Note from Glen: This is the first in a series where I’m sharing funny, exciting, or just plain weird stories from my life. There is little ‘value’ to be had in the personal development sense but I think I have some interesting tales to share.

For my first few weeks in Cape Town I lived in Long Street, the party centre of South Africa’s capital city. I stayed directly above a bar and the noise from below drove me crazy during the week, but the location was ideal on weekends. My boss’ brother owned the place which he rented out, but after 2 weeks there, I had to make way for other tenants and find a new place to stay.

You would be right in thinking that this image has nothing to do with the post…Photo Credit

My flat hunting lasted a week when Carl, a fellow Englishman working with me, informed me that his car dealer, Dennis, had a room for rent. I had met Dennis once when Carl was testing out a new Hyundai he was about to purchase, so had no reason not to trust him.

After hearing about the vacancy, I viewed the place that same day and loved it. It was situated in a popular area (which I later found out to be the Gay capital of Cape Town), had 3 bedrooms, a huge kitchen and living room, and an owner who said he was only there from 11pm to 8am which seemed perfect.

I signed a contract and moved in all my stuff after my shift at work, on Friday. That night I told Dennis I was going out with my friends and probably wouldn’t be back until the next day. Which is exactly what happened. When they helped me bring across the rest of my clothes on Saturday, I showed them around.

Dennis was there at the time, and took me to one side to talk to me in private. He had two requests. The first was for my phone number so that he could get in touch with me if he needed. I had just bought a new phone a few days earlier so gave him the card which my sim came connected to. His second request was that I don’t bring ‘people like them’ to the place again. My friends were coloured (that is the term used in SA – you know what I mean) so it’s safe to say that Dennis was racist.

Great start.

It turns out that Friday wasn’t my only night of partying; I went out with the same friends on Saturday as well and ended up staying at their place. Finally, at around 3pm on the Sunday, I was ready to make it back to my apartment to stay for the first night.

The Text Message

Literally about 5 minutes before I got into the car to drive back to my place, I received a text message. It said “Are you white and gay?” – I must have read the thing about five times before I could believe what I was reading. Normally people take a while to come to the conclusion I instantly made, but I couldn’t think of anyone but Dennis who could have sent me this.

My reason for this is because I had just bought a new phone and only around four people had my phone number. One of them was a person standing next to me, one was my boss, one was another friend, and one was Dennis. The first two people definitely wouldn’t have texted me that, and I was pretty sure it can’t have been the third.

I instantly called the number only to be hung up on straight away. My friends helped me try to work out what was going on. Possible conclusions we came to included someone having the wrong number, guy number three playing a prank, or it actually was Dennis.

After my failed phone call, I received the first in a series of texts:

Dennis(?): Don’t call, just text
Glen: Who is this
Dennis(?): Nobody you know, are you gay?
**At this point I was 95% sure this was Dennis (because of the limited number of people who had my number) so I decided to play along and eliminate the possibility. I’m not homosexual or homophobic, but I needed to know who it was**
Glen: Yes, who is this?
Dennis(?): Where do you live?
Glen: How did you get my number?
Dennis(?): I got it from a friend. Where do you live?
Glen: Greenpoint
**This was true. If it was Dennis, then acting truthfully was the only way I could ‘out’ him. If it wasn’t and someone was playing a prank, then I was about to look homosexual to my work colleagues. I took the risk**
Dennis(?): Where are you?
Glen: Why? Who is this? Where are you?
Dennis(?): Are you horny?
**This was really getting to me right now. My friends were thankfully taking this as seriously as I was. Again, I’m not homophobic, but I cringe at the idea of even acting gay. But still, I was in this far, I had to go along.**
Glen: Depends. Who and where are you?
Dennis(?): Can you get to Greenpoint in the next 30 minutes?
Glen: Sure, where can I meet you?
**I planned to drive past the location to determine if this was somebody I knew**
Dennis(?): Go to the place you stay.
**That was it, it had to be Dennis. Now that I knew the person I had moved in with wanted to make man-love to me, I started freaking out. The owners of the house I was staying at told me not to go, and urged me to stay with them. One of my friends, who was not a big guy but fairly tough, told me we should go, get my stuff, and get out. I agreed.**
Glen: I’ll be there in 30 minutes

I got in the car with two of my friends, and proceeded to drive to Greenpoint.

Returning ‘Home’

At this point, I was really, really nervous. I had no idea what to expect. Dennis was in his early 40′s and slightly obese. Despite me being straight which is quite an important factor that comes into play when a fellow man wants to have sex with you, I’m not sure any gay man would want to have sex with him either.

When the car pulled up around the corner from where we were supposed to be, I kept telling my friend “I can’t do this, I can’t do this.” In not so nice words, he told me to stop being weak and just go and get my stuff. Remember that I had only had my 18th birthday a few months ago and had only been in Cape Town for a few weeks.

If I was on my own, I don’t think I could have done this, but with a friend, I knew Dennis couldn’t even try anything. After all, it was two versus one. As we climbed the steps to the fourth floor where the apartment was, I could see Dennis at the kitchen window…topless.

There were absolutely no doubts it was Dennis who had been texting me now. I walked with my friend to the security gate and he spoke first: “Glen wants his stuff, something has came up.” The plan was to just walk in and get my stuff, and not say much to him. Then as I walked in, noticing Dennis hurriedly run to the bedroom and put on some boxers, I saw two naked men lying on the couch, each around the same age.

Dennis asked me what was going on as the two guys on the couch turned in my direction so they could hear. I quickly made up a story about a business meeting in Amsterdam and I had to get my stuff. My voice was shaking as I explained I would be back next week (of course, I wouldn’t).

I suppose you’re wondering about naked man number 4? Well, as I walked to my room to pick up my suitcase, I glanced right at the room opposite. It was a glance that will haunt me forever. Man number four was lying naked on the bed holding a leather whip in his hand. (I wonder if any homosexual male readers are jealous of me right now?) Anyways, “Holy sh*t!” was the first thought that went through my head.

As I put back the few clothes I had removed from the suitcase, Dennis walked into my room and shut the door. More “holy sh*t, holy sh*t!” commenced followed by the sinking feeling of “it’s four versus two.” Thankfully, after reconfirming to Dennis that I would be back in a week, he let me out of the room with no problems.

Myself and my friend left, and I never saw Dennis again.

As for the car he was going to sell my colleague, my boss handled that nicely. He phoned Dennis the next day after I told him his story and said “Dennis, keep your car, you sick f*ck.” Don’t forget that Dennis was over 40, knew I was 18, and knew I was new to the country. Even if I was gay and wanted some ‘fun’ with him, he never mentioned 3 other guys.

My biggest fear is what might have happened if I had stayed there on my own one night or what if I had went home 20 minutes earlier that day. From the size of this dude, how he acted, and how quickly he was able to bring three other men into the mix, I honestly think I might have been raped.

Until next time…

Question: What do you think of this type of post? I have lots of crazy stories from my life – most from South Africa – and I’m considering writing one per week, Tucker-max style. Let me know what you think.