Something I'd Never Be Curious About

**Happy new year to friends and fans of ABCotD!  I have some new site plans for 2011, so keep your eyes out.  Thanks for reading and for sharing your stories!**

- JMG


Story Submitted by Henry:

Neia and I became close online.  Her profile was one of the most dynamic I had ever read.  She had done Peace Corps work in the Philippines, taught at a rock climbing camp, and started a charity to provide impoverished children with medications.

Curiosity got the better of me and I looked her up to see if she was telling the truth.  I found her charity and her name on the masthead, so that was enough for me.  What I'm trying to say is that she came across, therefore, as someone who had herself figured out, and wasn't any kind of liar.

It was our first date and we had sat down at dinner at a nice place when she began with, "I got in huge trouble today at home.  Wow."

"What happened?"

"I asked my mom what it was like to blow my dad."

My heart might have actually stopped.  Neia watched me, clearly hoping for some sort of major reaction.  I mastered myself and didn't give it to her.

I asked, "What did she say?"

"She asked me if I wanted a demonstration.  I told her I did, so she called my father into the kitchen and blew him right there, in front of me."

I had to fight tooth and nail to not react.  Still, I couldn't help but say, "Why would you tell me this?"

Her reply was the logical, "My dad's dick.  Have you been to this place before?  What do you recommend?"

I asked her if she was trying to screw around with me, but she denied it.  My next question was if she had said it just to make the date end early for some reason.  Maybe I didn't look the way she had expected.

She reached across the table and took my hand.  "That's not it at all," she reassured me, "I'm just telling you about my day.  I don't want to end the date."

I decided to pretend that she had never mentioned a thing about her parents or oral sex.  We went on in conversation about this and that, her charity work, my work as a university librarian, and so forth.  Our dinner was served and the conversation stopped for a few moments as we ate.

Then, she said, "You can come over to my place after dinner, if you want.  You know, see Mom blow Dad and all."

I put my fork down, and all at once, I had remembered something that she said earlier.  She said that she had gotten in trouble when she asked her mom what it was like to blow her dad, but aside from receiving a "demonstration" there didn't seem to be a mention of any kind of "trouble."

I asked, "You said that you got in trouble.  What was that about?"

To the day I die, I will never forget her response, and I've included it here verbatim:

"Because I asked if I could have a go."

I smiled.  What else was there to do?  Clearly she was yanking on me.

She said, "I'm serious."

I said, "It's not really funny anymore."

She said, "It was never supposed to be.  I was just curious.  Wouldn't you be?"

Obviously, she wasn't very pleased with something about me or the date.  Either way, we had a very quiet remainder of dinner, and I did not contact her again.

Joy to the Fishies in the Deep Blue Sea

E-mail Submitted by Ryan:

Out of every guy on every dating site in the entire hemisphere I have chosen to write to you (and yes I'll admit to all of the other guys who I've written this to but the number isn't large).

Why?

Why not I ask!

It takes me a long time to get up the nerve to contact somebody and today that somebdy is you!

Tomorrow it may be somebody else!

I like the parts of your profile that are like the parts of your profile that mention what you like to do for fun, how you studied, and where you like to do fun things.

I study monk seal fishies in fisheries and went to secondary colleges to ask that.  I like dancing going out to dance.

I hope to hear back from you, and have a great day!

Hannah

What Sisters Are For

Story Submitted by Margaret:

Nick and I were on a second date and he was over at my family's house (I had offered to cook him dinner) when he met my older sister (with whom I have a great relationship), Brenda.

It was a quick meeting – Brenda was in and out – but as soon as she left, Nick asked me, "Is she single?"

The question was strange, but I told him that she was.

He said, "Good.  I know someone who I could set her up with."

That was a strange thing to say, as he hardly exchanged five sentences with her.  I didn't give it much thought, though, and the rest of dinner went fine, although in retrospect, Nick seemed distracted.

Brenda told me, the next day, that Nick had sent her a friend request and she had accepted it.

That night, Brenda showed me some messages that Nick had sent her.  They were benign, nothing racy, but he was asking her questions about herself, and nowhere did he mention that he was hoping to set her up with someone.

I mentioned this to Brenda, but she blew it off.  "He's just being friendly," she said.

The next time I spoke with Nick, I asked him about the messages he sent to Brenda.  He essentially parroted what she said: "Oh, they were just friendly.  Friendly, friendly, friendly."

Fine.  I asked him if he wanted to meet up again and he said that he'd let me know when he was around.

A few nights later, Brenda went out and wasn't back for a couple of hours.  This wasn't too unusual.  What was unusual was what she told me when she came back, after 10pm.

We sat down in the kitchen and she said that she had been out with Nick that night.  Apparently, he had asked her to hang out but instructed her not to tell me.  She went out with him to test his intentions, he tried to "put the moves" on her, and she told him that he was an asshole and to stay away from both me and herself.

"You won't be hearing from him again," she predicted.  I gave her a big hug.

She was right.  I didn't.

How We Say Goodbye in German, Dr. Jones

Story Submitted by Christopher:

Jen was a friend who I knew was crushing on me for a while.  I wasn't into her, and despite telling her once that I wanted to stay friends, she didn't stop flirting through the years, so I made it policy to ignore her advances.

It so happened that I was exclusively dating another girl, Sara, when Jen called me to ask if I wanted to hang out.  Jen and I, as I said, were friends, and there was no harm in hanging out over lunch.

During the meal, I let slip that I was seeing Sara.  Jen rolled her eyes and made a face that clearly betrayed frustration, but she didn't say anything.  She invited me to her place after lunch, and I trusted myself enough to ensure that nothing would happen.

We sat down to watch a movie on a couch at her place when she sidled up close to me.  I headed her off at the pass with, "Jen, I don't think that's a good idea."

She leaned in and said, "Shh.  Close your eyes."

I had a feeling that she was going to kiss me, and I moved away from her on the couch.

She read my thoughts and said, "I promise I won't try anything.  Just close your eyes."

I sighed and closed them.  She rubbed her hand on my groin and I opened my eyes.  She was inches away from kissing me.

I jumped away and said, "Jen, I can't do this."

Faster than blinking, she lunged for me and slapped me in the face.  We stared at each other for a few seconds, and then she went right back to the movie, as if nothing had happened at all.

I left, and I haven't ever contacted her again.

How to Greatly Upset a Gnome

Story Submitted by Bryan:

In college, I was on stage crew for my college's theater productions, and Peggy was a lead singer in an autumn opera.

She was very short and had an astonishing voice.  The director said that she had cried when she first heard Peggy sing, and to be honest, I believed her.

At the end of one rehearsal, I approached Peggy and told her how much I liked her singing.  She glanced up at me and then looked back down at her music without a word.

I wasn't sure how to take it until two days later when she came up to me during practice and said, "I'm sorry about the other day.  It's the stress."  I offered to take her out that night for dinner and drinks.

She said, "I have a better idea.  Meet me in the quad after rehearsal."

Rehearsal ended at 8pm, and I met with Peggy as planned.  "What's your idea?" I asked her.

She said, "Are you going to be cool?  I saw this in a movie once, but I need to make sure that you're going to be cool."

I pressed her for more information, and she said, "I'll just show you."

She led me into the surrounding neighborhood and looked at each house as we passed it.  She went up the front walk of one, and a light went on.  She ran back to me and pulled me further down the sidewalk.

Finally, we reached a house surrounded by a chain-link fence that had a lawn gnome near the porch.  She pointed and asked me to urinate on it.

I refused.  She cajoled me, saying how funny it would be.  I said, "It's against my principles."

She begged me to do it for another couple of minutes, and when it was clear to her that I wasn't going to budge, she scaled the fence herself, grabbed the gnome, and ran around the corner of the house with it, out of view.

Peggy emerged a couple of minutes later and joined me on the legal side of the fence.

"Did you pee on it?" I asked her.

She gave me a big smile and nod.  She said, "When they pick it up in the morning, they'll be touching my pee."

"All right, then."

I walked us back to campus, we parted ways, and I never asked her out again.

Living in the Past

E-mail Submitted by Stephanie:

Subject:
A Fantasy I always had

i feel like i was born in the wrong place and wrong time. i've always wanted to live in the times of the pharaohs so that i could own a jewish slave girl. now i'm in a conundrum. what am i to do? i don't suppose i could buy you ? how much would i have to pay for your will and your life ? how do i go about this endeavor?

should i be surreptitious; furtive; concealing my motives to an unsuspecting jew girl until i trap her, or should i be upfront from the beginning?

i know that owning slave girls is morally wrong as it may lead to all sorts of abuse, but i would be very careful - i sincerely believe that i will be better to you than you will be to yourself. but i will need your unconditional surrender. i will not need your help or advice unless i ask for it. you will trust me more than you trust yourself. you will always place my welfare and wants above your own.

i dare say that you don't even realize that this is the best offer you'll ever get. if you say  'yes' now, i will be the best thing you'll have ever done for yourself.

Kevin

Growing Up, Breaking Down

Story Submitted by Karissa:

Patrick was a kid that I'd known since birth but had lost contact with sometime before middle school. Our parents had also been friends since before either of us were born, so, about eight years later, when I heard that my mother and father were meeting up with his parents for dinner and that he might be there, I took my parents' invite, and prepared for a nice reunion.

