequila that the bartender bought me.  Oops.  He assured me that he didn’t mind, and I was struck equally by how tall and mellow he was.  I forgot to mention earlier that this was my first blind date ever where I gave someone a false name for safety purposes.  I knew I was inevitably going to slip up and have to come clean about my lie… which happened when I explained to him that the letters on one of my tattoos are my initials and he said “I thought your first name was Sara?”  Double oops.

Tony told me in his thick Queens accent that he worked as a firefighter– which genuinely surprised me.  You would think I’d be shocked to learn that my firefighter date was a pantyhose aficionado, but unfortunately it was the other way around.   I let him talk about the life of a New York firefighter, his nieces, and his recent kayak outing for a little while before I broached the real topic at hand.  “So have you ever slid down a fireman’s pole wearing nothing but hose and a helmet?” I asked, after procuring a second beer.  “I never mix business with pleasure” he responded.  “How did you first come to realize your love of hosiery?”  He explained that, at the impressionable age of seven, he had found a pair of his older sister’s pantyhose hanging in the family bathroom.  The texture had aroused his senses and he felt drawn to them in a way that, at seven years old, he could not venture to explain.  The next thing you know, those bad boys were on his legs and he was sold for life.  I asked him how often he finds himself galavanting about in a pair of hose and he said “you know, a pantyhose fetish is like a pulse.  It goes up and down.”  “How many pairs of hose do you own?”  I was not letting this go.  “In my arsenal?  Three or four.  I got news for you.  That’s a lot.  Usually it’s one.”  I guess the pulse is high this summer.  Just when I didn’t think things could get any better, he pulled out a vaporizer and started vaping in my face as he pondered: “Hose.  It’s one of those words you say too many times and it starts to sound funny.  Hose.  Hose.”  Eventually it came to light that he had recently engaged in a threesome with a married couple he met through OKCupid.  I made a joke about all three participants writhing around in a pantyhosed fury, to which I think he replied something about my statement not being too far off.  “You heard me” he said, as if reading my mind.

As we were leaving I asked Tony if he was currently sporting a sensible pair of hose under his jeans.  He told me that it was a little too hot for layering, but he did have a pair in his truck if I was interested.  “Can I drive you home?” he asked, as I began fearing for my safety and considering how I could leave a trail of forensic evidence.  I told him I only lived two blocks away, but he persisted.  “That really won’t be necessary” I said, giving him my number which seemed to be an acceptable parting gift.  I then ducked behind a homeless man’s cart until I saw his truck disappear over the hill.  By the time I got home, I received a text from him that read “Hope you got hose ok.”  I’m still not sure whether or not the typo was intentional, but that, along with the fact he didn’t murder me definitely secures Tony Chiccorino a spot in my Blind Date Hall of Fame.

A Rebounder Gets Rebounded

5 Dec

With the end of 2012 comes my one year mark on OKCupid.  Granted I took several breaks when I froze my account for periods of time… but it seems like just yesterday I was filling out the asinine questions and perusing potential first dates.  After the treacherous journey through my year of online dating, I can report that I found: a lot of crazy people who were interesting to talk to (but whom I would never date), a handful of guys who have become my friends, and only a couple of guys I actually felt would be a good match for me.  But hey, the year’s not over yet!  Here is the gripping tale of the first guy I actually liked that I met on OKCupid.  We’ll call him George.

I first met George waaay back in April, the same week I dealt with Judgmental Jonah and Moose on the Loose.  The night we met, I was frazzled and not at all looking forward to the date at hand.  George had peaked my interest, however.  He didn’t have a profile picture up yet, but had sent me a link to several “non-gross” pictures of him so I could see he was legit.  He also mentioned that he wrote for The Onion and knew all about my hometown (where The Onion originated).

I got to the bar early to order a salad since I hadn’t eaten yet that day (maybe Jonah’s insult hurt my feelings more than I let on).  George texted me to say he was going to be a few minutes late and I considered ditching him and going to a friend’s party instead.  I can’t stand him up that would be rude, I thought as a squirrelly man scampered in and I prepared myself for the usual awkward introductions.  I couldn’t exactly remember George’s pictures and thought this squirrel looked as if he might be an OKCupid person… but he walked right past me.  Not him.  As I turned back around a tall, attractive man with a nice beard and pretty eyes walked up to me on my other side and said “Hi, I’m George, sorry I’m late.”  Whoa.  It was the first time (up to that point) that I had been instantly physically attracted to a blind date.

