His email reads: “Want to watch yourself as if you were a separate person, seeing yourself tie from a live third person perspective?”
I’m accustomed to getting strange messages on dating sites but this one instantly stands out. Browsing his profile I see that he’s a silver-fox of the type that builds art instillations for Burning Man. His rogue-ish smile and wild hair make me curious enough to inquire further into his offer.
It turns out that he’s a builder of high tech games, the most recent of which is a virtual reality head set that allows a person to see from the point of view of the other person in the room. Usually he uses this equipment for children’s birthday party games in the Bay area. He just happens to be in Portland visiting family for a couple days and wonders if we could get a drink. If we get along we could use the headsets for much more adult games.
I clear my schedule for the entire next evening.
We meet in a dive bar and the conversation is oddly easy. As a relatively shy person I don’t connect with people this easily on a regular basis so flirting becomes touching under the table. Soon it become apparent we need to not be in this bar anymore.
“The place I’m staying is only a couple blocks away.” He looks at me as if that simple sentence will reveal to me all the intricacies of where we should take the date from here.
“Are you inviting me back to your place?”
“Kind of. I’m saying the headsets are there and we could take them to your space if you like.”
“In that case, wanna come back to my place?”
We slide out of the booth and walk through the middle of winter streets, hurrying to an ordinary looking house. Stopping outside he gives me an embarrassed hang-dog look. “So…” This is where he tells me has a wife, or changed his mind. Inwardly I’m preemptively rolling my eyes.
“Uh huh?” I try as a prompting.
“This is my parent’s house.” I laugh hysterically before catching the sound behind my hands to stay as quiet as he’s whispering. “Do you mind staying in the garage while I sneak in?”
“I guess not, but hurry, it’s cold!” This is how I find myself sitting in an attached but barely heated garage waiting for him to reappear while taking in the family portraits on every wall. I learn about his childhood hobbies, how many kids he has, what his parents look like. All strange information to have on a first date that considering how far away he lives likely won’t lead to another.
Alone, in my room, I don’t know what to do with him.
I’ve done this—well some version of this anyway—a million times before. Yet this is different. Awkwardly sitting on the edge of my bed I hope he’ll give me some clue of the protocol. Instead he stands there looking at me, seeming just as lost.
His suitcase of wires and gadgets feels like a third presence in the room. It’s strange to be uncomfortable with him all of a sudden; I spend my life in front of the lens of strange men. But I don’t understand or fully trust these devices we’ve retrieved nor do I know how they operate. The tiny camera connected to the top of an ordinary hat. The sci-fi, bug eyed, grey goggles. The various battery packs and connectors.
I stand and move close to him, daring him to bridge the gap. When he doesn’t, I touch his hip, testing the waters. Our eyes meet, that coy smile before it all starts. Faces so near but not touching. This seems to be the secret code he needed to stop behaving as a gentlemen. He takes me by the back of the head to pull me in.
Our hands and lips are everywhere. The touching after hours of purposefully not touching. Going from strangers to lovers in a single, unending kiss. I tumble backward onto the bed, his weight on top of me, knocking the air out and yet I refuse to break our locked lips. He’s heavy, unfamiliar. His stubble rubbing at my face, a contrast to the softness of his mouth.
Our clothes come off in a frenzy. No subtlety or subtext here, just a desire for flesh as quickly as possible. When an article of clothing is too difficult to remove, requiring any fumbling, I take over and toss it aside for him. He returns the favor. There’s no time to pause now that we’ve started.
I want him. I want to see everything he has to offer. The treasure map of tattoos that tell the story of him. The freckles that speak of summers in the sun. The curves and softly furred patches of his chest and legs. This hair darker than the salt and pepper on his head. The forest between his legs, blacker still. And at the center of it the surprising girth of him. The metal at the tip of his cock.
He laughs at my reaction. I must grin wickedly. This is new. This is exciting. I want him inside me, to know how the loop of steel, the balls at the end of it feel. My eyes are wide as I kneel in front of him, asking if I can have it. The step forward, the assistance guiding it between my lips is the only permission I need.
