I was talking to a potential new boy toy online. For once, I was really excited about this one. He was super funny, sweet, wickedly smart and the pictures of his washboard abs didn’t hurt either. Our talk was typical — the weather, our plans for the day, the last movies we saw, if I wanted to watch him jerk off —
Whoa. Wait. What was that last one? I read it again. Yep, that’s what he asked. Did I want to watch him spank his monkey? Wax the dolphin? Choke the chicken? On webcam, of course.
I don’t have a problem with exhibitionism (or euphemism). There was a Mardi Gras or three where I lusted after some cheap, shiny beads enough to do my Flash Gordon impression. But what I was really thinking was … did he forget I’m a girl? Not that we all don’t sometimes like a little extra stimulation, but there’s a reason trashy romance novels don’t often include scenes of the hero knocking out the one-eyed champ.
Fuck, I thought … and not in a good way. He had been doing so well. And then he had to take a nose dive into douchebag land. Creepy douchebag land.
“Uh, no thanks. I haven’t decided if I want to f*ck you or not yet.”
“You should see what you’re getting into. I’ll bring my c*ck over right now.”
I considered just shutting down my computer when I remembered we had already set a date for Tuesday. I could just grin and bear it, but that seemed like a waste of a Tuesday, especially when Lifetime always has Golden Girls reruns on offer. I could wait until Tuesday and claim to be working late, sick as a dog, or inconveniently deceased. But then I’d also have to forget to reschedule. And let’s face it; that’s kind of douchey, too. I could just tell him to go flog his dog at someone else. That was honest. And harsh. But honesty is the cornerstone of any good relationship, or lack thereof — so there didn’t seem to be any other option. Well, not any other easy option. On the other hand, it had been a long time since I had been this excited about a guy (before he offered to buff Bob and the twins for my viewing pleasure, of course).
“But eventually it gets creepy hearing all about it.”
Wow, that was hard to say. Why? Because it was vulnerable. Telling him to f*ck off implied I didn’t give a damn (even if that wasn’t entirely true — they were REALLY nice abs). Giving him a chance meant that I didn’t want him to be creepy. I wanted him to be cool and wanting always means that you’re invested. You’ve automatically got something to lose: hope.
I held my breath and then he says, “I don’t want to be creepy. Even being put in the creepy category makes me feel gross … so that’s gonna stop.”
And he did. (Exhale.) We went back to chit-chat and hope got to live another day. Of course, the next day was Tuesday and he didn’t show. You know that high-pitched squeal you sometimes hear in the back of your ear? That’s hope. Dying. Just a little bit, but dying all the same.
Creep.
Have you experienced some creeps in your NSAdventures? Tell us about them in the comments below.
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Sounds like a good thing he didn’t show up.