George had a dry sense of humor and we got along really well.  We laughed at some of the ridiculous pick up lines I have gotten from guys online and I was surprised at how comfortable I felt around him.  Being the Cynical Cynthia I am, I was waiting for something to be wrong with this guy because it all seemed a little too much like an eHarmony commercial.  We did a shot and he shared that I was his first ever OKCupid date (uh oh…) and that he had just gotten out of a four year relationship (and… there it is!) with a butcher (come again?)  He said “Wow, if all my OKCupid dates go as well as this one I’m going to love this website!”  I grimaced into my beer mug and thought about all the terrible blind dates I had gone through to get to one good one.  I decided to push this conversation out of my mind and just enjoy my time with George… so I invited him to come to my friend’s party and surprisingly he said he would love to.  Of course my friends all really liked him and, after a couple more beers, we headed to one last bar.  Soon, the OKCupid app came out and we chatted with this 22-year-old stoner kid who had been contacting me all week.  We convinced him that we were Siamese twins conjoined at the crotch, and if he wanted to meet me he would have to be cool with my open-minded bearded twin with a heart of gold.  Sharing a cab home, it took all I had not to invite him up to my apartment.  My demure behavior didn’t last long, however.

We went out again a week later, this time in his neighborhood.  At the end of the night he invited me back to his place and, although I obviously wanted to go, my sister’s words from earlier echoed through my head: “Whatever you do, don’t sleep with him!”  I had told her about his recent breakup and she didn’t want me to get involved.  Well, as you may have guessed, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.  He was subletting his apartment since moving out of his ex-girlfriend’s place and everything there belonged to someone else.  Someone who liked philosophy books, protein shakes, and dentist’s office art.  We made out on the couch, then I told him I should go.  He pulled me closer and said “I think I’ve made it clear that I like you.”  Well alright, if you put it that way!

The next morning he was really sweet; putting his arm around me, buying me coffee, etc.  I returned home in the best mood ever– the sky was blue again, the screaming Hasidic children were cute again, you get the idea.  Later that day, for some reason I decided to check my old OKCupid account I still had from screwing with The Artist after he stood me up.  I hadn’t checked it in ages and logged on with the intention to delete it.  When I glanced at the messages in the inbox, my heart sank.  George had messaged my fake girl!  He said the girl in the photos was so beautiful and her responses so funny that he simply HAD to buy her a drink.  I had answered the questions in a ridiculous manner since the profile wasn’t real (for example, under “Have you ever smelled the underwear of someone other than your significant other?” I wrote “Of course, I sniff all my colleagues panties.”)  I was beginning to get the feeling that he was just trying to sleep with as many girls as possible to get over his ex.

When we hung out a week later, I didn’t tell him about the fake account thing but I definitely didn’t feel as comfortable around him.  He took me out to dinner in Fort Greene, then to a bar in Clinton Hill.  We eventually made it back to my place, where he seemed to, um, let out some pent-up aggression in my bed chambers.  He was pretty stand-offish the next morning and I felt a little used and a lot perplexed because I’d never met a man with an ear fetish before.  George told me he’d “drop a line” when he got back from a trip he was taking the following week. “Drop you a line” is on par with “take care” in terms of incredibly impersonal things you can say to someone who has seen your awkward inner thigh tattoo multiple times.  I knew he wouldn’t actually “drop me a line” when he got back, but since I obviously had abandoned all reason and dignity at this point, I texted him a couple weeks later.

We saw each other one or two more times after that.  Same routine: I text him, we drink together, maybe play a hand or two of Uno, he sleeps over, then stops texting me.  The lack of correspondence between our “dates” had become a pattern, but we had such a good time when we were together I tried to convince myself he was just busy.  Soon though, I decided I should stop seeing him as I had begun to develop feelings and he clearly wasn’t on the same page.  Or even on the same bookshelf for that matter.  This decision was justified when, a few weeks later, I got a text from him saying that he was getting back together with his ex-girlfriend.  Didn’t see that one coming!… Perhaps the time I came back from the bathroom to him texting her on my futon should have been a clue.  That was sarcasm, I totally saw that coming.

