avatarAurelie B.

Summary

A young woman recounts a past experience where she accepted a dare to lick a dirty video game controller to impress a guy, leading to her getting sick with the flu.

Abstract

The author shares a story from her past when she was young and impressionable, and how she was willing to do anything to gain male approval. She met a guy at a professional networking event who she found attractive, and they exchanged numbers. They eventually ended up at his place, where he dared her to lick a dirty video game controller. Despite her reservations, she accepted the dare to prove herself to him, but ended up getting sick with the flu. The author reflects on the experience and how it taught her to be more discerning about the dares she accepts and to prioritize her own well-being.

Opinions

  • The author believes that dares can be a way to push our limits and gain courage, but not all dares have the same intentions.
  • The author feels that completing a dare for someone who doesn't care about you is not worth it.
  • The author has learned to be more discerning about the dares she accepts and to prioritize her own well-being.
  • The author suggests using antibacterial wipes to clean game controllers, keyboards, phones, and other frequently touched items to prevent the spread of germs.

My date dared me. I took it and I licked it.

And… Oh boy, I freaking regretted it!

A long time ago, when I was a sweeter and even more immature chick than I am now, I encountered a young lad during my eighteen-month stay in a certain kingdom — the Spice Girls’ land. Back then, and far worse than today, I was willing to do anything to gain male favors and approvals.

I only had had two partners at that point and had recently separated from the latest. I was going around purposeless and hated the constant mist. I needed an escape. I wasn’t particularly interested in romance, still in the limbo following a consensual yet too-recent-to-be-painfree breakup. However, and just like the saying, ‘this is when it stroke’.

With a twist though, because what came upon me was desire, not love. Yup, that Brit was hot. Similar to Tom Holland in terms of charm, but in a bulkier version. Mind you, my ex was adorable. One of the kindest, street-smartest, and funniest males I had encountered (the proof being that we remained friends despite the separation). However, all his amazing human qualities didn’t change the fact that he looked very average. Nothing ugly about him but no chiseled jaw nor six-pack to display. Not that this new guy had perfectly-molded abs either; on contrary, he was slightly chunky, but I got mesmerized from the moment we shook hands. His appeal laid in his silky smooth black hair, straight nose, and dark coffee eyes, along with a perfect natural complexion making all of his lovely features to stand-out.

The handshake was not merely because we were in Britain (we, French, would always opt to kiss!), but also because we met for the first time during a professional networking event. When ‘bulky Tom’ asked for my number, it seemed all the most logical; people were exchanging contacts left and right, to find their business partners, a new job, potential new clients,… The unwritten WikiHow of the evening was: 1. Greeting. 2. Spend a few minutes chatting. 3. Exchange business cards. 4. Say a few more words. 5. Move on to the next person. Tom and I played along and acted our parts to perfection. Nothing would have hinted then that our encounter would bend more towards pleasure rather than business.

Yet, when ‘convention Tom’ circled back to chat once more with me before leaving, the conversation turned to informal. He mentioned where he lived — in Richmond, one of the poshest suburban areas of Greater London with many hunting grounds — , and some other details — like his hobbies, which rightfully so, included hunting. These unusual shares in a professional settings led me to believe that we had actually entered into the courtship zone… and I was doomed to be the game.

Photo by Roxy Aln on Unsplash

Text messages ensued and ultimately, one night I ended up at his place. The setting was strange to say the least. His dad was upstairs, arguably ‘sleeping’. Meanwhile, he and a couple of guy friends were in a large basement, playing video games, barking at each other when one would screw up.

This wasn’t the Saturday night date I had in mind. I lowered my gaze to my short skirt and boots. Why had I been invited exactly? Was this a house party or a foursome? ‘Focused Tom’ offered me to take a controller so I could join them. I politely declined, “sorry, I don’t know the game. I’ll watch first”. “Come on, it’s a racing game. You just…go”. I had come to play a different game, but apparently we had misunderstood each other. Hiding my disappointment, I simply answered, “I’ll play in a bit”.

Half an hour later, the two friends took off. Not wanting to appear rude and overstay my welcome, I blurted out, “I’ll go as well then”. ‘Player Tom’ didn’t let me clock in more than ten steps before he got hold of me, “no, you stay. You just arrived. Go sit. I’ll be back”. His hand on my wrist coupled with his gaze locked on mine, led any will of mine to escape. I nodded and, obeying his instructions, returned to the couch.

