Sex, an Abduction and a Heist

I am in a period of my life where my metaphorical plate feels like an all-you-can-eat buffet where, every time I take something off, another dish instantly appears in its place.

AKA: I am at maximum physical and emotional capacity.

However, just like my body needs to eat, sleep and drink water, it also needs to, for lack of a better word, fuck. Rather than continuing to deprive myself of this enjoyable part of the human experience due to my inability to emotionally connect with anyone at this current moment in my life, I thought I'd have a shot at honesty. After all, I thought, I had very little to lose and potentially a lot of fun to gain.

My first obstacle, however, was: how do I find a normal-enough (I do have a soft spot for the slightly strange), kind, attractive and intelligent suitor who I enjoy talking to, but also just wants to engage in no-strings-attached sex? The thought of having to explain myself to someone I met in person at a pub or a club, for example, felt dooming. After all, my plate was full, and I had very little time or energy for formalities.

The alternative, however, was online dating apps, which, as someone with a particular distaste for the internet, felt unappealing. Nonetheless, fuck it, I thought. I'm not going on here for anything other than sex. It all feels slightly less cringe.

I re-downloaded Hinge and matched with a guy whose profile gave me the right balance of cool, interesting, and importantly, not cringe. 

For anonymity's sake, we're going to call him Big Ben. I didn’t choose this name because of obvious reasons, but genuinely because he lived opposite Big Ben.  

Here lies the second obstacle: what do I say to Big Ben to make him understand my headspace without also making him think I'm a total fuck girl, which, just for clarification, there is no problem with being; your body your choice after all. 

I landed on:

"I'll be so honest, I've got so much going on in my life atm, so a date feels like a whole thing, but I'd definitely be down to fuck."

It felt to the point and honest, and I added:

"Wild message, I know. Just decided honesty is easier."

...just so he knew that I was self-aware.

Luckily for me, Big Ben responded that he too was looking for a bit of fun, having recently gone through a breakup. It seemed his plate was also too full for formalities. Another win was that Big Ben and I had enough mutual friends that I decided he was a safe option and probably not a psychopath, a woman-hater, or a murderer.

Skip to Thursday evening. I get home after a fair few drinks at the pub and start to feel a) spontaneous, b) horny and c) tipsy enough to feel confident but sober enough to have my wits about me.

Perfect timing. I get a text from Big Ben. 

"Do you want to come over?" – Big Ben

"Should I dress up or down?" – Emer

Fuck me, this is fun.

"Up. Means there's more to take off." – Big Ben

I throw on a slip dress, a fur coat, grab a bottle of wine, and I'm on my way.

"Outside." – Emer

Right, so I'll spare you the details because it's not that kind of article, but just so you know, Big Ben was great. The whole thing felt very comfortable. He was kind, smart, funny and extremely attractive.

I wake up the next morning in my own bed after asking Big Ben to get me a Bolt home, feeling simultaneously smug with myself and more hungover than I have ever been in my life. Wine, I have now come to realise, really does give me the worst hangovers.

I reach over to grab my phone from its charger.

It's not there. 

Ffs.

I'll just go on Find My Friends and play the lost sound since it's always on silent. This isn't my first rodeo.

Emer's iPhone

Romford, England

Last seen 8:44

Great. I left my phone in the fucking Bolt, and now it's in Romford. What's even better is that now I need to message Big Ben and ask him to contact them, completely undermining the nonchalant persona that had allowed our agreement to run so smoothly.

Suddenly, I feel incredibly hot, sick and faint.

I rush to the bathroom and start seeing black dots.

Great. Now not only have I lost my phone, but I am also dying.

I run the cold tap in my bath, hunching over in the shallow water to cool my overheating, nauseous corpse, and think to myself: Is this karma for not treating my body like a temple?

Luckily, Big Ben is unbelievably helpful, tells me not to worry and contacts Bolt. Obviously, I don't tell him that I've spent all morning trying to figure out whether I'm going to faint, vomit, shit myself, or all three at the same time.

Fast forward a whole lot of administrative and logistical nightmares, and I finally get the Bolt driver's number.

I call him.

No answer.

I call him again.

No answer.

I call him eight more times, and on the last one it goes through.

"Hello?" – Emer

"Who is this?" – Mr Bolt

"It's me, the girl who left her phone in your Bolt. I've been trying to get hold of you. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, but I really need to get it back." – Emer

"I have a life you know." – Mr Bolt

"Look, I know. I'm so sorry. I am an idiot, but please, is there somewhere I can meet you or something?" – Emer

"Text me an address. I'll need money." – Mr Bolt

"Yes, of course! THANK YOU." – Emer

I text him the address of the pub I'm at and will be at for the next five hours for my friend's birthday.

One hour later, nothing.

Two hours later, nothing.

I text him and call him and spend the next five hours getting completely ghosted.

The next day I do the same. Text. Call. Nothing.

Until later that afternoon I get a text.

"Send me £60 to this bank account and I'll give you your phone." – Mr Bolt

Wait, what?! Am I being blackmailed by my Bolt driver?

Look, I'm more than happy to cover the travel costs, but after being scammed buying an iPhone from a Snapchat drug dealer when I was seventeen, there was no way I was making the same mistake twice and sending him the money before I got the phone.

"Hi, the police have advised me not to send money before I get the phone. I am happy to pay you the fee for travel once I've got the phone, or I can come to you if that's better. So sorry for the inconvenience, but I need my phone back." – Emer

"Great. I'll come whenever I happen to go past it." – Mr Bolt

Wait.

What does this mean?

Is he coming to my house?

When is he coming?

I need my phone. All my work is on there, it’s got access to my online banking, and I’m meant to be moving out next week. I can't just wait forever.

I'm freaking out.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you again. I hope you understand how urgently I need my phone. If you can deliver the phone, I will pay the transport costs. Otherwise, I can come and get it. Please let me know what works for you. Many thanks." – Emer

Bolt man? Nothing. 

For the next twenty-four hours, complete radio silence.

By this point, people were telling me to give up, which I understood. It's just a material possession and, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't matter. But now it wasn't even about the material possession. It was about the fucking principle of the whole thing.

I had my phone abductor's full name, licence plate, phone number and address, but I couldn't get my phone back. Granted, it was my fault for leaving it in the Bolt, but the whole thing just felt infuriating and unjust.

I had to somehow get this phone back, but I was now in the countryside for my dad's birthday and had no way of getting to Romford over the next few days.

Luckily, I have the most fantastic friend whose family lives in Romford and agreed to see if he could get it back. 

He arrives at the house that Find My iPhone directs him to. His car's outside, but the lights are off.

He knocks on the door.

Nothing.

Fuck. Either he's asleep or nobody's home.

My phone is so close, but so far.

After about ten minutes of knocking with no answer, my friend (Gabe) messages me.

"I just saw someone in the window and there's a light." – Gabe

"What the fuck? He's hiding from you." – Emer

He keeps knocking 

"Look, before I give up, give him a call." – Gabe 

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing.

Ring again.

"Hello? Who is this?" – Mr Bolt

"Hi! It's me, the girl whose phone you have. PLEASE, my friend is outside. Open the door and give him my phone." – Emer

"I'm not trying to steal your phone." – Mr Bolt. 

So that was my story about how, ironically, a situation born from me trying to avoid logistical shitstorms and adding anything more to my plate, ended up having the complete opposite effect. Not sure whether I'll be doing that again. Probably safer to have a wank.

I did end up getting my phone back, though (thanks, Gabe).