Sure, I was a little disappointed, but I certainly wasn’t heartbroken in the least.  He was the definition of a Category 3 from the start and it serves me right for prolonging it when he displayed all the warning signs of a man on the rebound.  And I did the exact same thing when I broke up with my boyfriend two years ago, so who am I to judge?

Here is my advice to you, my friends:

1.  Be wary of a man who has just recently gotten out of a long-term relationship.  Especially if you met the guy on the internet.

2.  Don’t get your hopes up because you are most likely a rebound.  If that’s alright with you, rock on sister.  If it’s not alright, get out now.  Preferably before you start thinking his slight Californian lisp is the cutest thing and it’s OK that he has a flat butt.

3.  Do NOT, whatever you do, sleep with him on the second, third, maybe even fourth date.  Just don’t do it.  It seals your fate as “that weird girl I hooked up with for a couple months last spring… what was her name?”  Also, he’s likely banging at least one or two other people… maybe even his ex.

But don’t you always want what you can’t have even more when it’s evident from day one that it’s off limits?  Ah well, live and learn.  Next time I think I’ll pass on being someone’s rebound.

Respect for Acting

31 Oct

While back in my hometown this week, a guy I met once or twice a few years ago contacted me to say we should meet up for drinks.  I couldn’t really remember much about “Evan,” but figured why not squeeze in a “blind date” of sorts during my vacation?  Besides, I kind of remembered him being cute.

I was out with friends the night Evan messaged me asking where I was.  I told him the name of the bar and literally five minutes later he walked in the door carrying a large bag of electronics.  I had mentioned that my phone was dying so he connected about five cords to whatever was inside the bag, handed me the end and said “Want juice?”  I barely recognized him– He looked about thirty pounds lighter than the last time I had seen him.  The substantial weight loss accented his toothy grin and he reminded me of a sneaky skeleton with chompers chomping in the night when he smiled.  We all had a drink together before he suggested we go next door to the gay bar.  There was a DJ playing dance remixes there, and the second we entered Evan started bouncing around like a crazed kangaroo.  I got drinks with my friend and tuned him out (no one else was dancing).  Soon, it was closing time and the other people I was out with were leaving.  Evan offered to drive me home, but first we had to walk to his apartment to get his car.

On the way, he announced that he couldn’t wait to “move home to New York.”  I asked if he had ever lived there and he said no, but that moving to New York was part of his “five year plan.”  Please don’t say you want to try to make it as an actor, I gritted my teeth as I dared ask him why he wants to move to New York.  “To be an actor, of course!” he replied.  Ok, maybe I am a Negative Nancy, but in five years you want to drop everything you’ve built for yourself here and try to make it as an actor in New York City at nearly forty years old?  God bless America, man.

We got to his apartment and I was impressed by how nice it was.  I realized I had been a fool to think we would just go in, get his keys, and leave.  First, he turned on some mood music, rolled a couple cigarettes, then took off his shirt to proudly reveal what appeared to be rope burn across his torso.  I hesitantly inquired as to what I was looking at.  He shared that he had started regularly attending a fetish club in town and bragged that last time he was there he got tied up and whipped.  This admission was a little hard to take from someone with spiky gelled hair, a Wisconsin accent, and a theatre t-shirt.  But an amusing one, nonetheless.  I was beginning to fall asleep on the couch– it had been a long day and he kept stopping several times throughout each sentence, pausing dramatically for effect as if he was reciting lines.  I made the mistake of asking about his ex-girlfriend (who I used to know) and got a five minute contemporary monologue, complete with exaggerated gestures and the use of a prop.  I apologized for being rude, but had been up for twenty hours and needed to go home and sleep.

I thought about the transformation Evan had gone through in my mind.  When I met him a few years prior he seemed reserved and mature (he is six years older than I).  Little had I known that three years later I would be watching him bounce around like a rabid rooster and looking at his rope burns.  “I hope I wasn’t too obvious about my disdain for his dance moves” I said to my friend the next day.  He replied “Well, you kept giving him the ‘Really?’ look… but I think he mistook it for ‘Really!’”

One of the beautiful things about New York City is that there is a little something for everyone.   Even if Evan doesn’t make it to Broadway, there are surely countless fetish clubs throughout the city where he can get tied up to his heart’s content!