Same Time, Same Place, Next WeekbySuperHeroRalph©
This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.
Online Valentine blind date doesn't go as planned.
I had been writing to Gus, Augustine, his real name, if that's even his real name, online for several weeks, since before Thanksgiving. We wrote back and forth and talked on the phone enough times to know that we had many things in common, enough to make us realize we had a connection, and enough to make us want to meet to see if the connection was real or imagined. We exchanged pictures and we both liked what we saw. He told me to pick a date and time to meet.
Being the romantic that I am, especially if this online date led to more, I wanted our first date to be special, a meaningful first date, where we could look back and ruminate over that special first date with fond memories, especially if we were to have a first kiss. Okay, understandably first date memories mean more to women than it does to men. Which is why, instead of picking some obscure Saturday or a Sunday to meet, I picked Valentine's Day. I couldn't get any more romantic than that. Valentine's Day was the perfect day for our first date.
Prior to our first meeting, our recent e-mails had turned more sexual with him asking for a nude photo of me. Fearing if our first date didn't lead to a relationship, I'm not comfortable with sending nude photos over the Internet. Instead, I sent him a photo of just my breasts without my face. In essence, should he post that photo online, they could be anyone's breasts. Only, not happy with the partial nude photo, he wrote back.
"I'm not a medical doctor. I'm not a mortician. I'm not a forensic scientist. I'm not a coroner. I'm just a man attracted to a woman that I've been corresponding with for months. Please send me a nude or partially nude photo, but one that shows your pretty face in the picture."
I relented and sent him a topless photo of me and my face. Not ever having done this before, I was a little embarrassed, but this could be the guy, my one and only.
After the nude photo exchanged, our e-mails heated up and became more sexual. We shared our sexual fantasies. Trying to play the uninhibited, sexy woman, by relaying a fantasy that many women have in common with me, I told him that I had a fantasy of being taken and forced, but it was just a fantasy, something that I didn't think I'd ever do. I told him that I wanted to be stripped naked, have my pussy eaten, and then to be fucked in the way I've never been fucked before.
"Strip me naked and fuck me until it hurts, Gus," I wrote in playing our sexy game, while hoping that what I wrote would make him crazy with desire and lust for me.
He told me that he certainly could accommodate me by playing out my fantasy, as his sexual fantasy was having total control of the woman during sex. He told me that he could satisfy whatever wanton fantasy I had, so long as he did it his way. I admit that I masturbated over the thoughts of Gus stripping me naked and having his willful way with me.
On the surface, sexually anyway, at least, based on our complimenting fantasies, we sounded compatible, a perfect sexual match. In regard to our sexual fantasies, anyway, I was his Yin and he was my Yang. Only, he surprised me by sending me a nude photo of himself. A good looking man in good physical condition, at least he didn't have a big beer gut.
I just hoped to God that he was a nice guy, wasn't married, and knew how to treat a lady. I hoped he was normal and not some perverted whacko, who just wanted me to flash him my panties, while he sat in the car and masturbated. Believe it or not, that's happened to me before.
Then, there was a cross dresser who actually wore a bra on our first date. It was weird, when I kissed him and felt his bra against my forearm. I'm sure he was wearing matching panties, too, if I was to check, but the date didn't last much longer than our first kiss, once I felt his bra.
Another man, another first date, not taking no for an answer, exposing his cock to me, trying to force me to blow him, he practically raped me and would have had not been for my neighbor. He was walking his dog in front of my house, by our parked car. Seeing me struggling and hearing me screaming, he came to my rescue.
Oh, yeah, I've had my share of meeting online weirdoes. Sorry, I didn't mean to discuss my previous dates, but I could write a book. I'm just looking for one normal, nice guy. Sometimes when the world appears to be loaded with Mr. Wrongs, it's no wonder that it's so hard to find Mr. Right.
Certainly, I was a lady looking for a real gentleman, that is, if they still exist. A graduate of Wellesley College, Hilary Clinton, Diane Sawyer, and Madeline Albright's alma mater, a few of the most notable graduates of that school, educated, confident, and self-assured, I was not a woman to be used, abused, and/or mistreated. Oh, no, that's for sure.
