I was at a bar with friends and when I went up to grab another drink, I met Vera, sitting at the bar with a group of her own friends. We made eye contact a few times, and I gathered up the nerve to speak to her, buy her a drink, and grab her number.

A couple of days later, I called her up and asked her out. She agreed, and we had a good, long conversation. She seemed very interested in me: where I worked, where I grew up, the neighborhood where I lived, and so on. She was an elementary school teacher with a dizzying intellect. She told me that she was pursuing a doctorate and had already written a thesis about a new method of teaching. We set up a date for a Saturday night, and we spoke a couple more times that week.

The night of our date arrived, and we were sitting down to dinner at a restaurant when she said, "Nick, I'm impressed with you. You're not a womanizer, you seem self-made, and you stick to your schedule. A real schedule-sticker."

I said, "Thanks. I think. What do you mean when you say that I stick to my schedule? You mean the fact that I was on time tonight?"

"No, silly. I've watched you leave for work, like, every day this week. And I've kept an eye on you in other ways. You seem like a real catch."

All good feelings suddenly gone, I asked her, "You've been watching me this week? Seriously?"

"You drive an Altima, license plate EYP7480. You're out of your apartment between 8:40 and 8:50 each day. I make it my business to know these things," she said, then took a drink and went on, "The one thing that was suspect was when I saw you carry a flower up to your place after work one day. I wasn't able to make it to see you every day this week, but one day when I did, you were carrying what looked like a flower, only I wasn't close enough to be sure. Am I crazy, here? Was it a flower?"

After what felt like a long time on my part, trying to figure out how to placate her and remove myself from her presence as quickly as possible, I replied, "No. It wasn't a flower."

"What was it?"

"A roll of papers, maybe."

"Maybe. Sure looked like flowers, though."

I didn't say much for the rest of dinner, and she went on talking as if nothing was wrong. We parted in a friendly manner, although she tried to kiss me goodnight, and I shifted it into a hug.

"You don't need to watch me anymore," I told her.

"I won't," she said, "I mean, I will when I need to, but I won't watch you anymore in general, you know?"

"Sure do."

Never spoke to her again. I keep an eye out, but I haven't seen her. Maybe I should switch apartments, to be safe.

Liz and I were on a date, out to see a movie. I think it was one of the Scream films, and what's important to remember is that she had requested to see this film in particular. We had been out together before, but not to see a movie. I paid for our tickets and we sat down in the crowded theater.

Liz would not shut up the entire time. From the opening credits to the final scene, she had a comment about everything, which she said out loud, whether I wanted to hear it or not.

"I've never heard of any of these people," she said over the opening credits. At first, I thought she was trying to be funny, and so I took it in stride. Then, she continued, with each name: "I haven't heard of him. Haven't heard of her. Haven't heard of him. Can't tell if it's a man's name or woman's name, but haven't heard of it, in either case."

Thanks, Liz. I'm glad. I hoped she'd settle down after the opening credits, but throughout the first scene, she snorted, groaned, or vocalized disgust. "Five minutes in, and the acting sucks!" she said loudly enough for about everyone in the theater to hear.

Someone shushed her, and she was quiet for about a minute. When she did speak again, it was a bit lower in tone. "Their outfits make no sense. Isn't it supposed to be springtime in the movie? They're dressed in autumn clothes."

I nodded sharply. In the next scene, she had even more to say. "You haven't seen them use the bathroom yet. That's unrealistic. I hate movies that are unrealistic."

"This is a horror film," I reminded her.

She said, "So horror stories take place in a parallel universe where people don't shit? I'm confused. Can you explain it to me?"

I shushed her, and she was quiet, again, for a good long minute. Next scene, and she was at it again, back to regular volume. "Why's that guy trying to mack it with that girl? She's ugly. They're both ugly." She turned to me. "Have you noticed that every actor in this film is ugly?"

Another shush from the surrounding audience. I asked her, "Do you want to go see another film? You don't seem to bs enjoying this."

Her eyes widened, but not at me. She pointed at the screen and said, "Gross!" A couple was kissing, onscreen. Then, louder, Liz repeated, "Gross!"

"Shut up!" someone in the audience yelled.

