Monday, March 16, 2009

I F*cked That Guy: Indiana Jones Wannabe

On my one and only trip to Austin, TX back while I was in college, I met an Australian graphic designer who had a cute Aussie accent, broad shoulders and the kind of sexy stubble I thought when I was thirteen that all real men had to have (God, I was lame).

Kaelan was a cutie who was always polite and soft spoken when we were out. But when we went back to his place, he showed me a side of himself I hadn't anticipated. His whips. Tons and tons and TONS of whips. It was the most insane collection of whips I'd ever seen in my life (I've been to sex toy conventions since, and they still don't hold a candle to him). They didn't appear to be used for freaky things, he just seemed to really love the craft of whips and spent most of our second night together trying to show off how skilled he was at knocking shit over.

Him: "See that shot glass on top?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: (Crack!) "Aye, you know how hard that is to hit from this far away? (Crack!) Hit another one again!"

Me: "Can we just drink now?"

He was a sweet guy, but his obsession with whips was just too much to overlook. It was also odd that for someone so absorbed with whips, not once did he even consider using them for things other than grabbing hats off racks.

Me: "You want to try that with me?" (motioning towards bull whip)

Him: "What?"

Me: "You know, a little whip action..." (playfully taps ass with whip)

Him: "Hey, don't do that. These aren't toys now."

Me: "Sigh."

As my month in Austin winded down, Kaelan was sweet and respectful of the fact that this was just a fling, and it nice for the most part. Driving me to the airport, he gave me a token of his appreciation for our time together: a pretty little black whip.

I loved it. I cherished it. And you know damn well I whipped the shit out of the next guy I went out with. Crack!

0 painful displays of affection:

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