Online dating seems to be shedding its taboo status in recent years; people are completely shameless in their pursuit of happiness. Advertisements for Match.com and the like are saturating television screens across the country. Despite the boom in online dating, there must be some experiences that put people off it forever. And yes, there are, one of which happened to myself in the mid winter of 2006, at the tender age of 18.
MySpace had been a cultural phenomenon, the first social networking website to accumulate an astronomical number of members. I had just signed up, and within a few days I had been added by a delightful looking creature. She added me, as she “liked my pictures”. The only picture I had of her however was the small thumbnail that graced her profile screen, and a very elegant picture it was: brunette, shocking blue eyes and a voluptuous curvature of the lips; this picture alone was justification for talking to her.
Over the course of a year we chatted online and still this was the only picture that kept me going. Our conversation was healthy, and we very much enjoyed each other’s digital company. There does however come a time when this alone is not sufficient, and the next step needed to be taken.
She invited me to her house, a very forward invitation I know, but I accepted. Winter can be a very lonely time for a young single man; this effectively quashed any negative thoughts that arose from my conscience. I had never met this girl before in my life, or even heard her voice. Unluckily for me, my shameless desperation succeeded.
As I drove to her house I remember feelings of excitement and nervousness. Unfortunately, I am one of those people who become very sweaty whilst driving, and took the liberty of storing some Sure for Men in the glove compartment. Despite the elaborateness of all this planning, it was all in vain.
Upon arrival, I was confronted by an intricate labyrinth of narrow houses. Unsure of my maiden’s exact location, I called her to hear her sweet voice for the first time; it was delightful, and rung about my head like some morning songbird. She exclaimed “I can see you!” and hung up the phone abruptly. Not more than a moment later a heard the fumbling of a door latch behind me. I turned with graceful poise to receive a build up of emotion that had been permeating for a year via the wondrous mysteries of online dating. The door opened…
She was huge. I refuse to use the word “fat” because it would not do justice in explaining just how much excess body this person had. I politely smiled through gritted teeth and fought against the muscles of my face, which I’m sure were trying to convey disgust or repulsiveness. After some initial awkward chitchat I managed to compose myself and follow the mammoth into her house and up the stairs. I use that metaphor very loosely. She was massive.
I followed her lumbering gait across the landing and into her bedroom, my head hung in shame. During this intense time of disappointment however, every nuance of anxiousness and fear was lifted away from me like some veil of inhibition. I felt like there was no point in fronting up to this girl and being somebody I wasn’t, as I had no desire to consummate with a Jabba the Hut lookalike. I therefore had this overwhelming sense of being my honest self.
It was a liberating experience; we chatted and conversed with a lucidity and freedom that I had never felt before. Minutes and hours passed away rapidly until winter’s day became winter’s dusk, and the dark clear December night descended over us. We talked of everything and nothing, all held in a strange acoustic blur in my memory.
When it came for me to leave a bizarre thing happened. I had no intention of kissing this girl, yet she hovered ever closer to my face. Macho pub folklore dictates that “fat girls are more eager, and grateful.” These wise words lingered with me, and I felt as though I owed her something; she was a great host, we had known of each other for a long time and this first meeting had been a great success minus the extra kg’s. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. I kissed her.
Regrettably this kiss was followed by a minor sex act that I will not digress into. As I left the house she stopped me at the door and asked if I was going to call her. I smiled and said yes knowing fully that behind my evil little facade I had no such intentions and wanted nothing more than to get home and wash my fingers.
I drove home on that dark December night with mixed feelings, I felt like an evil little tyke having done what I just had. I knew that this girl had shattered my initial shallow perceptions and materialism. It became increasingly hard to continue feeling like this however, as my hand was very smelly.
0 comments:
Post a Comment