Patrick had grown into a tall and pretty good-looking young man. He was in his senior year in high school and was on the baseball team. I, myself, was a year older and had already graduated. At the end of the night, Patrick and I exchanged phone numbers, and went our separate ways.

Quite soon, we were texting one another back and forth, and he seemed like a nice guy. He asked me all about my music interests and what I was doing with my life, and I had given him some examples of some bands that I liked, including the Doors.  I also told him about the rock band I was singing in at the time, and he seemed pretty impressed. He didn't have much to say about himself, but I chalked that up to shyness.

We set up a date a couple weeks in advance for New Year's Day to grab dinner and a movie. It wasn't until a couple days before the date was scheduled that things began to get just a little weird. Although I had told him about quite a few bands that I liked, he texted me every time he heard the Doors on the radio.

New Year's Day had arrived, and we were both getting dropped off at the movie theater plaza for neither of us could drive at the time. I waited at the designated meeting place, and he arrived soon after. He said, "I brought you a present!" I was really flattered, and I told him so. He handed me a rolled up piece of paper, with an air of poorly-concealed pride.

It was a crude drawing of a stadium with balloons and bright colors. The top of the page said "Happy New Year," and the side of the stadium said, verbatim, "Karissa and her band! FAMOUS!"

At that point, I was in a quandary as to how I should respond. He said, "Well, how do you like it?" with an expectant look.

I cleared my throat and managed to say, "It's really nice, thank you." He was positively beaming with pride.

At dinner, I tried to make small talk, but he kept giving me extremely short answers that were difficult to expand upon. There was another red flag when the waitress messed up my order, and I said that it was okay, and that I totally understood. At this, he turned to me with astonishment and said, "Why are you being so nice to that waitress?"

At that point, any attraction that I had for him was gone, but he had already bought tickets to the movie, so I decided to wait it out. We walked to the theater and he tried to hold my hand, but I pulled my hand away.

I made sure to get a water bottle with a screw-on cap. Throughout the movie, when he tried to hold my hand, I would remove my hand to unscrew the top to the bottle and take a drink, replacing my hand in a less accessable spot. This continued for the entirety of the movie and I thought I was oh-so-clever. That is until, about three quarters of the way into the film, I ran out of water and he noticed. He snatched my hand and wouldn't let it go until the movie ended.

After it was over, I said that I was tired and that I would very much like to go home. He looked disappointed, but agreed, and we went outside to wait for our respective rides.

When we got to a bench, I sat down, and he inched closer to me.  I tried scooting away, but at this point he was leaning in close to me, saying things like "You're so beautiful" and other variations on this.

I kept my face turned slightly away the whole time. He finally asked why I wouldn't look at him, and I told him the truth: that it seemed very much like he wanted to kiss me and that I didn't want... that.

At first he denied it, but then asked why I didn't want to kiss him. I told him that I didn't know him very well and he argued that we'd known each other for eighteen years. I was trying to let him down easily and eventually I thought he was getting the message, when suddenly he started to cry.  Hard.

Luckily for me, my parents drove up and I hurried away. I thought that was the last I would hear from him, and I wish that were true.

Over the course of the next few days, he called and texted me about a dozen times, and I ignored him. In retrospect, that may have been a bit cruel, but to be honest, I was creeped out.

About a week after the date, my father got an e-mail from Patrick's mother asking why I was ignoring her son. My dad, being tactful as always, said that Patrick may have come on a little too strong, and that I only wanted to be friends.

About an hour later, I recieved a text from Patrick, the gist of which was, "I don't want to hurt you or anything, but I really don't want a relationship right now. I'm sorry if I broke your heart."

I have since ignored all of his attempts at contact, which have continued until this day, two years later.

There Are Indeed Better Ways

Story Submitted by Martha:

Karl and I met online.  He was a smooth talker, had a disarming smile, and was definitely the kind of guy you bring home to mother.  He'd always ask me how my day was, he sent me a box of chocolates just because, and he'd ask for my advice on a regular basis.  He was respectful.

Our first date was dinner and dancing.  He was a great conversationalist and I felt just as great with him as I hoped I would.  He could also tear up a dance floor.  I learned a lot about him that night that I liked, and he even taught me some great swing moves.  Bliss!

We walked arm-in-arm away from the dance studio.  He told me a story about how he had danced his little sister right into a punchbowl at an event when he was younger.  I laughed, and he pulled me in for a kiss, right there on the street.

It was just as warm and sweet as I had imagined it would be.  I didn't want it to stop, but then he did something I didn't expect.

Karl slid his hand down from my shoulder to my side, to my stomach, and to my pants.  He then jammed his hand in and yanked up on my underwear's waistband.

I pushed away from him and he let go.  While stuffing my underwear back into my pants, I asked him, "What are you doing?"

He gave me a look that screamed, you're an idiot, and said, "Stimulating your clit."

I said, "There are better ways and better places to do that.  I think that's going a little far for a first date."

"I've always thought that pink underpants were cute," he said, then leaned towards me for another kiss.  It lasted a few seconds before I pulled away again.

I said, "I'll get you a pair, then."

"I want those.  Gimmie them."

"I think we should call it a night."

Damn!  Damn!  Damn!  He had come across as such a good guy!  Why did he have to be an asshole and ruin it?

He asked, "Can I just put my hand on your crotch?" as I walked away.  "At least let me walk you to your car," were the last words I heard him say, as I quickened my pace enough to leave him far behind.

Not long after, a friend of mine met him independently and was raving to me about him.  I told her that story and she dropped him.  Hopefully, he won't ensnare anyone else.

I'll Think About it

E-mail Submitted by Tabitha:

I can't believe you're single.  I'm single too.  Already one thing we have in common.

I'm an average guy with above-average intelligence.  (Two things we have in common.).  I have a great job and I'm compitently independent.

I want to kiss you so hard that I suck your intestines out through your mouth.  That cool?

Think about it,
Malcolm

The Bleeps, the Sweeps, the Creeps, and the Feets

Story Submitted by Jaime:

Ann and I were on a second date, back at her place, watching a movie in her living room.  We were cuddling close, and I was expecting some kissing to commence.

She broke away from me and asked me if I wanted to see something.

Without waiting for a response, she peeled off her socks and showed me her feet.  They were scarred and wrinkled and withered-looking.  Altogether unpleasant, and certainly not a mood-enhancer.

I asked her what happened, and she said that she burned them in an accident when she was younger.  Then she said that she did it on purpose.  Then she said that there was nothing wrong with her feet and that she was proud of them.

She said, "It's not genetic, though, so no chance of passing it on to my kids."

Really?  You don't pass burned feet on to offspring?  I never would've guessed.

Then, she asked, "Want to touch them?  They're really weird."

I told her that I was good for the time being, and that I wanted to return to watching the movie.

She left her socks off for the rest of the film, and I left shortly afterward.  It gave me the creeps.

If the Shoe Fits, Eat it

Story Submitted by Will:

I was at a bar with some friends and went outside for a smoke.  Nancy was outside, alone, and I chatted her up.

She was a grad student and substitute teacher who also painted and studied abroad for two years.  I liked her almost immediately and got her number.

In the middle of our first date, she casually mentioned, off the cuff, as if it was nothing at all, that she had a boyfriend.

To be fair, I suppose I never made it crystal clear that I thought of it as a date.  She likely just thought of us as two friends, meeting up for dinner.

I was disappointed, but having someone like her as a friend wasn't a bad idea, and so I asked her, "What does your boyfriend do?"

"He's in a band, sort of.  He's the only one in it, right now, but he's working on that."

"What kind of music does he write?"

"He wants to write sort of synth-pop-metal-rock.  He hasn't written anything so far."

I replied, "Okay."  That was all I said.  Honest to God.

Her response?  "Stop trying to make me break up with him.  I know exactly what you're doing and I think it's really rude."

I said, "I was doing nothing of the sort.  I was merely asking about him.  What did I say that even remotely came across that way?"

"It's the way you're saying it.  You obviously want me and are trying to convince me what a 'loser' he is."

I said, "It sounds like you're already pretty convinced of that."

She said, "Eew," and pushed her salad away from herself.  "I think I've lost my appetite."

I didn't respond to that, and continued to eat my dinner.  Nancy stared at me for about a minute, then stood up and left without a word.

Next Time, Friending Can Wait

Story Submitted by Wesley:

Carol and I had a good first date, although she wasn't very talkative.  Figuring she was shy, I told her that I wanted to see her again.

That night, she sent me a friend request and I accepted it.  At the time, I thought that there was no harm to it.  I looked through some of her photos, and she had several of herself with her friends, men and women.

Not long after, she sent me a message that said, "You have a lot of pictures of yourself with other girls."

I replied, "I have a lot of friends.  Is that a problem?"

She wrote back, "Not yet."

Ominous.

At the end of our second date, I kissed her in a park and she asked, "Are you going to take a photo of the two of us?"

I said, "I hadn't planned on it, but I can with my phone's camera."

She said, "It's just funny because you had pictures of yourself with other girls and you haven't even asked me if I wanted to take a picture yet.  So in order to get a picture with you, I have to do more than kiss you, I see, and therefore, I assume that you've done more than kiss them."

I asked her to repeat the statement, because I didn't follow it the first time around.  Then, I informed her that just because I had a photo of myself with somebody, it didn't mean anything more than the fact that we were friends.