I had enough self-respect that I'd never put up with a man treating me less than the woman that I felt I was. Hoping to make a love connection, rather than just a sexual one night stand, I needed to find someone who'd treat me with kindness, loving affection, and respect. Is that too much to ask? Where are all the nice guys? I could only hope that Gus was a gem and after exchanging so many e-mails and talking on the phone for hours, I had a good feeling about him.
Nonetheless and not without good reason, I was nervously apprehensive when Gus asked me to meet him at his house. For our first date, I'd much rather we'd meet at a safer location, a public place, one with a lot of people, such as a restaurant or the mall. Still, it was better that I meet him at his house rather than him meeting me at my house, should our first date not go as planned and he turned out to be a stalker.
I'd rather not divulge where I live, until I know him better. Besides, meeting him at his house will allow me to see if he's living alone, if he's married, or if he's living with his mother. A quick run to the ladies room and a quick check of his medicine chest is a good way to find out more about the man without having to ask probing, personal questions, while hoping he'd honestly answer them.
Since I was certainly interested in him, I was prepared to get the real lowdown on Gus. No more lies, no more playing games, and no more weirdoes was my new motto. I was tired of meeting guys who just wanted to fuck me and/or have me blow them.
Lonely, sexually frustrated, and horny, ready to settle down and make a commitment to one man, I was looking for love and not a quick roll in the hay. I wanted everything, the ring, the house, and the babies. Is that too much to ask and too much to expect? Putting my sexual hormones aside, I was prepared to meet Gus with an open heart.
We set the date for 8pm and he greeted me at the door holding a dozen red roses. A good start and a big surprise, how romantic is that? I was impressed, floored actually. I never expected the flowers. Like most men, I figured he wouldn't even know it was Valentine's Day.
So far, so good. This could be the guy. He could be the one. Finally, I met Mr. Right, I hoped.
"Susan, finally, we meet. After writing so many e-mails to you, talking to you on the phone, and exchanging photos, I'm so happy to meet you in person. I must say, you look better in person," he said taking a step back to look at me, before giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He twirled me around, as if we were dancing and in a way we were with our nervous, spur of the moment dialogue. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said handing me the roses.
Wow! Looking a bit like Tom Selleck, but without the mustache, Gus was hot, better than his picture and better with clothes. I couldn't believe when he sent me a nude photo of himself.
"Gus, you are just as you described yourself. Except you are handsome, very handsome. I'm pleased that you look exactly like your photo. The last few men I met looked nothing like their photos. They were all older, heavier, and had less hair," I said with a laugh. "It's finally nice to meet a man who doesn't need to wear a baseball cap to protect his head from the cold," I said with a laugh.
Well, for sure. This was going well, right from the start. Immediately, I had a good sense about him. I liked him, I really did. Could this be the guy who I'd marry? Is this the future father of my children. A typical woman, here I am already thinking about marriage and babies and I'm just meeting the man for the first time.
"Well, I must say, I'm not disappointed with your looks either, Susan, tall, blonde, beautiful, and busty, everyman's vision of the American beauty, what more can a guy ask for in a woman? Not to mention your intelligence, quick wit, and fun sense of humor."
"Thank you, Gus, you know all the right these to say to charm a woman."
"Come in, come in," he said welcoming me in his house and closing and locking his front door. "Let me take your coat."
Only, as soon as he stepped around me to take my coat, with my coat falling to the floor behind me and the roses falling to the floor in front of me, he grabbed me from behind. With one hand over my mouth and his other hand across my breasts, he licked the inside of my ear.
"Don't scream," he said. "If you resist me, I'll hurt you really bad."
Oh, my God! I must have a whacko sign on my forehead. Why do I get all the whackos? Scared out of my mind, I suddenly remembered all that I learned in self-defense class. I was prepared for this bastard. I bit his finger and he quickly pulled his hand away from my mouth.
"You son of a bitch," I said lifting my leg and stomping down as hard as I could on his toe, only to break my high heel.
"Nice try," he said. "Steel toe shoes," he said with a little laugh.
Quickly, I pulled away from his grasp, turned, and gave him a swift, hard kick to the groin nearly breaking my toe.
"Take that, asshole! Ow! Fuck!"
"Steel cup," he said making a metallic sound, when he tapped his nuts with his knuckles.
Immediately, I went into a frenzy of activity kicking and punching but, toying with me, he must have taken the same self-defense class, because he blocked every kick and every punch with ease.
