Mounting a Royal Canadian Police
He picked me up in his Porsche, with leather and wood interior, and drove me over to Richmond at race speeds, causing me to hold onto the ceiling strap. I'd already decided he was an adrenaline junkie: it was confirmed when he parked on a side road, about 100 metres away from a Vancouver International Airport landing strip.
He was as excited as a kid to be showing me his discovery. The sun was setting and the sky was on fire with golds and oranges. He was about 12 years older than me, a handsome Scandanavian man with blue eyes and military short blond hair. Average height with a muscular build.
We only waited a couple minutes before a huge passenger plane passed overhead. Landing wheels, roaring jet engines, flashing landing lights and sprawling wings. It seemed like it was only 10 feet above us before it glided onto the runway. I was impressed by the experience - not so much for the terror factor - but that it was a unique romantic first-date experience.
M. had high energy, was very communicative (loved talking) and intelligent in a masculine way - I felt like I was on a date with an RCMP officer. I was in reality: a special forces RCMP office to boot! He performed special functions, such as acting as a body guard for the Queen of England and President of the US when they visited Canada. I know he spent a lot of time in an office doing investigations on people, using the internet. But it was very hush hush. He couldn't tell me anything.
I didn't realize how much was going on in his mind until we were walking down Granville Street, in the middle of Vancouver, to go to a movie together. He was very edgy and seemed to be picking out every person on the street, occasionally turning to look behind him, beside him and across the street. He apologized and said that he was nervous being so out in the open. Afraid of running into someone he had arrested and could be dangerous. It turned me on, I admit. Later he explained how he was trained to be a dirty fighter. Do whatever you need to do to take someone down and incapacitate them, even if it goes against fighting ethics (if there is such a thing). It felt a little dangerous and thrilling to be dating him. An undercover secret agent.
An overachiever, M. managed to parlay his income and inheritances into investments, making a sh*tload, and buying an expensive condominium in the heart of kits, just across from the beach. He owned not just his condo - the entire building. He had a chic, expensive penthouse, handsomely decorated. In addition, at one point he owned a condom shop - one of the first - and sold it after a few years for more profits.
M. was in control of everything, and of that which he wasn't, he forced the strength of his considerable power over it to make sure it would soon be under his command. But he also had impeccable morals and values. (Except regarding his son.)
I was young, and enjoyed being under the command of this dynamic, charismatic and sexy officer. He felt like a "daddy" I guess. Anyone would, with him. The only problem was... in the bedroom, M. became a bottom boy.
Hanging overtop of his bed, was an artistic black and white photo of himself, nude, muscles gleaming and perfectly sculptured. I was too innocent and niave to understand role playing. But in the bedroom M. became submissive, bending over his massive butt, wanting to be drilled. Not just drilled; he wanted me to talk dirty to him, subjugating him with my manhood and English language. I still believed in love at this time, so I wasn't conversive in the language of domination and sadism. It turned me off, in fact. I'm not verbal in bed. I don't need words to turn me on. So sex with him was creepy for me.
Maybe I wanted him to dominate me?
What ultimately changed my mind about him was his attitude toward his 17 year old son, who lived with him. His son was a non-achiever, a typical teenager who was sensitive, confused and hurt by his life with a father who divorced his mother because his father turned out to be gay. And now his father dated guys closer to his own age, than his father's age. I don't think I heard a nice word from M. to his son. I could see his son cringe inside, everytime. I counselled M. intensely, several times, but M. wouldn't budge from his opinion, and his approach to his son.
I couldn't be with someone that didn't know how to love. Ya know what I mean?
M.'s previous boyfriend was a 22 year old who kept getting into drugs, risking M.'s career. I think he was attracted to the bad guy, in some convoluted way. I'm not a bad guy ultimately, so it didn't work.
But M. was very sweet to me, and I have fond memories of dating and mounting this royal canadian police man.