She didn't believe me, and I asked her about the many pictures I had seen of herself with other guys.

"They're related.  They're my cousins," she said.

"All of them?  Every guy you've taken a picture with is related to you?"

"Yes.  And you can't prove me wrong."

I said, "Then all of the girls I've taken photos with are also my cousins."

She yelled, "You're a fucking liar!  Delete those photos or I'll make you suffer!"

"By doing what?  Continuing to date me?"

It was an unfortunate remark, because she swung her hand up to slap me.  I caught it and she wrenched herself away.

"Let go!" she yelled after I had already let her go.  "Rape!  Rape!"

I walked back to my car.  She followed me there, screaming and screaming.  I drove away and never made contact with her again.

The Catch

Story Submitted by Dawn:

When I was 29, Charles messaged me online and I read his profile.  He was 30, ran two businesses, was handsome, and came off sounding very, very intelligent.  I had to wonder what the catch was.

His e-mails were very well-written and he seemed genuinely interested in me.  I gave him my number, but he said that he wasn't in a rush to call it.

"That would be too forward," he said, "Let's go slow."

I didn't bat an eyelash at that.  Everything about the guy seemed great.  In retrospect, I only knew as much as what he told me himself, so perhaps this whole thing was a valuable learning experience in that regard.

After three weeks of messages, I wrote him to ask if he wanted to meet.  We made all the arrangements, and to be frank, I was already falling for the guy.  He was always so full of compliments and always made me feel great after a bad day at work (and I had several of those).

After work on the day of our date, I went home to prepare when my phone rang, a number I didn't recognize.  I picked up.

A young man's voice said, "Dawn, it's Charles.  I have to cancel our date.  I'm... something at the office..."

Then a harsh woman's voice said, "Paul is grounded.  No phone calls."

Click.

Paul?

Grounded?

The next day, his online profile was gone.

Was I about to go on a date with a 15-year-old?

In That Order?

Story Submitted by Linda:

Before our first date, Jeffery warned me, "I'm an obsessive list-maker.  It's the only way for me to remember stuff."

This didn't strike me as too strange.  Yet.

When we sat down to dinner, Jeffery handed me a folded piece of paper.  I opened it up.

It had two lists, each with a heading.  The list on the left said, "What's Hot," while the list on the right said, "What's Not."

The "Hot" list listed "kissing, going Dutch, talking, love, holding hands, fucking, oral sex."

The "Not" list included "bugs, getting fat, the dark, whiny bitches, death, stds, if you've had a lot of ex-boyfriends."

I handed the list back to him and said, "I'll keep these in mind."

He said, "That's for you to keep.  I have the original on my computer.  The more things you do that are on the 'hot' list, the more I'll like you."

I scanned the list again.  "I think I can handle 'going Dutch' and 'talking.'  Some of these other things might have to wait."

He said, "Ooh.  Guess I might have to put you down as a 'whiny bitch,' then."

I glanced at the list once more and said, "Why stop there?  We can include 'death,' too."

That shut him up for a good, long while.  I think that we had both thrown in the towel at that point.  Who makes a list like this?

The Bathroom Bandit

Story Submitted by Joseph:

For our first date, Erica and I arranged to meet at my place to spend a day out, visiting a museum, walking in the park, and enjoying the weather.

Forty minutes before our agreed-upon meeting time, I was about to jump in the shower when my phone rang.  It was Erica.  She informed me that she had arrived early.  I was in a bathrobe, but I let her in and set her up on my couch in the living room while I went into the bathroom.

I was in the middle of my shower when the door to the bathroom opened.  My shower doors are translucent and you can't see through them easily.  Nevertheless, I backed away from the shower doors and said, "Hey, yeah, I'll be right out."

She didn't seem to hear me or – what was weirder – even realize that I was in there, because the next thing I knew, from what I could tell through the shower doors, she dropped her pants and sat on my toilet.  Right there.  In front of me.

I slid the shower door open a crack and poked my head out.

"Uh, Erica?  Um..."

What could I say?  Did she honestly not realize that I was in there?  She didn't even turn to face me.

I didn't want to embarrass her, so I slid the shower door closed and kept an eye on her until she finished her business and left the bathroom without flushing.

I turned the shower off, dried myself, and flushed the toilet, repeating the scene in my head over and over.  Did that really just happen?

I dressed and returned to my living room.  She was gone, and my apartment door was open.  I looked around, called for her, dialed her phone, texted, and finally wrote her an e-mail.

To this day, she hasn't responded, and I have no idea what the hell the whole thing was about.

A Fire Between the Seats

Story Submitted by Walter:

It was a Saturday night, I didn't have anything going on, and so I messaged three women on an online site to see if any of them wanted to hang out, no strings.  Coffee and a talk, that's it.

Melody wrote back first and said that she'd be up for something.  We spent about an hour getting to know each other.  What stuck out about her was that she was a painter who saw a therapist twice a week.  I didn't ask her why she needed such frequent therapy, but I was curious.

She said that she was in walking distance of a cafe.  I drove there and we went inside.

While there, she showed me pictures on her phone of some of her artwork.  There were portraits and landscapes, and they were actually pretty good.  So many times, people call themselves "painters," when all they do is splash paint on a canvas or draw shapes next to each other.  Watch me scribble a spiral on a piece of notebook paper and call it "symbolic for the triumph of the human spirit."  How much would you pay for it?  That's what I thought.

I digress.  Melody sucked down three cups of coffee and was becoming jittery.  I advised her to cut herself off, but she demanded that we go out to find marshmallows.

We went to an all-night store, bought a pack of jet-puffed marshmallows, climbed back into my car, and I tore into them.

"What are you doing?" she screeched, "We need to roast 'em."

She took a matchbook out of her coat and lit one.  She pointed to the marshmallow bag and said, "Hold one up."

I held it and she toasted it with her match, right there in the car.

Then, she brought the match near my skin and said, "Whoops!"

She was kidding around (I hope) but I jerked my hand away and she dropped the match between the seats.

"Is it out?" I demanded.

She looked between the seats and asked me if I had any water.  I jumped out of the car and ran inside the store to grab a bottle.

When I came back out, she was dropping more lit matches between the seats.

To put it nicely, I screamed at her to stop, and I doused water all over the seating areas of my car.

As for her, she was laughing the whole time.  She opened her match book with a frown.  "Out of matches," she said.

I kicked her out of my car and drove home.  We weren't too far from the coffee shop, so I'm sure that she didn't have a bad walk.

Unfortunately, His Name Is His Most Exciting Feature

E-mail Submitted by Alexa:

Subject line:
with eyes fixated on you like a McRib

The McRib opener is a bit creepy and cheesy but hopefully it caught your attention long enough for me to say: Hi!

Now that the hard part is over with I could always start rambling about how I was reading through your profile and noticed this or that while citing possible commonalties. *yawn*

I find it more fun to start any conversation with a stranger by asking one of the more difficult and possible most mind blowing questions I can think of.

Okay so are you ready (sorry that wasn’t the question)? How about now (nope not the question either)? Awesome now that you’re ready I can get to asking. So here we go! Just wait for it…………….., wait for it…………., keep waiting…. (tension is mounting)…, wait….. for …….. it. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE IT’S HERE!!!

My name is Bob, what’s your name?

OMG the humanity of it all!

Okay so that was scary! But at least now we can move on to easier and more serious topics and inquires such as: what is the meaning of life, what came first the chicken or the egg and does the light really turn off when you close the door to the refrigerator?

Hope to hear from you soon!

Bob

Barney! My Pebbles!

Story Submitted by Elana:

John and I had been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, so I didn't think twice about asking him to stay over one Friday night.

Our night together went well, and the next morning, I woke up early to make him breakfast: French toast and pancakes.

Now, I have a little nephew who I babysit sometimes, and his favorite cereal is Fruity Pebbles.  I always keep a box on hand for him, but no one else ever eats it.  As a joke, I poured a bowl of them for John and set it up on the table.

When he walked in, I was tending to the pancakes and he said, "Something smells good."

I said, "I'm making myself French toast and pancakes.  I gave you Fruity Pebbles," and smiled, so that he would know that I was joking.

He stared at me with a weird sort of smile for a second, then turned and shoved the bowl of cereal off of the table, shattering it on the ground.

I shouted at him, and he said, "You're giving me some shitty cereal and treating yourself to a nice, hot breakfast?"

I said, "I was just kidding!"

He sat down and said, "Yeah, sure."

I yelled, "Get out!  What the hell are you thinking?"

He replied, "Now I think you're kidding.  I'm not leaving without a nice, hot breakfast."

I said, "You're leaving or I'm calling the cops.  Get out!"

He shrugged.  "So call them."

I left the room and phoned them out of his earshot.  When I returned to the kitchen, John was scarfing down the French toast and pancakes as if they were going out of style.  He left none for me and drank my milk right out of the carton.

I made myself busy collecting his things and putting them in a pile by the door.  Not long after, an officer came knocking and I opened the door.

John jumped out of his chair in a panic, but it was too late.  I explained things to the officer, and he ordered John to collect his things and leave, which he did.

Bastard left me half a pancake.

Bad Santa

E-mail Submitted by Jill:

 

The Party Never Stops

Story Submitted by Karla:

Doug and I met at a party.  We were both a little tipsy, but not so much that we weren't able to keep up some semblance of intelligent conversation.