"I'm a third degree black belt," he said with an arrogant grin.
"My friend knows I'm here," I said thinking fast. "And I told her to call the police, if I didn't step outside and wave to her that I was okay."
"Nice try, Susan, but I live on a dead end street and there's no one outside. I checked when I opened the door for you. Sorry."
"Yeah, well, that's because when I didn't come outside immediately, she drove to the police station. SWAT will be here any second, buster, so you better let me go."
"It's a small town, Susan, we don't have a police station and we definitely don't have SWAT. Besides, if she was going to call the police, her call would be patched here to me. I'm the Sheriff," he said with a laugh and showing me his badge. "Let's go downstairs, shall we?"
"No! No!" I squatted down to make my 130 pound frame as heavy as I could, but he dragged me forward, before lifting me and carrying me down his cellar over his shoulder, while I pounded on his back.
His cellar, his man cave, was all finished with all the masculine accoutrements that any man would want, big screen TV, pool table, bar, and a home theatre. Then, I saw it. In the middle of the room hung a meat hook from the ceiling. Who the Hell hangs a meat hook in the middle of the room? It was then that I knew what he was about to do and, as soon as I knew what he was going to do, I screamed, I scratched, I kicked, and I cried, until I exhausted myself. Well over six foot tall and two hundred something pounds, he was just too big and too strong for me.
Within an instant, he had one of those plastic ties that the police now use, instead of handcuffs, around my wrists. Fortunately, they were padded with soft fleece, otherwise it really would have hurt my wrists, when he lifted me up and suspended me by my wrists on the meat hook.
"There," he said, satisfied with his work. "Now, let me just have a look at you," he said stepping back. "You are absolutely gorgeous. I'm going to have fun with you, that's for sure," he said pulling out the biggest Bowie knife I've ever seen, as big as the one that Crocodile Dundee carried, when a mugger tried to mug him with a switchblade and he said, "That's not a knife," he said with a chuckle. "Now THAT'S a knife," he said pulling a huge Bowie knife out from the sheath on his back.
"Gus, please, don't do this. Okay? Just let me go and I won't call the police. I just want to go home," I said and started sobbing.
"Go home? You just got here, Susan. That would be so rude of you to just hit and run."
Feeling so self-assured and confident that I could handle any situation, here I am suspended on a meat hook by my wrists with some whacko holding a big knife. All that self-defense training went right out the window. If he was a woman my size, I would have kicked her ass and beat the crap out of her, but he was just too big, too fast, and too skilled at Karate. Now what? In my panic, I forgot everything. I was helpless. No doubt, I was going to die.
When he stepped closer, I tried kicking him, but my skirt was too tight to lift my legs up high enough to reach him. Besides, with him wearing the steal cup, kicking him in the groin was fruitless. For me to kick him in the face, I'd have to swing myself back and forth to launch a kick, but he was ready for that type of telegraphic move. He held me in place with the hand that held the knife and groped me with his other hand.
Horny before, hoping to have sex with him, I was too frightened to feel anything now but fear. For sure, I figured he was going to kill me. Watching one too many episodes of Dexter, I figured he was going to cut me into little pieces with that big, sharp knife, put my dead body in green plastic bags, and dump me in the ocean as fish food.
"You have a wonderful body, Susan," he said feeling my breasts through my blouse, before reaching around to feel my ass through my skirt.
I felt so helpless. I felt so violated. I felt so stupid. I was so afraid.
Then, in one quick motion, as if stabbing me with his knife, he reached his free hand up and in between my legs to cup my panty clad pussy. I gasped when he touched me in that way. He did it so fast and I wasn't expecting it.
Filled with mixed emotions, his touch felt good and bad at the same time. Excited and frightened at the same time, feeling both pleasure, while being so violated, I needed to keep my wits about me. So very afraid, if I wasn't so sexually excited by him groping me, I'd pee myself.
Maybe I could talk him out of killing me. The fear that I felt was pure enough to race my adrenaline and suddenly, conflicted, I was having sexual thoughts that I never knew I had. Here I am about to die and I'm feeling horny. What the Hell is wrong with me?