Liz took no notice. "I can't wait until these people die," she said, then specified, "The people in the movie."

What a relief. I asked her, "Would you like to see another film? Seriously, I don't mind." Especially if it would shut her up, even for a short while.

She shrugged. "This is fine."

She kept her voice low, but continued comment after comment. If her comments were funny, I'd have possibly been able to condone it, but they consisted of complaint after complaint. I must have offered to switch films at least half a dozen times more, but she refused to budge, and would not shut up. I then went from being nice to shushing her, which kept her quiet for a few seconds each time.

After a little while longer, I moved a few seats away from her, as she simply would not be quiet. But Liz? She just kept talking, as if I was still there. She didn't even seem to notice that I had left. I did my best to concentrate on the rest of the film, and when the end credits rolled and she was still commenting, I stood up and asked her if she was ready to go.

"God yes," she said, standing up, "I hated that stupid movie."

I said, "We could've gone to see another one. I offered it several times."

She gave me a funny look. "You did? I don't remember. I would have jumped at the opportunity."

Last date.

In college, I was on my first date with Kelly, and we had a pleasant dinner. It was late when we finished, though, and I asked her if I could walk her home.

She shuddered, and I detected that something was wrong. She said, "I don't really want to go home. Not yet, anyway."

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

She replied, "My sublet house is haunted." I must have given her an are-you-kidding look, because she went on, "It's the truth. More than half of us living in the house have seen or heard something... but it seems to love me best. Every several nights, I go to sleep, and then I wake up, naked, on the couch downstairs."

I snorted. I couldn't help it. She raised her voice. "It's really scary, all right? How would you feel if you woke up on a different floor from the one where you fell asleep? We've even told our landlord, but he says he has no idea what we're talking about."

"No one has seen you move downstairs and... lose all of your clothes?"

She shook her head. "No. One time, we woke up to find our whole fridge emptied. Lots of other little things go wrong, too, like with our electricity. I'm the only one it moves and undresses, though. I find my clothes all over the house. It's happened about three times, now."

"You should set up a videotape."

"Uh... no. Then, there'd be a nude video of me around somewhere."

"You don't have to show it to anyone. Look at it yourself and see how it happens."

She gave me a funny look, and didn't say anything for a while. When I had walked her back to her house, I asked her, half-serious, "Could I come in to investigate?"

She laughed ruefully and said, "You just want to see me naked."

I said, "I'm not going to stick around until you're asleep. I just wanted to check it out really quick, if it really is a haunted house."

She let me in. Nothing was out of the ordinary, aside from a faint mildew aroma. I wasn't there for a minute when she pulled me back towards her front door. "You have to go now," she said, "I'm going to go to bed, and in case the ghost makes me naked again, you have to go."

"Uh..." was all I said. No goodnight, no hug, no thank yous. She effectively shoved me out of her house and closed the door.

The next morning, a text arrived from her: "It happened again."

We went out one more time, after that, but she turned out to not be my type, weird ghost stuff notwithstanding. I found out later on, from one of her roommates who I befriended, that Kelly was a major alcoholic who would drink non-stop in the house, empty the fridge, and fall asleep naked wherever she happened to pass out. Spooky.

I messaged Andrea online, she wrote back, and I have to confess that I was very excited to meet her. She was a children's social worker and was kind enough to include a bikini shot in her profile. I liked everything I heard and saw, so a date was the logical next step.

Dinner began well. She told me about her job, I told her about my recent move to the area, and everything seemed to progress fine.

I noticed, though, that every couple of minutes, she would glance around the restaurant, as if she was expecting someone else to show up.

"Expecting someone else to show up?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "No." We kept eating and talking, but something was clearly preoccupying her. Aside from looking around, she also tapped her fork on the table, seemingly nervous. What was going on?

"You seem worried about something," I said, "Are you?"

"A little. I'm afraid that Genevieve will show up."

"Genevieve?"

"My ex. I wouldn't put it past her to hunt me down."

I frowned. "It was a bad breakup?"

"Explosive."

"I'm sorry to hear. How long ago was it?"

She glanced at her watch. "About 21 hours ago."