He was a little loud, but funny, and when he asked for my number, I gave it to him.

Around 1:30am, I felt tired and found one of my friends to let her know that I was going to leave.  She asked me for a ride, and I we walked out together.

Doug followed us out and asked, "Where are we going?"

I said, "I'm dropping my friend off at home, then I'm going to bed."

"The party doesn't have to be over," he said, "I thought we were having a nice time."

I said, "We are, but I'm kind of tired.  Call me, okay?"

He watched us leave.  We hadn't been in the car for a minute when he called.

"Hey.  What're you up to?" he asked.

"Driving my friend home, remember?" I said.

"When you're done, come pick me up.  We can still hang."

I said, "I don't think so, but call me this week and we'll set something up."

I hung up.  Before I made it to my friend's house, a text arrived from him: "Wat u doin?"

I ignored it, and dropped my friend off.  On my way home, he called again.  I picked up.  He said, "Hey.  You busy?"

I said, "I'm going home.  We can hang out this week."

He said, "You don't even have to come and pick me up.  I'll come to you.  Where do you live?"

"Good night, Doug."  I hung up on him.

Again, he texted, "Wat u doin?" and then, after I had walked in my door, he texted, "Someone here told me where u live.  Be there soon!"

Two of my roommates were still up, and I told them that there was a low chance that some weirdo would be stopping by to look for me.  They assured me that they wouldn't let him in.

He called again but I didn't answer and I put it on silent.  I went to bed.

The next day, when I woke up, I discovered that he had called me 51 times that night, but had only left three messages.  I listened to the first five seconds of the first one: "Hey Karla, it's Doug.  I was just wondering if you'd want to hang out tonight because I think that we should hang out and–"

I deleted each message and, to my surprise, didn't hear from him again after that.  I counted myself lucky.

Saying a Lot with a Little

Story Submitted by Donnell:

In high school, Emma and I were introduced online by a mutual friend.  She and I hit it off immediately, and would often spend long hours talking online or over the phone.

I liked everything that I heard about her, and I think it was clear to both of us that we had something special.

We met in person, had lunch, went back to my place, made out for hours, and, from my point of view, it went very, very well.

I noticed that something was wrong when I wrote her an e-mail after that first meeting.  She was usually very quick to respond, although the fact that she didn't reply quickly wasn't what worried me.

I had written her four sentences, which basically boiled down to: "I had a great time, you're terrific, I can't wait to see you again, and thank you."

I didn't hear from her until two days later.  An e-mail arrived with the following:

"Thanks."

Something was definitely wrong, and I wrote her back, asking her if everything was okay.

She took another two days to write back:

"Not really."

I liked her a hell of a lot, but a game like this was disrespectful and rude.  I wrote her one more message, a very short one, that essentially said, "Let me know if you want to talk, and be well."

I was half-expecting to not hear from her at all.

She wrote back an hour later, paragraphs and paragraphs bemoaning how possessive and obsessive I was, how I was suffocating her, and how she was going back to an ex-boyfriend.

I read it over a few times, incensed.  I started about a dozen long e-mails to her, all of which were variations on the "You're a bitch" theme.  When I realized that, I took a minute, took a deep breath, and wrote:

"Be happy."

And sent it.

No response, as I figured.

Eight years later, a friend request arrived from her on Facebook.  She was a single mom with three kids.

Denied.

Desperation. Population: One.

E-mail Submitted by Scott:

It took you long enough to find your way into my life! (jk)

I'm not really that desperate, but I can't control what I'm feeling inside.  Probably because I haven't had sex in almost four years.

Just to be clear: I am NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT looking for casual hookup.  I find that a good man is hard to find and a good man is more than one who just wants to "give me" sex.  He needs to be decent, caring, and a leader.  It takes time and most guys don't like or understand that.

Go on and read my profile and tell me if you like.  I have time.  Just not another four years (jk).

Jennifer

Ho Ho Oh No

Story Submitted by Alberta:

Glen and I had been dating for over half a year when Christmas rolled around.  We were at his parents' house for the holiday and were staying in a guest bedroom.

I woke up early Christmas morning to discover that Glen wasn't in bed with me anymore.  I guessed that he was in the bathroom, but he was gone for a long time, so I looked for him around the house.

When I made it to the Christmas tree, there was a huge, wrapped package, about Glen's height.  It was early yet and no one else was around, but I guessed that Glen had instructed a willing family member to wrap him into a box, meaning to be a surprise for me.

I tip-toed up to the package, and, intending to give Glen a surprise of my own, hit the side of the box.

It tilted and smashed onto the floor.

"Ow..." Glen's voice came from inside.

Panic set in and I ripped the box open.  Glen was indeed inside, and his arm was in bad shape.  He had fallen on top of it, and it was broken.

Christmas morning and early afternoon were spent in the emergency room of a local hospital.  Glen, being Glen, laughed about the whole thing despite my 500 apologies.  On the plus side, we were given more Christmas cookies than any human should possibly be able to eat in a lifetime, and he was sent home that day.

He has never let me forget it, and he likely never will, seeing as how we've been engaged since not too long afterward.

'Twas the Night of a Bad Date

Glad to Hear You're Working on it

E-mail Submitted by Pamela:

HEY CUTIEPIE

LOVE THE BOW. WE COULD PUT IT ON OUR FUTURE CHILD IF THINGS WORK OUT FOR HALLOWEEN. IM A MAN WHO LOVES ROMANCE... STILL MARRIED BUT WORKING ON THAT (TO END IT LOL!) AND WANTS TO HIT THE GROUND RUNNING!!!

TALK TO ME CUTIEPIE!  YOUR A KNOCKOUT ONE TWO PUNCH!

NICHOLAS


--------------------------------
Pamela says: "One of my photos had a picture of me wearing a huge Minnie Mouse bow for a costume party."

No Place for Mace in the Face

Story Submitted by Stephen:

During some of my introductory e-mails with Sylvia, I asked her how she had found online dating to be, as I was pretty new at it, myself.

She said that she had met some really unsavory guys but she "knew how to deal with them."  I asked her to elaborate, but she said, "You might be one, so I think I'll keep that quiet for now."

It was slightly unsettling, but I didn't let it get to me.  I had only met one other person from online, and it went well enough for us to become friends, so I didn't have a problem with setting something up with Sylvia.

At dinner, it was clear to me pretty quickly that Sylvia would also be better off as a friend than as anything more.  She was very self-absorbed and talked about her college (Bryn Mawr) non-stop.  She had graduated five years ago!

We made it back onto the topic of online dating and she again mentioned that she wasn't worried about skeevy guys anymore because she had "protection."

"So don't even try anything," she said.

I said, "Don't flatter yourself.  I won't."

She gave me a sneer and pulled a rape whistle, mace and a cutting knife from her purse and laid them on the table.

I was searching for the right words to say when she picked up the mace and held it mere inches from my face, right in the middle of the restaurant.

"Don't fuck with me," she said, "This is a warning."

I don't like being threatened, so I came up with a quick plan.  I made nice to her for the next few minutes, then excused myself to use the bathroom.

I left her there, went home, and blocked her on everything.  What kind of psycho points mace at someone in the middle of a restaurant for no reason?

That's Hardly How a Texan Should Treat a Lady

Story Submitted by Sherry:

Over the course of a week, someone had slipped two notes under my apartment door.  They weren't anything frightening, just little things like, "You're lovely and I'd love to take you out sometime.  Signed, Your Secret Admirer."

I had one friend in my building, and I asked her if she was the one leaving them, as a joke.  She said that she wasn't.  I racked my brain to figure out who else it could be.  You had to ring a buzzer in order to gain access to the building, and it had to be someone who knew where I lived.

I wrote a short letter, addressed it to "My Secret Admirer," and left it outside my door.  It read, "Dear Secret Admirer: Thank you for your messages.  I'm curious about you, so please meet me tonight at 8 at Kieran's Pub.  I'll be at the bar."

That night, while I was at the bar, a guy I had never seen before walked in with a cowboy hat and matching boots.  He strode up and sat next to me.

In the thickest, most fake southern accent I've ever heard, he said, "Hey there.  I'm Kent, your secret admirer."

I introduced myself, and asked him how he knew me in the first place.

He replied, "Ain't you the purty-est sack a-water I've ever seen in these here parts?"

I looked around.  Was this a trick?  In fact, that was my next question.  I smiled and asked, "Is this some sort of joke?  Who put you up to this?"

"No one," he went on in his drawl, "I live in yer building.  I helped you a few months ago when you were carrying in some boxes.  'Member?"

Ah, yes.  Kent.  I did remember him.  The guy who offered to hold the building door open for me while I carried in some packages.  Kent, whose idea of help was to grasp my butt with both hands as he squeezed past me to open the door.  Ah, yes.  I had forgotten him, but mostly because I had wanted to.

I slid away and said, "I appreciate the sentiments, but I don't think I'm the right gal for you."

He stood, as if to block me from leaving.  "Aw, I think you are."  He reached for my shoulder and I pushed his arm away.

"No, Kent."

The bartender leaned over.  "Is there a problem?"

Kent answered, "Why don't you get back behind the bar, fuck-nugget?"

I slipped aside him and walked out.  He followed me and caught up.  He said, "I thought we were gonna have dinner."