‘Hydrated Tom’ reappeared shortly after, “so, ready to play a game with me now”? There was no doubt that he was still set on the video game, as he handed me over a controller while saying so. I grabbed it and got instantly grossed out, “gosh, why is it so sticky”? Not the right question to ask any young man if one doesn’t want to be served with an answer even less charming than the act itself… but my tongue raced faster than my mind. ‘Unfazed Tom’ laughed, “don’t worry about it. If things aren’t dirty they aren’t fun anyway” before adding, with a condescending look, “are you that much of a Princess that you can’t stand real life?”

The mofo was living in a million-dollar house (it was 2011, it meant a super nice home for the standards of the time), had Richmond Park as a backyard, owned a Bugatti, and lived with a very generous father who granted all of his requests. Yet, I was the Royal Highness? I considered arguing back by sharing with him some stories of my unpretentious upbringings, being the grandchild of four migrants and having grown-up with chickens instead of household pets… but shame crept up immediately. What if by sharing that, ‘high-class Tom’ would think less of me? I may have been modest but I wasn’t cheap junk.

My brain was still searching for the most appropriate come-back when ‘defiant Tom’ found the exit sign for me. “I dare you to lick it!” he said, eyes ogling at the controller. I was cornered…If I said ‘no’, Tom would see me no better than the chicken I grew up with. If I said ‘yes’, it meant compromising my dear hygiene standards, agreeing on a deed that wasn’t in my best interests, and possibly throwing up.

Of course, my need for validation overrode all logic; I brought the sticky controller in front of my mouth and gave it a lick. Not to a French kiss standard, but enough to make several of my taste buds shiver. I smiled through my clenched jaws. My eyes were blinking, still trying to process the trauma. I had tasted sour, salt and goo — whatever that tasted like — all at once. If I had been drinking, I would have asked for Vodka to numb this crazy flavor mix no amount of marketing would ever make saleable. I don’t remember his reaction, but mine was to ransack my bag for chewing-gums.

Following that act of bravery (or more likely stupidity), we played a few rounds of the racing game he fancied, exchanged some kisses too gentle to turn me on, and went to bed. We didn’t have sex. I didn’t hold the controller dare against him then, I was simply not ready.

The following morning, my throat scratched. I had slept poorly and insufficiently, but had no leisure to complain about it as I had to leave Tom’s basement before his dad came down the stairs. The lack of breakfast didn’t bother me, I was eager to get to my shared flat to catch some proper rest.

Barely arrived home, my temperature started to rise…and kept on, as if a radiator had invaded the privacy of my own body. The next day, I was meant to go to work but couldn’t. All my bones were aching, as if I had run three marathons in a row. When I called my parents to ask whether I needed to see a doctor or a priest, they informed me that I had caught the flu. I summoned all the strength in my body to argue that I wasn’t sneezing. Apparently, flu and cold aren’t the same thing. How could have I spent a quarter of a century not knowing the difference?

Turned out, this was my first time EVER getting down with the flu, and that was brutal. No wonder they developed a vaccine for it. People die from it!

I messaged ‘careless Tom’, “are you sick too?”. I read untraceable marks of arrogance in his answer, “No, I’m great. What’s wrong with you”? What was wrong was that I should have never licked the bloody disgusting controller that everyone had grabbed without washing hands! What was worse is that I shouldn’t have obliged a dare, just to prove someone wrong.

Dares are a way to push our limits. They are ritual passages to allow us to gain courage. However, not all have the same intentions, depending on who ordered them. Will the end result allow healthy growth? Or is this trapping you in a sick scenario?

Surely, we all do stupid stuff when we are young — and as adults too! — but this was probably one of my dumbest exploits. Not only was the act itself ridiculous, but the motive too. I was doing it for someone who didn’t care about me. And guess what, dear reader? Completing the dare didn’t even grant me a better status as Tom stopped communicating shortly after. It may have been because I held off sex that night, but it could also have been because I turned out to be an easy-to-manipulate dumb-dumb unworthy of his interest. In any case, that didn’t make me feel bright and shiny. I felt like shit and safe only hidden under the blankets, instead.

Since then, I haven’t taken any more dare. No exception. If I want to do something, I don’t need an excuse to grant me courage… and if I don’t, no amount of peer pressure is gonna change my mind. I’m grateful for the learning but luckily for me, three days stuck in bed wasn’t such a tragic consequence. Others may be less lucky.

… So, if you’re considering doing something you might regret one day, it’s better if it’s your decision alone!

Oh and top tip if you have some game controllers, keyboards, phones,… please swipe them regularly with antibacterial wipes. These sheets save lives! ;)

Dare
Manipulation
Toxic Relationships
Bullying
Self-awareness
Recommended from ReadMedium