Slowly, feeling every centimeter of me, he ran his hand along my panty clad pussy, before pushing aside the material with his fingers and inserting one. I figured it would hurt, but it didn't. I was already wet, so very wet and the feel of his finger exploring me deep inside felt amazingly good. Then, he found it, my G spot and pressed his finger with just enough pressure to make me tingle, while playing with my clit. Oh, my God, I could feel my nipples responding. Oh, my God, if I wasn't so frightened, I'd enjoy what he was doing.
"Gus, please don't. This is rape. You could go to prison for the rest of your life. Further, you know that being a law enforcement officer, inmates don't like cops who go to jail."
I was trying to talk sense to him, while talking to him in a calm voice.
"I don't care, Susan. You're worth it. Besides, who's going to tell on me? There's no witnesses. It's just you and me. This basement is soundproof. I could fire my weapon and I routinely do at the target there on the back wall and no one hears me."
Weapon? He has a weapon, other than this big deadly knife? Of course he has a gun. Unless he's Andy of Mayberry, a sheriff without a gun, he's armed. The fact that he said who's going to tell on me, and in the way he said it, made me realize that he was going to kill me, after he had his sexual way with me. At least, I hoped he'd have his way with me, before he killed me. I hoped he wasn't into necrophilia, a whacko who enjoys having sex with a dead body.
I cringed and screamed when he raised his knife high over his head and plunged it down in a quick swipe, as if he was a butcher cutting off a slab of meat from a hanging side of beef. Instead, as if I dropped a bag of M & M's, all the buttons of my blouse hit, bounced, and rolled around the basement floor. How did he do that, when I have trouble closing a zip lock bag.
"Gees, Gus. I really liked that blouse."
"Quiet, bitch," he said.
It made me hot and angry at the same time, when he called me a bitch. I know it may sound weird, but I was hoping he'd slap me across the face. Then, he did.
"Ow! Gus! What the fuck?"
"Sorry, Susan. Did I slap you too hard. Sometimes I don't know my own strength. There," he said gently rubbing my cheek with his hand, before kissing it. If this wasn't so frightening, it would be erotically hot.
Then, not nearly done with me, he splayed open my blouse and felt my tits through my bra, before leaning forward and taking each nipple in his mouth and sucking them through my bra. First one and then the other. Oh, my God. If I wasn't so very frightened, this would be so very hot. If he wasn't such a psycho, I'd kiss him. Yet, this was Gus, the man I've written to for months and when we talked on the phone, our two hour long conversations seemed as if they were just a few minutes.
Then, he ran his knife down the length of my skirt. I thought he was slitting me open, until my skirt just fluttered as helplessly to the floor, as I was vulnerably suspended from the ceiling. I never liked that skirt anyway. It was dry clean only.
"Pretty panties," he said. "Blue is my favorite color. I love your shapely legs," he said slowly running his hand up from my ankle to my calf, to my knee and continuing all the way up my thigh, before stopping at my pussy. "You have perfect thighs for me to bury my face." He moved his face closer to my pussy and smelled me. "You smell nice, too."
Oh my God, if I wasn't so sexually aroused, I'd be embarrassed. If I wasn't so hoping he'd eat me, I'd be frightened out of my mind. Yet, in a way, once I forced myself to believe that he wasn't going to kill me, I was enjoying this.
Maybe this was all just a game. Only, this was no game. He had crossed the line. By stripping off my clothes, by touching me where no man should touch me without my permission, he had already violated me and was intent on raping me.
"Please, Gus, if that's your real name."
"Yes, that's my real name."
"Please don't hurt me, Gus."
I read that if I called him by name that I could bring him back from the brink of lunacy.
"Hurt you? I'd never hurt you, Susan," he said running the knife down the length of my stomach. "You're too pretty to hurt. I just want to love you."
Definitely, he was a psycho and definitely he was going to murder me.
"I'll do anything you want, Gus. I'll suck your cock and you can cum in my mouth. Okay? Would you like me to blow, Gus? I'm good at sucking cock from what men have told me. Wouldn't you like to cum in my mouth and watch me swallow? I bet you'd like that. Just let me down, Gus, and I'll suck your cock."
"In due time, Susan, in due time. Let's not rush things. I like taking my time, especially with someone as pretty as you are. We have all night, but tell me. Have you had a lot of men?"
"Have I had a lot of men?" The best lie detector that I could think of answering questions about my sexual past, while suspended from a meat hook with a real fear of dying, I responded truthfully. "I've had a few?"