"No, I don't think so."

He grabbed my shoulders and said, "Kent don't take no for an answer, little lady."

I kicked him in the groin. He yelped and let go of me.  I jogged away, trembling, down the sidewalk.  He called after me, "You fucking bitch!  You fucking bitch!"

I made it back to my place and locked the door.  I was planning to pack a few things and stay at my friend's apartment, but Kent banged on my door.

I yelled that I was going to call the cops, and he stopped banging.  Instead, I called my superintendent.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had a problem with Kent.  In fact, the first thing that my super asked was, "Kent?  That the boy who blasts fucking country music at 2 in the morning?"

The super also had some of Kent's antics on camera.  Kent was kicked out of the complex shortly thereafter.  Yee haw!

Be Careful Whom You Stalk

Story Submitted by Jeremy:

Shauna gave me a mix CD on our first date.  It was a very kind gesture, and I apologized to her for not bringing her something in kind.

For our second date, she gave me a handmade calendar complete with original artwork for every month of the year.  Very thoughtful and generous.

For our third date, she presented me with a series of photos of herself, a few of my house late at night, and one of my bedroom window.

"That's creepy," I said to her.

"It's creepy that I like you a whole lot?" she asked.

I said, "It's creepy that you're outside of my house, taking pictures late at night."

She said, "Fine.  I won't do it again."

That night, I waited on the side of my house with a scary mask and some takeout food.  A little after four in the morning, Shauna pulled up across the street, rolled down the window of her car, and snapped a picture of my house.

She climbed out of her car, closed the door gently, and stepped closer, snapping another picture.  She looked both ways, crossed the street, and snapped another.  Then she came closer.  Another picture.

I ran at her, brandishing a tree branch.  She screamed, jumped back into her car, and peeled away.

I didn't hear from her again.

B.S. Is Indeed B.S.

E-mail Submitted by Veronica:

You Wouldn't Last Five Seconds Against Miyagi-San

E-mail Submitted by Sheila:

Mighty Thor Needs No Ring

Story Submitted by Don:

Martha messaged me when I was preparing to delete my dating profile.  I had received no promising leads, and thought the whole thing a waste of time and money.

Her message was thoughtful and smart, and I thought, foolishly, "It was worth wading through the bozos for someone like this."

Martha worked in early childhood education and made her own jewelry on the side.  She sent me a link to her work.  I was impressed with her designs and effort, and told her so.

She wrote back, "If you like it that much, then please help to support me!"

I was pretty sure that she was kidding, but on our dinner date, she brought six portable cases along to show off her work in person.

"Your mother might like a piece like this," she said, holding up a necklace with a particularly weighty pendant, "Or this," and she handed me a ring with a strange aroma that looked like shellacked tin foil.

"It's shellacked tin foil," she explained, showing me several other examples, "But the shapes are abstractions based on different deities.  You're holding the Thor ring."

"It's great," I said, not meaning it.

"Only $19," she said, hopefully.

I suggested that she put her work away for the time being so that we could concentrate on dinner.  She agreed with the idea.

I paid for dinner.  She didn't offer to contribute or even thank me.  Instead, she whipped out her cases again.  "Always a businesswoman," she said, and grinned.

I told her that I didn't want to look at any more jewelry.  She protested that she had only shown me four out of six cases.  I assured her that I wasn't likely to buy any jewelry that night, but that I'd keep her in mind for holiday gifts.

The next morning, I woke up to an e-mail from her, claiming that I had misled her into believing that I would buy loads of her work, and that I was manipulative and cheap.  She even had the gall to ask if I had asked to see her work in order to steal her designs.

Because tin foil rings are all the rage.

Don't Leave Me in Suspense. What Happens on the Hammock?

E-mail Submitted by Tamika:

I like your profile.  I'm going to go a step further and not just ask you on a date but also describe to you what we will do on it:

1. I'll pick you up in my cleaned car.  We'll be dressed to impress.
2. Minigolf or skeet shooting.  Your choice.  I prefer skeet shooting.
3. Dinner at a candlelit Italian place where they have non-stop spaghetti on Tuesdays, Wenesdays, and Thursdays.
4. We will be full of spaghetti but dessert should never be refused ;).  We could have pretzel sticks dipped in homemade ice cream at my house.  I swear they're good and you've never tried anything like them.
5. My back porch is secluded and warm!  You could collapse into sleep back there, on the hammock.  I would be waiting for you to close your eyes and then
6. ................

A great night and I know just what to do.  I have it all planned, all I need is you!

Daniel

The Internet's Written in Ink

Story Submitted by Charles:

Cynthia and I had been out on one date already, and I was having serious second thoughts about her.  She seemed very interested in my past relationships, and asked me several personal questions.  I don't mind personal questions, but something about the ones she asked made me wonder if it was more than mere curiosity:

"How many times did you have sex with your last girlfriend?" was one such question.  A little forward for a first date.

The morning after the date, I received an e-mail from her.  It had one line:

"What the fuck?"

Attached were about two dozen screen captures of blog posts I had written from a forgotten blog that I hadn't updated in about three years.  In them, I had written information about my job, my life, and my (at the time) girlfriend.

I started a new e-mail to Cynthia, one in which I planned to explain, line by line, what I had written back then.

Then, I stopped myself.  What business was it of hers?  Who the hell was she?  I wrote back the single line:

"What about it?"

She called me up, the first words out of her mouth were, "We have a lot to talk about, so I hope you have your day free."

I replied, "I'm not going to be talking about this all day with you.  Those are entries from years ago, and I shouldn't have to explain myself."

She said, "You wrote that you loved her!  What am I supposed to think?"

"That I loved her.  'Loved' is a past-tense word."

"But if she came back into your life, you'd sleep with her."

I didn't say anything.  She continued, "And your lack of response proves it."

I ended the conversation: "My lack of response proves that, at my age, I'm still capable of being shocked into silence by a delusional bitch."

I hung up on her.  She called and called and called and called, but I never picked up, responded to her e-mails, or texted her ever again.

After eight months, she figured it out, and I don't hear from her anymore.

You Won't Be Needing One Tonight, it Seems

Story Submitted by Nicole:

Right after college, I had a job as a secretary for a company that imported metals and plastics.  Not terribly exciting, although there was another assistant in the office with me: Jason.

We were fast friends.  He was responsible for labeling packages (seriously, that's about all he ever did) and I would answer the phone, which would ring on average twice a day.  Jason would sometimes even invite friends into the office to hang out.  It was actually a strange job – our boss almost never came in.  Regardless, Jason and I bonded, and one time, right before we closed up for the day, he kissed me.

I liked him, and we went out to dinner on a Friday night after work was done for the week. 

We met outside a restaurant and he gave me a hug.  He said, "It's great to see you," opened the door for me, and mumbled something.  I didn't hear him, and at the time, I didn't think anything of it.

We sat down, and he asked me if anything on the drink menu looked good.  Then he mumbled something again.  At first, it sounded like he said, "In addendum."

"What did you say?  I didn't hear," I asked.

He said, "Nothing.  Take a look at the drink menu," then he waited a second and added that mumbled line again.

I figured he was being silly, and I decided to ignore it for the time being.  He didn't add it after every statement, but probably after every five.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.  Our dinners had been served, we were talking about the sorts of jobs that we wanted (as opposed to the job that we had) and he added that mumbled line again.  What was he saying?  "In addendum"?  "Compendium"?  "In a con room"?

"What is that?" I asked, "What do you keep saying?  The same mumbled line, over and over."

He said, "It's nothing.  I'll stop."

"No.  What is it?  Tell me the truth."

He gave me a frown, then looked around, as if afraid that someone else was going to hear his explanation.  He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and hit a button on it.

"Were you recording me?" I asked, a little freaked out.

He said, "No!  Nothing like that.  I just... I had a bet with my friend.  He said he'd give me five bucks every time I said, 'With a condom' while I was out with you tonight."

I stared, unbelieving.  He said, "It's just to make some cash.  It's not a big deal."

"Okay," I said, deciding that I wanted to end the date as quickly and politely as possible.

"What's wrong?" he asked, as if nothing should have been wrong.

I asked, "You don't think that that's really rude and disrespectful?  You're just out with me to make some money?"

"No!  I'm out with you because I like you.  Making the money's just like a fringe benefit."

I was stunned into silence, but not for long.  I told him, "I understand, now.  Call your friend back and tell him that things are still going according to plan.  I'll help you get more money out of him, but I want a cut."

Jason stared at me, stupidly.  He said, "You mean it?"

I nodded.  Jason called his friend up and whispered into the phone, "She almost figured it out, but I came up with a great excuse and she bought it."

He listened for his friend's response, and I grabbed the phone and said into it, "Don't pay Jason anything.  He explained it all to me and I let him say it as much as he wanted."

I slammed the phone on the table and smiled at Jason.  He grabbed the phone and scrambled to say, "That's not true!  I didn't tell her anything!  She's lying..."

At least, that's what I thought he said, but by that point, I was out the door.

The Bookstore of Hard Knocks

Story Submitted by Joel:

Phyllis and I met by chance at a bookstore.  She was leafing through a T. S. Eliot book and, having read The Waste Land once upon a time, commented, "Good book."

She replied, "You're familiar with Eliot's work?" and the next thing you know, we were sitting down for coffee.