Andrea and I had been speaking for a little over two weeks. This was, indeed, a revelation. She went on, "It's not because of you, although the fight might have started because she found our emails."

"So it actually was because of me."

She looked away and nodded. "I guess."

"Do you think she would try anything?"

She nodded again. "She has, already."

"What?"

She didn't answer for a few moments, then said, "She's been texting me… I think she might want to puncture your tires."

I stopped breathing. "Did she follow us?"

Tears formed in Andrea's eyes. "I'm sorry."

I stood up from the table and ran outside, to the rear lot where I had parked. Sure enough, I had two flats. I had one spare tire. I returned to the restaurant and told Andrea that two of my tires were popped. "And when were you planning to tell me that she was doing this? I have to get a tow, now."

"I didn't think she would really do it!" Andrea apologized over and over. I told her that she could apologize properly by forwarding me the texts from Genevieve and giving me Genevieve's contact information.

The following morning, I called Genevieve and threatened to call the cops if she didn't pay for my tires. I lied and told her that the restaurant had a security camera in the back lot, and that the manager had agreed to let me look at it.

She sent me a money order. As for Andrea, I'm sure she meant well, but the drama was too much for me, and I didn't see her again.

Story Sent in by Christin:

My cousin set me up with his friend, Peter. I spoke to Peter a few times over the phone before we agreed to a date. He said that he'd pick me up at my house on a Friday evening and take me out to dinner.

That Friday, I dressed up and prepared for Peter's arrival. It was a cool night, and I waited for him out on my porch. After a short while, he arrived, down the street, riding a skateboard. He rolled towards the curb, leapt up, miscalculated, stumbled, flailed, yelled something like, "Brraaauuugh!" and pitched forward, onto the sidewalk. He stretched his arms out to break his fall, but he fell hard and lay still.

I ran to him. He was bleeding from a few places and screamed a fair amount, but he wasn't busted up too badly. I brought him inside, helped him clean up, ordered a pizza, and watched a movie.

Afterward, I offered to drive him home, but he insisted on riding his board. As I watched him leave, he rode a few yards down the sidewalk before he lost his balance and fell again, but this time, onto the grass on a nearby lawn. I ran a little ways toward him and asked him if he was okay. He said that he was, but he picked up his board and walked away until he was out of sight.

We ended up as friends, but I'll never forget our first meeting.

Helen was a vocalist and guitarist in a local band. I was in another music group, and we found ourselves playing the same show one night. Between sets, I spoke to her and she gave me her number. I called her a day or two later, and after a couple of phone calls, we set up a date in a coffee shop.

I arrived there first, and stood back a little way from the counter, to wait for her. She arrived and hugged me, then turned to the menu, hanging over the counter. Then, she did something strange: she hugged me again, tight.

She buried her face in my chest and I asked her, "What's wrong?"

She said, "I don't know. I don't know."

I asked, "Do you want to order something?"

She held me tighter and didn't answer. I moved back, but she clung to me and moved back with me. I asked, "Helen, what's wrong?" She pressed her face into my chest and trembled. I asked her, "Do you want to go?"

She made a motion like a nod, and with some effort, I led her outside. It didn't help that she held me tight the entire time. Once on the sidewalk, I asked her, "What do you want to do?"

She pulled away from me slightly and I saw that she had tears in her eyes. She shuddered. I asked, "Are you okay? Do you want to sit down? What's wrong?"

She looked down, at first, I thought, because she was ashamed of her behavior. I said to her, "It's okay. Just tell me what's wrong."

She broke off, shoving away from me, and said, "Stop asking me that! Same thing, over and over! 'What's wrong?' 'What's wrong?' 'What's wrong?' Nothing's wrong!"

I asked, "Then why are you acting like a five-year-old?"

"Me?" she asked, incredulous, "Me? You're the one acting like a five-year-old!"

"Fine! Let's go get coffee, then."

"Oh, you're too late for that! Too late! Everyone's going to hear about this!" She turned and stormed away.

I wasn't sure who the "everybody" was that she was talking about, but it didn't matter. When I saw her at future shows, she was always cordial, but she never mentioned a thing about our date, and neither did I.

Jake was a guy I met over the Internet, and we dated briefly. He and I had some good times together, but he had a violent temper that he uncloaked for me not too long after we began to date.