The metal is dangerous against my teeth. I’m forced to take my time. The size of his piercing and the size of him presenting a challenge. I don’t want to wait, I want all of his length pressing against my throat. But I can’t, it’s too much, the metal makes me gag, makes me take care and time I’m not willing or able to give.
He gets me back on the bed, gliding two fingers into me, stroking the perfect place, rubbing my clit with his thumb. Soothing me with his attentiveness, his obvious skill. He spits into his palm, making me slick, easier to fuck with his hand. I’m distracted, writhing my way alternately closer and further away from him. Holding onto his cock for some odd form of comfort.
I’m not willing to let him get me off this easily so I sit and meet his lips again. We moan into one another’s mouths. It would be so easy to reach into my bedside table for a condom. To break all my rules and fuck him. But that’s not why I brought him home.
Reading my mind he says, “This feels an awful lot like regular sex.”
“We can’t have that.” I flip him on his back, straddle his hips, the hardness of him dangerously close behind me. So tempting that I ache. I nod towards his bag. “Tell me how it works.”
His turn to grin now. “Get me the goggles. Put the camera somewhere fun.”
I do. He lays back, blindfolded to everything but what I choose to show him. I place the camera at his hip as I take him in my mouth again. Now it’s a performance. He sees my perspective as my lips glide up and down his shaft.
He feels so far away, in another world as I’m having my way with him. I don’t know who is using who. I don’t know whether to lock eyes with the camera or his face. He’s lost in the virtual world, not giving me any signs of pleasure other than his obvious erection. Without any sounds or feedback, I’m bored. He’s somewhere else entirely and I’m left here.
“Can I tie you?” He nods and moves the camera farther away, to a better, wider angle.
I frog tie one of his legs, folding it in on itself, locking it off, taking his range of motion away in that limb. My motions are clumsy, awkward. It’s a lot of pressure giving a show to this device, I still can’t wrap my mind around what it’s like, what it’s showing him exactly. Playing to the camera, I try to concentrate.
It isn’t fair he gets to wear the fun half of this virtual reality equation, he does this all the time, it’s one of his favorite first date games. But I’m willing to wait my turn. I take out my frustration in the form of a tight chest harness, pulling the leg up to it, exposing him. My nails running over his bound flesh. No reaction. He’s soft now and I’m so confused.
“Mmm, the rope is cold. This is interesting.” This isn’t dirty talk. He’s observing, learning what works, saving data for later.
“You want me to continue?” I don’t even know what he’s seeing or feeling in those goggles.
I guide his hands together in front of him, binding them, then to the harness at his solar plexus. He doesn’t struggle, seems indifferent to being helpless. With no feedback loop it seems pointless to continue. I realize in this moment how much of placing rope on a partner is watching their joy in being in my lines. There is none of that here, we are lab partners in the science of virtual reality tech.
“Tell me what you see.” I run my hands all over his body. Leaning in over his crotch, pressing our skin together, licking at his hips and nipples, teasing him.
“I feel you but see what you see. It’s confusing. I don’t have words and I’ve done this a lot.”
That isn’t at all satisfying. He’s good with his fingers, not so much with his descriptions. “Can I try?”
He takes off the goggles and helps me into them. It’s like wearing a bad night vision porn headset. Everything is a blurry, green-tinted mess. I make a mental note to get better lighting in my bedroom. He lays back and observes, I feel him getting hard again.
Suddenly I’m a player in a dirty point of view video game. All of my other senses are still my own but I’m seeing what he sees. My hands touch his chest, but I’m witnessing the opposite of what I’m used to, his view of my hands on him. It’s disorientating. I’m a baby deer trying to stand for the first time, flailing my fingers around, trying to figure out the controls on this game I’ve found myself in.
Once I get my bearings I try to untie him, while using the goggles to pretend to be him. It’s still trippy and uncomfortable, what I imagined then being on hallucinogens would be like. My hand is a bag of meat. Without being able to control it from my perspective it flops down on his leg too hard. It’s impossible to be graceful.