She was studying English at a nearby college (she was younger than she looked) and promised to send me some of her own original work, including some poetry and short stories.  As an appreciator of literature (and occasional dabbler in writing it, myself), I looked forward to reading her works.

They arrived via e-mail a week to the day.  I opened the Microsoft Word (.doc) file over a cup of tea and prepared to enjoy her works.

An error message appeared, saying that the files could not be opened in Microsoft Word.  It asked if I wanted to open them in another program in an effort to recover the text.  This has happened to me before, when opening files that are saved incorrectly.

When I did manage to open them, hundreds of pages of garbled text in at least a dozen fonts greeted me.

I wrote her back, asking her to resend them, as they didn't come through properly.

She wrote back, asking me how I liked her stories.  I wrote her again to explain that her files were somehow corrupted, and that none of my word processing programs could open them correctly.

She didn't write back for a day, then wrote me, asking if I'd like to meet up over drinks the following day to discuss what I thought of her work.

I told her that I would love to meet up, but that I'd be unprepared to discuss her work, as it had not come through in a readable way.

Again, she ignored that part of my message, so I figured that she would maybe be bringing me a hard copy upon our meeting.

We met over wine at a local restaurant and after catching up, she asked me what I thought of her work.

I told her, "I wrote in my e-mails that it didn't come through quite right.  Everything was garbled and corrupted in the files.  Would you mind resending them?"

She looked as though I had told her that her work was shit.  She downed her glass of wine in less than three seconds and said, "Sure, fine.  Whatever."

I reiterated that I had every intention of reading them, but that the files didn't come through properly.

She picked up her end of the tablecloth, knocking my wine glass over, wiped her mouth with it, and stood up.

"I'm going to go and send it to you, right now," she said, and left.  I was too stunned to follow, although that might have had to do with the wine that was dribbling onto my lap.

I settled the tab and called her.  She picked up and I apologized for offending her, if I had inadvertently done so.

To that, she laughed and hung up.  I never heard from her again, and to this day, I have no idea what it was that set her off.

Drunk E-mails: The Case Against

E-mail Submitted by Arthur:

Arthur says: "We had just started e-mailing, so this wasn't a big loss.  Also, my name's Arthur."

Miami Vice

Story Submitted by Stella:

I had recently moved cross-country to Miami for grad school and met James through an online dating service.  He was good-looking in a suntanned surfer way, witty, and a great date. He was also a California transplant like me. He worked as a boat captain for a charter company, and lived on the boat in a marina.

On our second date, he took me to the marina to see the boat. He showed great pride in how he maintained it and talked enthusiastically about his job. He also mentioned he had a difficult time dating women from Miami because he didn't make much money or own the boat.

I didn't care how much money he made or that he was "just" the captain, I thought he was a pretty sweet, laid-back kind of guy. So, after our third date, when he asked "Would you be interested in having me cook dinner for you tomorrow and spend the night with me on the boat?" I didn't hesitate. Oh yeah buddy, I'm there.

The next day arrived and I was a little nervous, but looking forward to the evening. I arrived at the marina, and James came out to the security booth to get a pass so I could park in the private lot.

As we walked to the boat, I could tell something was off. He was jittery and distracted. I figured he was just nervous, too.

He poured me some wine, but I could see that nothing was cooking in the galley. I was a little hungry at this point, but no big deal. He kept jumping up to go "do stuff" like cleaning up magazines and papers. Our usual banter wasn't flowing, and he was obviously on edge.

After about an hour, I asked if he'd like some help to get dinner started.  He said no, poured more wine and led me to the deck, which had a beautiful view of the marina. No complaints, but he kept jumping up, rushing around and doing little odd jobs.

After another hour or so, I started to really get hungry and said, "Hey, how about we start dinner?"

"No!" he shouted, "I'm not hungry! How many times do I have to tell you?"  He went back below deck, and I followed him.

I said, "It doesn't seem like you're feeling it right now, so I can head home if you want."

He flopped down into a chair and spoke in a rush. "I ate before you got here. A friend came by this afternoon and we did a few lines and ate pizza."

"Lines?  Of coke?  How often do you do that?"

"Hardly ever. Just a few times a week. I'm not hungry.  For dinner, at least," and he massaged his crotch to clarify his point.

I excused myself and went topside to think. Was I being too judgmental or was this an absolutely ridiculous situation? When did I time travel back to the 1980s? What should I do? Should I leave? What the hell? And how did I get myself into this?

I decided to go, called down to say goodbye, and headed for my car.

As I got to my car, I heard him running to catch up. I turned, thinking I was about to get an apology or an explanation. But it turned out he just wanted to make sure I returned the parking pass to the security guard.

And, no, I never saw him again after that.

Matthew 7:1

Story and E-mails Submitted by Allie:

I received an e-mail from Paul.  His profile stated that he was deeply religious and wanted to wait for sex until marriage. Dude was 29. Clearly not the guy for me. I didn't respond and he sent me another email saying how much we had in common and how he was waiting for my reply so I wrote back:

-------------------------------------------------

Paul,

Thanks for your email but it seems to me that we have some different perspectives on the big issues and I think it would be better not to pursue anything. Best of luck.

---------------------------------------------

He replied:

--------------------------------------------

You may mistake my religious beliefs for naivete but I did check your match questions and knew you weren't a virgin before I messaged you. I am willing to overlook this in your case even though I believe it is in poor taste for a lady to admit to her sexual escapades in a public forum.

I think you'll find that taking an oath to renew your spiritual virginity will improve your dating life all around as most men are not interested in "experienced" women. When we go out I can explain it in more detail and I'm sure I can convince you.

It's sad that an intelligent young women like yourself feels that she needs to give up her body to get attention from men. I am not like the other guys you have dated. I will do my best to make you feel whole again. You have nothing to be ashamed of. There is still time to correct your past sins.

Please consider my offer. I know pre-marital sex is usually a cry for help and so I'm extending my hand to you. We aren't so different as you seem to think and I believe we could have a beautiful relationship.

Paul

Meet the Brother

Story Submitted by Antonio:

Barbara came up as a potential match on a dating site and I e-mailed her.

She wrote me back to tell me that she never did anything like In Internet dating before and that she was really nervous about it.  I assured her that I didn't carry any expectations and that we could go at her own pace.

In her next message, she asked, "What do we do now?  Meet in person?"

I told her that I'd be glad to, but only if she was ready for it, and I suggested meeting in a public place.

She wrote back, "NOT in a public place, please.  My home with my family would be best."

I wrote back to let her know that I wasn't altogether comfortable with going to her house to meet her family on a first date, even if that would help her feel better about it.  And besides, I was having serious second thoughts about her by this time.

No response for a day or two, and then a message from her.  It essentially was a 180-degree turnaround from how she had been acting before.  "I'm sorry.  I'd love to meet you.  Sorry I was so nervous," etc.  At the end, she suggested a great cafe at which to meet in person, and we made solid plans.

When I arrived, a tall man who looked to be in his forties approached me.

"Antonio?" he asked, "I'm Jeff, Barbara's older brother.  Can we sit down for a minute?"

I was already there, and was definitely in the mood for some cafe goodies.  Of course, this situation was becoming crazy, although I didn't see any harm in seeing what Jeff had to say.

Jeff said, "Barbara's had a tough time dating these past few years due to her anxiety.  I can't tell you how glad we all are that you're willing to help her and give her a chance."

I said, "I never said that I'd do that.  I wrote to tell her that I didn't want to meet up with her family on a first date, and then she wrote back to tell me that she'd meet with me here."

"Yes," Jeff said, "I wrote that response.  I thought it would be best, given Barbara's condition.  Are you still willing to give her a chance?  I think she'd like to meet you and try things out."

I said, "I don't think so.  It's something in which I don't want to be involved in."

Jeff grew agitated at that.  "She's not a 'thing,' she's a person, and she's my sister."

I said, "Whatever noun she is, I don't want to date her.  Period.  I'm done talking with you," and I walked away.

"Asshole," Jeff called after me.  I hope that no one else was taken in by this weird family.

WikiDates

Nikki discovered these messages purportedly from everyone's favorite whistle-blower on Gawker
(http://gawker.com/5714043/the-creepy-lovesick-emails-of-julian-assange):

What do you think?  They legit?

A Good-for-Something Creep

E-mail Submitted by Blair:

i'm going to be level here...

Your profile:
"I'm looking for a REAL MAN"
strike one.
all men are real you want someone of a specific character that's different, putting people down cause they don't fit your mold of reality, tough shit.

"bunch of good-for-nothing creeps."
strike two
any girl who uses the creep word just because she gets attention.

Getting nasty mail cause you put people down by virtue of the above, is a consequence of lack of foresight.  Give me your number/AIM, etc... we can go for a coffee and you can blow me after.

Trunk Punk

Story Submitted by Fern:

Carl showed up for our date in an obviously bad mood.  I asked him what was wrong.

He said, "My stupid parents keep yelling at me to clean out the trunk to the family car.  They seem to forget that until I get my own car, I have to use theirs, and I'm 23, so I should be able to keep the trunk the way I want it."

He yammered on about it all through lunch, and during that time, he had the idea that I should take a look at his car's trunk to tell him what I thought about it, myself.