Our first two dates went well, the first one being at a restaurant for dinner, the second being at a cafe for brunch and then a movie and then a friend's house for dinner, drinks, and ping pong. Jake muttered whenever something happened not to his liking, which occurred, from what I gathered, often. He also told me that he had to go on walks by himself whenever he became mad, and that happened three times over our first two dates. I thought to myself that as long as he dealt with it peacefully and without hurting himself or others, then that was all right. He never told me what made him mad, so I didn't know if it was myself who set him off or not.

On our third date, he took me to an ice cream shop, and planned thereafter to take me to a museum. When we walked into the ice cream shop, he told me, "Get whatever you want. It's on me."

I thanked him and picked out a two-scoop sundae, in a cup. He gave me a dirty look, then ordered a sundae for himself. I picked a place for us to sit down. He followed me to the table, put his sundae down, and said, "I'll be back. I'm going to go for a walk."

"Everything okay?" I asked him.

"No," he replied, and left the ice cream parlor.

After a half-hour, his ice cream had melted, and he hadn't returned. I called him up and he answered, his voice tense and trembling. "My ice cream has melted? Fine. I'll be right back."

He arrived a few minutes later and flopped down across from me. He picked up his ice cream cup and dropped it, ice cream-side down, onto the table.

"This is liquid, now," he said, "I can't eat it. Can you explain how you expected me to eat it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they could have re-freezed it for you."

"Maybe they could have re-freezed it for me?" he repeated, "Wait here just a minute."

He left the store and I watched through the window as he walked across the street to a bank and punched its brick facade about ten times. He then returned to the ice cream store, walked over to me, and said, "I have to go. My hand just started bleeding for no reason."

"Okay," I said. He left, and after that incident, I ignored his calls and emails. In retrospect, yes, I should have seen the signs of an anger problem earlier, but I was young, and I consider myself lucky to have had the sense to end things when I did.

I met April online. She and I were sitting down to a light lunch at a sidewalk cafe on our first date. She was talking quite a bit about herself, and I let her do it until she said, "So, tell me about yourself."

I told her a little about my job and my family and my aspirations. Then, as if nothing I said intrigued her, she asked, "Have you met a lot of girls online?"

I replied, "A few."

"How has it gone?"

"Uh, fine, I guess."

"Good. Fuck any of them?"

Without missing a beat, I replied, "One of them. We're friends, now."

She raised her water glass as if to toast and said, "Great." She said no more until after I paid for lunch and sent the check back with the waiter.

"Thanks," she said, "Both for lunch and for being honest about your online sexcapades. That'll make this real easy."

"What will be easy?" I asked.

"The decision to never see you again," she said, "I want the guys I date to be virgins."

I snorted, and she went on, "Don't laugh. Most guys still are. I find that most of them lie about having had sex, just to make themselves sound important. Most women would never have sex with the guys who boast that they have. So you're either a liar or a non-virgin, and I have no place in my happy life for either, so you can just fuck off." She raised her glass as if to toast me again, I stood, wished her a good night, and left.

She wrote me an email the next day, and I've transcribed the best part here:

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you will never find love, the way you've been carrying yourself. Best to abandon your life of sex and lies while you can."

I'll be sure to tell my fiancée.

Who I am and what I'm looking for:

Hey! I'm a smart, savvy, (and dare I say) sexy fellow who works as a research librarian! I love comedies (both movie and written) and have performed stand up!

Now on a serious note: I am seeking someone who actually listens when I talk. I am tired of being ignored non stop. If during the course of our date I get the feeling that you are not listening to my words, then there will be a brief curt exchange and I will leave you to mop up the residuals, whatever they may be. You will listen or the date will be over! It's just that simple!

Please be a church goer. I seem to get along well with them.

You are a good man? I can not tell. You look like my dad. That would make passionate lovemaking hard with you (dad hairy lots) so definitely not no thanks :)

Lara

James and I were out to dinner on our first date. We met online, but were surprised to find out that we shared a few mutual friends.

"I'm surprised that I never met you before," he said, "I would've asked you out earlier."

I smiled at the compliment. "Well, I'm glad it worked out."

