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What’s the worst that could happen?

Dating chronicles

By DamilolaPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
What’s the worst that could happen?
Photo by Christian Lue on Unsplash

I have never been one for dating apps. In fact, I had always avoided it like a plague. The feeling of uncertainty, the awkwardness, the anxiety of meeting someone for the first time. The painful stab of rejection. The whole idea of swiping left and right on people didn’t sit right with me. But I was lonely. Extremely lonely, and I craved some intimacy so badly and felt out of place. All my friends are either married or in love, and I had nothing apart from a few failed relationships that ended in being blocked on social media. I also hate to admit that I am almost 30, and haven’t accidentally spilt coffee on a woman at starbucks who ended up being my wife like I see in movies all the time. So after much thought, I decided to download tinder. I didn’t think I’d find my soulmate, but someone to talk to would have been sufficient. And so I logged on to it, swiping left and right and hoping for the best. That’s when I saw her. Ella. She was incredibly beautiful and her gaze was so strong that I thought I could feel her looking into my soul for the secrets I might be hiding. She was way out of my league, but I decided another chip on my self-esteem was a risk I was willing to take. Whilst her photo was inviting, the bio on her profile though very strange and a bit cringy was interesting.

“I like long walks on the beach and BDSM.”

What a contrast, I thought. I found this bio to be somewhat mysterious and a good basis for an intro, a breath of fresh air from the pets and music filled ones. And so I sent her the lamest message I could muster, and surprisingly she replied. We talked for a while and it soon became apparent that she wasn’t looking for a relationship, and was merely looking to hook up with an adventurous and open-minded person. Since I didn’t have many expectations on what kind of encounter I was looking for, I decided I would give it a try. What’s the worst that could happen right?

We discussed our sexual preferences and wildest fantasies, and the more we talked the more I was enthralled by her views on intimacy and how she articulated her thoughts. She seemed quite nihilistic but I found myself drawn to finding out why, like a puzzle I felt willing to solve. I also had butterflies in my belly due to the novelty of getting to know this new and interesting person. After much back and forth, we decided on a date. And for days I was so excited I almost burst out of myself.

The day of the date arrived. I chose my best outfit, a white shirt and black tapered trousers, the only gifts I received on my 29th birthday. I had spent the night before ironing and making sure there was no single crease on my clothes. My hair was done so perfectly it looked like I had just stepped out of a shampoo advert from the nineties. My face was bald as I had gone over it too many times to fit into the physical type she had described. I was really hoping to impress this woman, knowing nothing might come of it and a second date is highly unlikely. I arrived at her house about 10 minutes earlier than I was expected and I could hear her speaking on the phone. Her very calm and soothing voice sounded quite urgent and I found myself wondering who she had been speaking to. Nonetheless, I went ahead and told her I was outside.

She came out almost immediately and I was overwhelmed. She was just as beautiful as the pictures but had a reserved and awkward demeanour. Her hair was swooped to the side and she had a deep maroon lipstick on, which complimented her freckled face so beautifully. But none of those things could hide what I perceived to be very sad eyes, almost like she had a lot of stories to tell with just one glance at you. She had on a blue top, which revealed her beasts in a sufficiently immodest fashion, and her patterned skirt fit on her body so perfectly both in movement and material.

I could confidently say she was the most beautiful woman I had ever set my eyes on.

“Come in!” She said.

I broke out of my thoughts, walking anxiously into the beautifully decorated but sparse apartment. A very haunting but familiar song played in the background.

“This is very nice,” I said, awkwardly, trying so hard to pick my words carefully.

“I assume you’re going for the minimalist style?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a minimalist, I’m just broke,” she replied, and I thought it was a funny ice breaker.

“Please sit.” She pointed at a yellow sofa in the corner.

“Would you like something to drink? I only have one glass because I never have anyone over.”

“Yes please! Some water would be nice,” I replied.

As I turned to sit on the sofa, I heard a shattering sound. The glass had fallen off the counter somehow, and I could see her disappointed face trying to overcome the awkwardness that might come with what she must have thought would be a judgement of clumsiness from my side.

“Well there goes my only glass.”

“Would you like to drink, from my...bowl?” She asked as her shy face searched for the white bowl in the corner.

I didn’t want to increase the awkwardness of the situation, so I opted out.

“It’s fine! I’m alright. I wouldn’t say no to some water, but I’m not so thirsty.”