He led me to his car, a beige sedan, and opened the trunk.  It was packed to the brim with tools, tarps, and bags.  I stretched the truth a bit and told him, "Well, it's organized."

He pointed at me and asked me to climb into his car, as he wanted to take me somewhere.

I asked him if I could follow him instead, as it was only a first date, after all.

We drove to a house not too far off and parked.  We left the cars and he led me up a walkway.  He said, "This is my house.  I just need your help for a sec."

We went into his kitchen and he called for his parents.  They arrived and he turned to me.

"Tell them," he ordered, "Tell them what you said about the trunk."

I was so embarrassed that I didn't even want to look his parents in the eyes.  But somehow, I did.

I said, "I said it was organized, and," I stopped myself.  Why was I defending such an asshole?

I finished, "But it's filthy, and you've got to clean it out."

His parents looked at him, his mother with a smile.

He said, "Fuck all of you," and stormed out.

I told his parents that I was going to go, even though they offered to make me some coffee or tea.  They seemed like such sweet people.  Too bad their son was such a jerk.

Are You As Socially Maladjusted as My Picture Is Interesting?

E-mail Submitted by Julia:

Out of all the 100s of emails you get a day, it took you this long to open mine?

Hey my name is Ben and I was looking through all these profiles here on the internet thinking to myself; "Look at all the poor, desperate, lonely women." And then I saw your profile and thought to myself: "Hey, here's a poor, desperate, lonely woman who's actually cute."  Are you as interesting on the inside as you are in this picture?

"Sleeping" Beauty

Story Submitted by Nathan:

Amelia seemed sane when we were talking online.  We made a lunch date for a Saturday.

After the conversation in which we made plans, she nearly stopped being in touch with me.  Whereas before, we'd speak at least four or five times a week, we spoke only once in the week leading up to the date, and that was on the Tuesday.  I tried calling her a couple more times during the week, but she never responded to my messages.

By the time Saturday rolled around, I wondered if she'd even be at the meeting spot (a park fountain), but sure enough, there she was, sitting on a bench.

She said, "Come here.  Sit by me."

I did.  She slid close to me, took my hand, kissed it, and held it on her thigh.

I asked, "Everything all right?"

She gave a slight nod, smiled, and just kind of stared ahead.

"Ready for lunch?" I asked.

She said, "Let's just sit here," and continued holding my hand, without saying anything.

I tried starting a conversation.  "How was your week?"

"Shitty," she said, and kissed the back of my hand again.  It was weird.

I suggested, "Maybe I can help you forget about it."

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the bench, our hands still together.  I waited a few minutes before trying to speak to her again.  In that time, however, she started snoring.  Or pretend snoring. 

I pried my hand from hers and said, "We can just cancel if you're having second thoughts about the date."

She continued to snore.  I wondered, "Could she be narcoleptic?"  I shook her slightly, not knowing what to do, as I hadn't encountered a narcoleptic person before.

She snored louder.  I figured that she was just putting me on, and then she tipped over, onto the bench, hitting her head on the metal armrest.

She opened her eyes and said, "Ow," then looked up at me, closed her eyes, and went back to snoring.

I left.

I Guess I'm Just a LITTLE CRAZY

E-mail Submitted by Angela:

I've been told that I'm a great guy, but I'll let you decide it for yourself.

1. I graduated college in ONLY THREE AND A HALF YEARS.
2. I've been PROMOTED TWICE IN A YEAR.
3. I won A CAR IN A CONTEST.
4. I have THREE VEHICLES.
5. I'm about to buy a SECOND HOME.
6. I've been told that I'm smart, kind, caring, and honest.

You'd have to be a little crazy to not write back, but just in case you should know that I hardly ever write to women.  You've impressed me enough to make the first cut!

Congratulations!

Bruce

The Force is Strange with This One

E-mail Submitted by Alessandra:

She Nailed It

Story Submitted by Roger:

I found Marie online.  She had photos of herself posted that showed off her nails, which were very long.  Apparently, she was very proud of them and spent a lot of time polishing and painting them.  She was a teacher and part-time administrator for a charity.

In person, I found that the photos hardly did her nails justice.  She had the longest ones I had ever seen.  Each was two different colors, with a diagonal slash separating one color from the other.  They were each easily over two inches.

"I've been growing them out for a while," she said proudly.

When we sat down, I joked that her nails were like having "built-in chopsticks."

She said, "You have no idea.  Watch."

She picked up her fork, set two of her nails in between a set of tines (eww), and slid her knife in between another set.  Then, she picked up my fork and, smiling the whole time, slid it between the last set of fork tines on the original fork.

She balanced it there for a solid second before one of her two nails broke, and the other one cracked, sending the silverware – and nail – to the table.

She tensed up and made a face that looked like it was about to burst into laughter.  I took it as a cue that I should laugh about it, too, so I did.

She didn't start laughing, though.  She started to cry.

That killed the date.  Despite my best efforts to put her in a better mood, she was miserable for the rest of dinner.

When I asked her if she wanted to do something afterward, she said that she wanted to go home.  I told her that I wouldn't mind seeing her again, but she apparently associated me with the loss of her nails, because I never heard from her again.

How Modeling Careers Start

E-mail Submitted by Caroline:

Your profile is good, but your pictures are great.  You have such a nice face and I'm swooning over your body.

I showed your pics to friends of mine and we all like it.  Do you model?  I think you must. 

I'm not a creep.  I admire the female form and am amazed that more people don't appreciate it for what it is, rather than wanting to just fuck it all the time.  Your body must be beautiful.  The clothing that you wear is out of sight!  It accentuates your figure quite nicely.

Of course it would be easier for me to tell if you went bare.  Not to be creepy, but there's a model's physique under there.  You should consider.

Robert

PS: Oe down.

Admitting De-feet. Heh.

Story Submitted by Meredith:

Dinner with Archie was a one-sided affair.  He talked a lot about himself, his life, his education, and his ex-girlfriend, who had obviously affected him greatly.

After dinner, I couldn't help but notice that he walked with a bit of a limp in his left foot.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

He glanced down at his shoes, which were, I noticed for the first time, on the wrong feet.

"I'm wearing my shoes on the wrong feet," he said, "I've been doing it for almost a year.  Since my breakup.  To remind me."

"That's probably bad for your back," I said, "To remind you of what?"

He said, "Of my breakup.  The day after, for the first time ever, I accidentally put my shoes on the wrong feet.  I don't know.  There's some kind of symbol there."

I stared at him, trying to find the right words.  "You've been walking around all year with your shoes on the wrong feet?"

"Until I find what I'm looking for," he said.

"A good podiatrist?  Or a therapist?" I blurted.  It was insensitive, I know.  But I had already decided that he was nuts.

"You don't understand!" he said, "You've never been in love, obviously."

"I have," I said, "But I've never been crazy enough to hurt myself in spite of it."

"Then you've obviously never been in love.  Love hurts," he said.

I had a sudden image of him bowling with his shoes on the wrong feet and doing a little dance, and I started laughing.

"Stop laughing!" he ordered, but I just couldn't get the picture out of my head.

"What do you want to do, now?" he asked.

"Go dancing.  Or do you have two left feet?" I laughed again.

He flared his nostrils.  I said, "I'm sorry.  I don't think this is going to work.  You're still hung up on someone."

"And you're a real bitch," he said.

And that's how we left it.

What's Eating You?

E-mail Submitted by Charlene:

I did a search for "adventurous" and "eating" and your profile's one of the one's that came up.  I'm on a quest to try one different food per day for a month and I want to try human flesh.  Problem: can't easily buy human flesh in stores.  I'm looking for someone to let me try a small, small piece of them.  I'm talking smaller and a fingernail sized chunk.  I just want to try it for curiosity.  I'm not a cannibal but I want to try different things.

To pay you I can offer dinner at the restaurant of your choice depending on cost.  It won't hurt because I know of a place on the body (near buttocks) that doesn't have as mahy nerves and won't hurt as much.  Wear cool underwear.

I'm not looking for a relationship or even necessarily a date but it would be nice to be friends after sharing something like this. 

Todd

You've Buttered Your Bread. Now Sleep in it.

Story Submitted by David:

Dolores and I planned a date a week in advance.  We had spoken every couple of days for a while, but in the week leading up to the date, I didn't hear from her at all.  I left a few messages, wrote her some e-mails, and never heard back.

We had agreed on a day for the date, but never on a time or place.  As such, when the evening of that day rolled around, I considered the date canceled.  I tried her once more, and it went to voicemail.

She called me the next day to say hi, as if we hadn't missed a week at all.  I was glad to hear from her, as I had been worried.

"Oh, one of my friends surprised me with a trip to Miami Beach!" she said, "It was awesome!"

I asked her, "Did you have cell phone access while you were there?"

She said, "Yeah, but I left it off most of the time.  Sorry!"

I told her, "I left you a few messages.  Last we spoke, we had a date scheduled for last night."

"Oh my God," she said, "We did, didn't we?  I'm so sorry.  I was in Florida.  Miami Beach."

She was less attractive to me by the second, and I was ready to take my losses and go home.  Then, she said, "Want to do lunch today?  Let me make it up to you.  My treat."

At lunch, she showed me a lot of photos of herself with a tall, super-tanned guy.

She said, "It was a total surprise, and totally last minute.  I'm really sorry," she repeated, "And I was kind of a bad girl."

I asked, "You two have sex?"

