FROM A FAN – Horror Story #1
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OK, so this one also comes from a fan… she sent this to us, and we thought it was too crazy to not show off. This is an example of a total lack of swagger… yeesh.
A few years ago, I met a nice guy. He was on the masters/phd track for Archaeology, or something like that. He was polite with old-fashioned manners and engaging to talk to about a variety of subjects. Naturally I accepted a coffee date. First hangout was fine though there were a couple things that brought me pause that at the time I brushed off as just human quirks. He still hurt over a girl who rejected him at dig… from two years prior. He had an obsession with new wave music to the extent he heavily hairsprayed his hair and when nervous would affect a Duran Duran cover pose. At 27, he lived with his mother but gave the reason that he took care of her since she was in frail health. (That I thought endearing.) Our short meet was pleasant enough that I dismissed my overall feeling of unease with him. He made great conversation once you got past the veneer – a genuinely a nice person.
Our second meet was at the food court at the mall. Actually not even so much the food court but one of those independent dining establishments, with fake plants and benches and a sad little fountain. He seemed to be a little nervous, which is only natural, I guess. We chatted amiably of something or other and then the conversation turned serious. And Intense. Quickly.
Basically in short order it came out that he was a virgin (ok, fine but no need to share that intimate detail), and held very, very, very high romantic ideals. Chaucer/Whitman/Rumi/Keats times a million romantic ideals. Admirable sure, but it was such a degree that I couldn’t imagine carrying the burden of this “ideal” he had in his head. Then he started talking about religion. He was Baptist. Harcore Baptist. Took his mother every Sunday to church. Lived by the book. Or tried. Ok, admirable.
And then it started getting weird…. Apparently, when find yourself at 27, living at home, a virgin, and striving for extremely specific and high romantic ideals you still get horny. Actually super-duper horny. He then proceeds to tell me about his, um, special toy. A premarital aid if you will. A plastic vagina.
He went to great detail about how he would mount this “aid” on the rails of his bed, that he could adjust it just so to “make it super crazy tight.” He told me how realistic it was, which prompted the question if you’ve never seen one, how do you know what realistic is?
The description of the particulars was what finally broke me. That, and he seemed to be making designs on me to be the “one.” So I nipped it in the bud, so to speak. I had to be completely direct and basically told him to just stop talking– that we weren’t going to develop into anything for a number of reasons. The number one being that he had just spent the last fifteen minutes going on and on about his… um, toy.
I was better off single. By far.
Thanks, Carolyn S. Hope nothing like this never, ever happens again.