So. Here’s the thing.

I’d been messaging a guy that I met on Recon (a gay kink hookup app), who described himself as a top. His profile picture was one of his toys rather than of himself.

Lesson 1: there’s usually a reason someone doesn’t put up a photo.

He’d got a bit intense in his messaging and seemed to have us married in his head before we’d even met. I managed to pull him back from this wild projection, but it freaked me out.

Lesson 2: trying to protect a relationship before you’ve even met is a red flag.

I drove for nearly an hour and a half through glorious countryside to the picturesque village where he lived.

I knocked on the door. He opened it. I wanted to run away immediately.

It wasn’t because he was short, dumpy, or in his early sixties – I’ve had genuinely good times with men like that before. This was something else. My body clocked, instantly, that I wasn’t attracted. A collection of physical and environmental cues shut my desire down completely.

It was about as arousing as an over-ripe lettuce. Any interest I had in sex evaporated on the spot.

Lesson 3: I should have left then.

He kissed me on the lips, and I wanted the earth to swallow me. I felt deeply guilty for having such a strong internal recoil.

But he was a sweet man, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

He’d laid out some old leather gear that had belonged to his husband, who had died earlier that year. I tried a pair of chaps on. They were far too big, and although I managed to make another pair stay up, I didn’t feel comfortable or remotely sexy.

Lesson 4: wearing inherited gear from a hookup’s recently deceased husband is not a reliable route to arousal.

We went into the bedroom. I couldn’t work out how to extract myself from the situation without causing pain, so instead I tried to give him something – presence, touch, effort.

Lesson 5: escorts really do earn their money.

I couldn’t get hard, which is hardly surprising at the best of times given my heart medication, and certainly not in this context. After a few awkward attempts at “play”, I said that I wasn’t feeling right and mentioned some of my recent history – the breakup, the heart attack.

He’d already told me about losing his husband, but then he shared more. Five years earlier he’d had a stroke that nearly killed him, and that doctors had expected to leave him severely disabled. He’d recovered fully. Then, shortly after his partner’s death, his father had died, and he’d fallen out with his sister over the will.

Fuck. This poor man.

We cuddled for a while. I tried again, briefly. We cuddled some more. Eventually I said that I needed to head back, as I find driving at night difficult.

More kisses. A hug. Then I left.

I felt – and still feel – awful. He wanted something I couldn’t give, and he deserved more than I was able to offer.

I’m still not entirely sure what to make of the day’s adventure, except that I don’t feel good about it.

But perhaps there are some real lessons here:

• Attraction doesn’t need justification.
• Compassion is not consent.
• Leaving early is kinder than staying resentfully.
• If your body says “nope”, believe it immediately.
• I cannot fuck somebody out of bereavement.

And I need to challenge my inbuilt idea that if someone is kind and suffering, I should be able to override my own needs.

Compassion that overrides my boundaries isn’t compassion – it’s self-abandonment masquerading as virtue.

And that isn’t kind to me or to the other person.

What I experienced were two conflicting responses in a difficult situation: an honest bodily reaction and an empathetic emotional one. These two couldn’t be safely resolved by pushing through.

Next time, I’m going to give myself a safety cord to pull – a few not-unkind stock phrases I can use when I need to leave:

• “I’m really sorry – I don’t feel a spark in person.”
• “I don’t think I’m in the right headspace to do this.”
• “This isn’t going to work for me, but I wish you well.”

Ah well. I learnt a few things, and as the saying goes, a day in which you learn something is never wasted.