She pursed her face in mock contrition and nodded.

Then, she said, "But he and I are just friends!  It would never work.  I still want to date you!"

I said, "That's nice.  Good luck out there," and left on the spot.

A huge, apologetic e-mail arrived from her that night.  I read nothing of it before deleting it.

Baggage Carousel

E-mail Submitted by Joe:

You seem like a nice guy.  I'm just out a long relationship that I've been in since high school.  We were each other's first, but he cheated on me and now I'm back to being single again.

I'll find it hard to trust a new guy and since I was in that relationship for eight years it might be hard for me to trust you but I think that I can do it.  You just have to help me.

He was pretty mean to me at the end and I want someone who'll be nice to me, someone opposite him.  If he was mean, I'd want you nice, if he was cheating, I'd want you not cheating.  If he was ignoring me, I'd want to be the center of your world.

I'm not asking too much just a chance is all.  I'm going to want to talk alot about what he did to me because I'm still processing and getting over it.  I think I can do that best with someone else and not alone.  I might have to talk about it over and over and for a long time but that's part of healing, right?

If you're patient and not mean and can be very patient with me, write back.  Let's work through this together.

Geraldine

Poets and Plagiarists

Story Submitted by Leona:

Nelson was a bright guy who claimed that he liked writing poetry.  On our first date (this was after we had messaged and called each other back and forth for a month), he brought me a poem that was very heartfelt and well-written.

Between our first date and second date, he e-mailed me another poem, and on our second date, he handed me another one.  They were all filled with beautiful imagery, and he claimed that it took him a long time to write each one.  I was very impressed.

I also had a vague funny feeling about him, so I typed in a line from one of his poems into Google.

Results came back with the exact phrase for every one, every line, of his poems.  He had plagiarized them all, most of them from one site in particular.  A young woman's personal webpage!

Before our next date, I printed out the poems from her site and put them in my bag.  When Nelson pulled out his "latest work" to show me, I told him that I had written a poem for him, as well.

He was very excited at that statement, and I pulled out the page I had printed that corresponded to the poem he had just given me.

"This is weird," I said, "My poem is exactly the same as yours.  What does this mean?"

He became furious.  "How dare you Google the poems I gave you!  You've got a lot of nerve."

I said, "I think it's nervier to pass off someone else's work as your own and try and manipulate me.  That doesn't strike you as nervy?"

"No," he said.

I was done with this guy.  I collected my printed out paper and left him there with his plagiarized poem.

Now for a Bit of Magic

Story Submitted by Etta:

Anthony and I met off of a dating website and set up a date for a lunch in a local town and a walk.

I was having a nice time with him.  We walked around and checked out various stores of knick-knacks and clothing.  He had his arm around me and we were warming up to each other pretty well.  We passed a round clothing rack filled with shirts.

He said, "Hey," and looked around, "Want to make out inside of that clothing rack?"

I liked the idea, so I climbed into the rack and made myself comfortable.  He didn't follow.  I guessed that he was making sure that the coast was clear.  After a few more moments, I peeked out to see what was up.

He wasn't there anymore.

I jumped out, looked around the store, and ran outside.  Sure enough, there he was, half-jogging down the sidewalk, away from me.

I followed him, a block or so behind, and saw him climb into his car and turn it on.  I ran and caught up to him.  "Hey!  What's going on?" I asked.

He looked aghast, then smiled and said, "I-I, er, I was just playing a trick on you."

I said, "Why not hide elsewhere in the store?  You take off like this and I'm liable to think that you're ditching the date.  Are you?"

"Oh... no!" he said unconvincingly.

"Then let's keep walking around, then."

He turned his car off and climbed out.  He was silent for most of the rest of our time together.  When we walked down the street, he fell back further and further until I said, "Date's over.  Thanks."

He said, "You mean it?"

Before I could even say, "Yes," he was already walking away.  No idea what went wrong on that one.

Sterilization: It's What's for Dinner

E-mail Submitted by William:

Hey.  I almost never do this but I really liked your profile and I wanted to say hi.  The last time I wrote a guy, he didn't respond so I kept writing him until he did.  He asked me not to write him anymore!  That's what you get for persistence I suppose...

I pulled a prank n my cousin last year in which I filled her winter boots with kool whip.  She was so mad that she locked me out of her house and her parents had to let me back in.  She's seven and so cute.  For revenge I locked her in the attic but forgot there was no heat up there!  Oops my bad. >D  Got in huge trouble for that too.

I'm random.  My friends tell me I'm random all the time.  I enjoy living life to the fullest and having fun in every moment.  Write me.

Pauline

Thank You. I Guess. Idiot.

E-mail Submitted by Christopher:

You look like a diff person in every one of your pics.  Every one of them is ugly tho.  Maybe you should find less ugly people to be in your photos of you.  If their all you then shouldnt you be less ugly?  Just a thought take it or leave it.

I have good tips and know the number of a good plasteo surgeon.  Sresoisly I think it can help.  My friends say I'm blunt but they always thank me for being truthful.

Mandy

You're So Polite. Why Not?

E-mail Submitted by Sara:

I'll give you one scenario I think could be likely. Obviously not a first date, but, we're on a bed, kissing. I kiss your neck, I kiss behind your ear, and down to your shoulders I Tantalizingly, and slowly ill unbutton your top.

I tie your left wrist to the headboard, and slowly do the same to your right hand. Gently. You can lie back and just enjoy- Letting me take over- completely.

Biting my lip I'd meet your eyes from down at your waist, releasing the panty covered skin as it quivers with whet anticipation.

hope you had a good holiday.  cool date would be at target / kmart to get a slushy.  That would be fun.

Now, give me your phone number, we are going out. Almost forgot my manners, Please - of course.

Greg

She's the Man

My friend Christina told me that she had a friend who was "absolutely perfect" for me, someone by the name of Jessica.  I had been single for a while and was always open to the prospect of meeting someone and seeing how things developed, so I asked Christina to set something up.

Jessica and I met up for dinner and drinks at a bar.  She was my height and gave me a hug that nearly snapped my back in half.  When we sat down, she started talking.

Jessica had the butchest voice in all the land.  It sounded like she had gargled with testosterone.  She told me all about the five sports that she played (roller derby, football, baseball, kickboxing, and hockey), showed off her muscles, which were ample, and even joked, over the course of dinner, "I feel more like a man than a woman most of the time!"

Clearly, Jessica was more of a man than I would ever be, and I have no problem admitting that.  She seemed very nice, but she just wasn't my style.  My type of woman is independent, strong, and womanly.  Jessica was two out of three, but two out of three is 66%, and 66% is a D-.

After dinner, we took a walk and she said, "You seem like a cool guy."

I replied, "Thanks.  You're nice, too.  I think that we'd make good friends."

She stopped walking.  "Friends?" she asked, her voice deeper than ever, "Okay.  I thought this was a date."

Oh, honesty.  Such a lonely word.  I didn't want to lead her on, but I also couldn't really be too forthcoming on why I didn't think it would work out.

I said, "I'm not really looking for anything too serious right now, and I don't know if I feel a lot of romantic chemistry between us."

"That's okay," she said, "We just met.  We can take things slow.  Can I call you my boyfriend?"

I said, "No.  That wouldn't be taking things slow."

"I like you.  You don't like me back?" she asked.

I stammered, "Jessica, I–"

"No.  Fine.  I don't like you either.  You don't even play sports."

"Sorry."

"You don't want to be my boyfriend?"

"No."

"I can't call you my boyfriend?"

"No."

"Fuck off," she said, and walked off.

I had driven us to the restaurant, and her house wasn't even close to walking distance.  I called after her, "Can I drive you home?" but she jogged away.

When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

Story Submitted by Irene:

James and I had completed dinner on our first date and were taking a walk when we stopped at a bridge and he turned to me.

"I have a problem, a sort of medical condition that you've probably noticed."

I studied his face and looked him up and down.  Nothing stuck out, aside from a small mole on his forehead.

He said, "I get a lot of erections."

I couldn't help but glance at his crotch.  It looked like any other guy's crotch covered in slacks.  He said, "See?" and pushed his man-bits out towards me.

I nodded.  I couldn't think of what to say.  I asked, "Is that rough?"

He nodded and stepped closer to me.  I stepped away.  He changed the subject and talked about his job.  I couldn't help but notice him edging closer and closer to me, which I corrected by stepping further and further away from him.

"Okay, I guess not," he said, and looked out from the bridge, then said, "Let's keep going."

We walked on a bit further and passed a gas station.  He asked me to wait a moment while he ran inside to use the bathroom.

He was gone for a few minutes and came back out with a big grin and the words, "That's much better, now.  If you know what I mean."

I smiled and nodded, but drew the date to a quick close and opted to not treat myself to a second time out with him.

I Can Cook, Clean, and Be Good-Looking

E-mail Submitted by Charlotte:

I do home improvement, almost always by myself and a wall I built in my house came crashing down last night.  Some of the roof came down with it.  It wasn't my fault since it had water damage from a long time ago.

Now I can't live in my house as its winter and I need a good place to stay for a little bit.  I can cook, clean, be goodlooking and do home improvement for modest fees.  I can stay in a guest bed or your bed but not a couch since I have back problems.

If you have kids or work with kids you can work with I can work with them and can be that part of my payment.

Dennis