The Robert Encounter

Two Days in Canada (without leaving London)

This is a standalone chapter from my upcoming memoir Good Luck Getting Rid of Me. Due to its explicit content, it won’t appear in the published book.

The year had already worn me down. I was feeling burnt out, bored stiff, and a bit stuck in a South London routine that felt like a gray loop of spreadsheets, squirrel-watching, and low-grade depression dressed as normal life. Calum was off living his glamorous, jet-setting work life while I was mentally dry-humping nostalgia and thinking about Milan like it was salvation.

I did not envy Calum for all his travels and the realization of his lifelong dream, but I did feel a little bit of resentment that I was stuck exactly where I’d never wanted to be.
Then, out of nowhere, Robert messaged me on a lesser-known fuck-app.

The first thing that struck me was the Canadian flag and a massive, uncut dick. I suspected he might be as sexy as he sounded. That morning, his profile dick pic looked good, and his bio said, "blonde," "toned and muscular," and "visiting."
I was already more than interested. Then he sent me his face pic and that inner saboteur instinctively told me, "he will ghost you."

But he didn’t. We spoke for less than a few minutes and he sounded very keen.
"You’re exactly my type," he told me.

My suspicion demanded a second verifying face pic. I got one. He got my address.
"Do you look like your pics? Are they current?" he clarified.
"Yeah. I’ll take a selfie for you now if you like," and without waiting for confirmation, I took a pic and sent it.

Tell the subcribe button to go on the app, help it create a profile, then message it from your own profile, give it your 90-year-old neighbor’s address, and watch it turn up, all showered and smelling of aftershave and wave from the window.