After what seemed like a rocky start, we got to talking. And just like the chemistry flowed between us during our previous conversations on tinder, we seemed to bounce off each other in real life too. The whole time I was sat in front of her, with her gaze so strong I could feel them strip me down to my skeleton, I wondered what it would be like to date a woman like her. She was intelligent, quick-witted, sarcastic and very understated. And she spoke with such softness, that with every word she said, I felt myself settle further into a soft cushiony cloud. We spoke about our past relationships, childhood traumas, mental health, dreams and ambitions and the psychology behind the power dynamic in sexual relationships like BDSM. She made it clear that she enjoyed many aspects of it, one of which was being choked. Something about trust and a feeling of selflessness for the submissive party. This was something I had never tried before but I wanted so badly to be the man she described — an adventurous and open-minded man who was assertive and sexually confident. It wasn’t long before we had that moment where our faces were so close it felt like it would be wrong not to kiss. But something I had always done was ask. And so I proceeded to do just that.

“Can I kiss yo—”

Before I could finish my sentence, our mouths locked, just in time for the gentle tapping of the first drop of rain on the roof. In that moment, we were the only ones in the universe. And it felt like we had both projected out of our bodies into a very peaceful and safe realm which felt like our own special world. The wind outside intensified, our eyes were closed, and we got lost in the moment.

All of a sudden she stopped and looked at me. At first, I was worried I had done something wrong, but I soon realised it was time to play out the fantasies we had discussed.

“Choke me,” she mumbled, with her eyes dimmed and her sensual demeanour ever so present.

Having not done this sort of thing before, I wanted to know the boundaries and limits.

“How do I know when to stop?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t ruined the mood.

“Why don’t we have a safe word? You can stop when you hear it.”

And what would that be? I replied, feeling excited at the prospects of having something only both of us shared.

“Green light. I like the irony,” she replied softly.

And so I placed my hands around her neck, nervous at first and trying to figure out whether I was doing it the right way as she mumbled “more” each time my grip tightened. After the fourth increase in tightness, I stopped, afraid I was hurting her.

“Why did you stop?” She asked, as she looked at me with what felt like disappointment.

“You don’t have to worry, I’ll say the words when I want you to stop.”

And so I placed my hands around her neck again, this time with a determination to get it right, like a man who didn’t need any instructions on how to satisfy her. The kind of man she would date. I tightened my grip, looking into her eyes as she moaned gently, leaving me wondering how anyone could enjoy gasping for air. I waited and waited for the green light but it never came. Instead, she stared at me with an insatiable look of desire and asked for more each passing second. I started to feel slightly unnerved. And that’s when it happened.

Whilst her eyes were still open and locked with mine, I noticed she had stopped blinking. I was confused but since I didn’t want to disappoint her like the first time, I loosened my grip instead of stopping altogether.

”Do you want me to stop?” I asked, but there was no response.

“Ella!” I whispered, as I removed my hands. I started to wonder if I might be in a lucid dream I can’t seem to get out of.

“Did you want me to stop?”

“You didn’t say green light?”

Once again my voice echoed across the room and there was no response.


“Please say something?”

“Please....please say something!”

“Can you hear me?” I screamed, shaking her profusely and trying desperately to resuscitate her.

But all my questions were met with the loudest silence, and she wouldn’t move, nor blink, nor tell me this was a huge prank that wasn’t funny in the slightest. At this point I went into a moment of craze and became numb for a few seconds. Everything seemed to slow down and the haunting song in the background multiplied. But that didn’t last long because the terrible realisation soon set in as I stared at her lifeless body in front of me. Her eyes were still opened, complete with her stripping gaze. Complete with all of the memories of the moment I swiped right and the moment we began to speak. All the laughter at my terrible jokes, her beautiful smile and her piercing eyes.

Those eyes.

And that sadness in them.

They stared at me as if to tell me that the power dynamic has now changed. And I will forever be tethered to this terrible thing I had just done. As if to tell me I had entered into a big trap. And my penance is to be doomed to a life of guilt and retrospect. I was soon jolted out of my thoughts by four knocks on the door.

“Miss Ella! It’s the police,” the voice of a young woman bellowed through the doors.

“You called us earlier and we are here to check up on you.”

With my hands numb and my mouth agape, I picked up my phone and called the only person in the world whose voice might provide an escape from my nightmare. She picked up on the first ring.

“Mother, I think I’m going to need a lawyer,” I said, as I sat slowly, right next to her cold body, warm liquid trickling down my shivering legs and my hands up.

Short Story

About the Creator


poet, wanderer, writer.

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  • Test3 months ago

    Outstanding! Awesome story,\

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