This is an old blog I'd written back in the fall of 2003. Read it, live it, love it - it's the reason you should be careful about who you meet online.
I figured, after 3 years, it's pretty safe for me to share with you all.
Date: 2003-09-07 05:15
Subject: Everything that glitters...
Security: Public
Mood: aggravated
Throughout the entire summer, I've learned two major lessons: 1) rejection is a part of life I should get used to, and 2) if it looks and sound too good to be true, it usually is.
So far this year, I've been rejected by:
- A woman I cared for very much
- A really, really good friend
- The United States Armed Forces
- Magic Online
- Wizards of the Coast, in general
- Barnes and Noble, Inc.
It seems that in this day and age, it's politically correct to tell me in particular to get lost. I'm now at the point where I have nothing and no one left to turn to. I spent the vast majority of my life listening to other people's problems, but where are they now?
This was on my mind when I was browsing an online personals site, against my better judgment. I looked over the list of women who showed up in my search, both either off-limits or ineligible, and I'd just about given up when Microsoft Outlook chimed in that I'd gotten an e-mail. Someone on that very personals site (from Queens Village, no less!) had found me and responded to my ad.
Her name was Chevonne. She was 29, and a registered nurse working at Long Island Jewish Medical Center. I wrote back, hoping to find out what she was about. However, in talking to her online, she seemed to have very limited topics of conversation; she only talked about oral and anal sex. The heavy Caribbean accent she had didn't quite sound right while she asked me on the phone for sodomy when we eventually met, but I thought nothing of it -- at least, until tonight.
Tonight she called me and said she'd gone to a parade today and wanted to know if we could hang out tonight (for what else?). I looked at my clock and saw that it was 2 a.m. I was still awake, so I said, "sure." I then asked for directions, during which time she started whispering to me on the phone that she was touching herself and that I should bring KY Jelly with me for later.
Her convoluted directions led me to the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. "Call me when you get off the Interboro Parkway and I'll tell you where to meet me," she said. I followed her instructions, and was surprised when she asked me to meet her at the President Street subway station.
Immediately, the words "Danger, Will Robinson!" flashed in my view, and even bright when she told me to have my privates exposed upon entering the subway.
I ignored that. This is, after all, New York.
I parked a block away and I went into the subway, almost bumping into a man whose dreadlocks were longer than mine. "Excuse me," I said, and continued into the station. I only saw the station attendant inside, with two people who were buying Metrocards.
I went back upstairs and got on my cell phone again. "Chevonne? Where are you? I just walked through the subway and didn't find you."
"It's too busy in there," the voice said. "Listen -- I have a better idea. Are you listening?"
"Yes, I am."
"Do you really want to fuck me in the ass?"
What kind of question was that? And she did get quite a bit more graphic with the next few questions.
"Maybe if you could tell me where you are so we can at least talk about this," I replied.
"Okay. Continue down President Street, turn right at the first light, and then drive back out to Eastern Parkway. Park, then walk up a half block towards Nostrand."
This was starting to aggravate me, but I let it slide. I did as she asked. As I walked up Eastern Parkway, I noticed the same man I'd bumped into at the President Street train station leaning against a fence, in the dark.
"Hmm," I thought, "maybe he's waiting on someone, too."
I made it all the way to Nostrand Avenue before I realized I still hadn't run into her, so I called her again.
"No, silly, you walked DOWN Eastern Parkway, you should have walked UP. Head AWAY from Nostrand."
So, I did. I turned around and went back in the direction I'd come from, and continued up that other block. "Do you see me now? Can you see me from where you are?" No response. "What are you wearing? Where are you?" My connection to her dropped.
I passed the same man a third time, one block later.
"Wait a minute," I thought again. "This is no longer a coincidence."
I walked about five yards past him and dialed again, listening for another phone, and at the same time, trying to confirm my suspicions. I heard nothing, but I got her phone's voice mail. I elected to send a numeric page instead.
As I turned around and went back to my car, my phone rang again. "Where are you?" she asked.
"The middle of that block, just like you told me. Are you going to tell me where you are?"
"Listen. Do you still want your dick sucked?"
"We'll talk about that shortly. Where are you?"
"Still want to fuck me in my ass?"
I got tired of her ignoring my question. I stopped walking, and asked her straight. "Where are you? I'm starting to get tired of walking around looking for you."
"Well... I think I should tell you something."
I knew it. "Tell me what, Chevonne?"
"Promise you won't be mad at me?"
Now, realistically, has any woman ever said those seven words to her man and honestly expected the recipient of this epiphany to not be mad at her?
'Depends. What do you want to tell me?" I picked up a more brisk pace towards my car.
"What if I were to tell you... that I don't have a pussy?"
I might have been surprised at that statement if I hadn't already suspected this fourteen paragraphs ago.
With this being my first (and only, and last) time in this situation, I realized that there's a moment in my life where I believed I'd know what to say when something like this happens. I had the speech already written in my head, the tone of voice already played out and decided on, and even the reaction I expected to get when I said what I'd have to say. Instead of this, however, what I said came out in a manner I did not intend it to -- "polite," almost even BPA-compliant (BPA is the company that monitors the phone calls to customer service agencies, for "quality assurance" purposes).
"Umm... I'm sorry, but I don't think this is going to work, then."
"Why not? I can swallow you whole, and you can stick it in..."
"... stop right there, Chevonne," I interrupted. "I'm sorry, but as you read on my ad, I'm straight and I'm only interested in dating women."
The foulness that came out of her mouth (if you can really imagine it getting much worse) was almost stupefying. The most PG-rated way I could describe what she said was (and yes, OK, I admit it -- I've already used "fuck," "my ass," "suck" and "dick" in this entry; this is already far beyond PG-rated): "Men like you disgust me. You were horny enough to drive to Brooklyn before, what the hell is your problem now?"
"I admit, I was horny, but not desperate."
"Yes, you were desperate, Scott."
"Not desperate enough to have sex with a man, Chevonne. It's a simple matter of personal preference: I don't make love to anyone that has a penis."
"I don't have a penis, Scott," she... he... tried to reassure me.
"Then what do you have? Are you a man? A woman? I'm sorry, but I'm not into these games." And after I said that, I hung up on her.
She called back about four times, trying to curse me out. I finally told her, "This conversation is over. If you call again, I'll report you to the proper authorities." *click*
I said "she" again, didn't I... By now I'm fairly certain it was a "he."
After all this time of getting promised female attention, I'm even getting ripped off on personals' sites. Admittedly, it felt good REJECTING someone for once; now I see how you women can do it without flinching.
What joy do gay men get out of trying to entrap a straight man into coming to visit by misrepresenting himself as a female? Do they think we would have a change of heart and say, "Okay, well, since I came all this way, I may as well completely redefine my sexuality just so you can get your rocks off" or something moronic like that?
I'm convinced, now, after 14 years online, that people really aren't naturally honest. I often wonder if the girl I cared about before was even a girl...
I wouldn't mind, just once, if people didn't play games with people's hearts online. I'm tired of it all.