I slap my hand around until I find the first knot that will loosen his bound leg. Running my fingers along it, I’m able to find the bend that needs to be pulled to unlock it. I’m seeing it from the wrong angle, I pull in the opposite direction it needs to go. The mirror effect. This is worse than trying to untie with my eyes closes. It seems like I should know what I’m doing but without being able to close my eyes to it, my vision is controlling my perception.
He’s smiling as I pull off the goggles. “What do you think?”
“That’s fucking trippy! Do me next.” We laugh as I untie him, giddy.
As so often happens when I ask for something, I’m instantly nervous. Especially when he directs me to get on all fours at the edge of the bed. It’s strange that it’s this easy. I say the words and a willing partner guides me down the road towards satisfying that curiosity. The power and pleasure is heady.
I put the goggles on again and do as he asks. He controls what I’ll see and experience now. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. His hardness brushes against me as he positions himself at my flank, causing a flush of excitement and fear to shoot through me. I can see everything and nothing. My other senses are muffled. My eyes are wide open looking straight ahead at the window above my bed but what I see is the wall behind me. It makes me dizzy. I’m not bound but feel totally out of control.
He places the camera between my legs on the bed, angled up so I can see myself. This is a lot of information! It’s nothing I haven’t seen before but watching the folds of my wetness in real time is strangely embarrassing. I can’t look away. Moving my head to avoid the reality of the situation as his fingers move across my cunt, doesn’t change the view. This messes with my mind, no matter where I move my eyes I still see his view of my labia up close. I see what he wants me to see, nothing else.
His fingers probe and make their way inside me. I feel the pressure of them enter my cunt but seeing what he sees makes it feel far away and hypothetical. It’s as if I’m watching a porn of myself. Now I understand why he couldn’t keep it up while he was in the goggles, I’m having a hard time concentrating. My girl boner is struggling. He has to keep adding lube. I’m distracted, fascinated in a purely scientific way that has very little to do with actual pleasure.
The moist sound of his hand moving in and out, flesh on flesh, is odd at first. I wonder where the noise is coming from, what else is going on in the room that I can’t see, until I realize it’s related to what I’m watching. The information that’s making it to my brain is on such a delay I can’t even trust my perceptions.
This all changes when he moves the angle of the camera so I can watch him finger me with one hand and occasionally stroke himself with the other. Since I’m taking on his view, it’s easy to imagine that as my cock, not his. The fingers inside of me and the sensation of a palm dragged over a hard member are the things I relate to in this moment. So as I feel on the verge of coming it’s because I’m experiencing touching a woman and my cock at the same time. The oddness of the fact that I’m aroused by the notion of pretending to fuck myself isn’t lost on me.
My muscles clench around him as I go over the edge. He makes the most delightful pleased noises and he moves to follow my wiggling body. I can’t even close my eyes while I come, I’m totally in the moment, reveling in the perceived wetness on fingers that aren’t even my own, though the goggles tell me they are. His cock rubs against my hip and he holds me so I don’t damage the camera between my legs.
While taking the equipment away, I lay back all smiles as he asks, “Well?”
“I have no idea what just happened but it was hot as all hell.”
He seems satisfied by the answer, crawling above me to lock lips. I shimmy down to suck on his cock, remembering what it was like when I was in the pretend world and it was mine. Without all the trappings of hi tech gadgets in the way, connecting as flesh and blood humans makes me hot for him all over again. I grind on his thigh at the same rhythm I’m running my lips over his shaft and stroking the part of him I can’t fit in my mouth.
It doesn’t take long for him to get where he’s going. Grunting and humming he grips my shoulders. I look up the length of him, to his blissed out face, the undulations of his belly as his muscles tense, my curious view as he comes. The hot pearls of his fluid landing on my chest, a beautiful mess.
It’s beyond late when he dresses and I walk him to his car. He kisses me good bye, murmuring the script of “See you, I’ll call you.” I smile and touch his lips. He will fly back to his city at the end of the week, our paths aren’t likely to cross again. No need for those words, I’m not that kind of girl. My dreams that night will be insanely surrealistic. I briefly wonder if fooling around with him has ruined me for regular sex forever.
I smile to watch him walk away. I got exactly what I wanted from him. Now I know what it’s like to fuck myself.