"Hopefully," he said with a sigh, "It almost never does."

I wasn't impressed with his lack of confidence, but I reassured him, "We'll see what happens."

"I know what'll happen. It'll go great for a date or two, and then I'll never hear from you again. Always happens. No explanation. Just silence."

I changed the subject, "You work for an Internet startup, right? How's that going?"

He said, "Great. Here, take a look." He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. It played through a photo slideshow of a series of guys in cubicles, making awkward smiles at the camera.

"This is where you work?" I asked him. He nodded, and the slideshow continued to play. It wasn't all that exciting, and it didn't give me a good sense of what went on there. Then, a photo of a penis appeared.

I yelped and handed the phone back to him. "What is it?" he asked, then looked at the picture. "Oh, God!" he said, then hit a few buttons and then handed the phone back to me. "Here you go."

"I'm good," I said.

"You don't want to see what I do?" he asked, then handed the phone to me again. "No more raunchy shots. Promise."

I took the phone from him and flipped through the pictures. I made it through three before another photo of a penis popped up. I handed the phone back to him at once. "Okay, I think I'm done," I said with a forced grin.

He looked at the picture and shoved the phone in his pocket. "See?" he asked, "Everything gets ruined."

I replied, "Don't worry about it. One of your coworkers probably stole your phone and had a bit of fun. I was just surprised, is all."

He shook his head. "No, those were all shots of me. You were supposed to like them and ask me, 'Where can I find this penis?' and then I'd have showed you. But now everything's ruined." He sighed and gave me a sad look.

Suddenly very uncomfortable, I said, "Uh, I think it's a little early to think about that, don't you? We only just met."

He was quiet and despondent for the rest of dinner. When it was almost over, he asked me, "Hey, do you think I could text you a picture?"

"No, thanks," I said, anticipating the worst.

He went on, "It's a picture of me with my friends. One of the best that I think has ever been taken of me. Please?"

"Fine."

After dinner was over, we went our separate ways. I woke up the next morning to a picture text of three penises, taken from the top down, as if three guys were standing in a triangle, comparing… stuff. The words "Thank you!!!" accompanied the image.

Just as James had predicted, I vanished from his life.

In high school, I made the acquaintance of Robert. He had a ridiculous sense of humor, but it was tempered, like a class clown in treatment. It was a refreshing change from most of the stodgy students I knew, and I hung out with him whenever I could, before and after school.

He asked me out on a date to a fast food place on a Friday night. We had a nice time, and he invited me to his house the next day, to work on a "special romantic project" in his backyard. I hadn't been to his house before, but I looked forward to spending the day with him.

The next day, I arrived in his backyard to find him standing next to a large hole, holding a big shovel, with a green plastic bin nearby.

He gave me a smile. "Hey! Glad you're here. You can help me with this." He put the shovel down and jogged to a side of the green bin. He looked at me, expectantly.

"What is all this?" I asked him.

"This," he said, tapping the top of the bin, "is my sister's stuff. She's pissed me off for the last time and now I've collected all of her stuff in here and in it goes." He pointed at the bin-sized hole.

"Your sister? How old is she?"

"Eight. Come on and help me with this."

I hesitated. "I don't think this is the best way to deal with this situation."

He rolled his eyes and lifted the bin himself. "You don't know what she's like, how much she annoys me. Give me a few minutes to bury this." He dropped the bin into the hole and went to work, burying it with the shovel.

"Can't you talk to her or work it out with your parents?"

He glanced up from his shoveling and replied, "Why talk when you can bury?" He was like a machine, covering that bin with dirt.

While he worked, I walked around to the front door of his house, knocked on the door, and introduced myself to the older man who opened it, Robert's father. I informed him that his son was up to something questionable in the backyard. He thanked me and disappeared into the house, as I disappeared from it.

Later that night, Robert texted me: "WTF WHY DID U TELL ON ME? I'M IN HUGE TROUBLE BECAUSE OF U. ANSWER ME."

I didn't. No need to explain myself to someone who wouldn't understand why I did the right thing. From then on, in school, Robert avoided me.

You prob get emails from all kinds of guys an why respond to them all? I'm different and you should maybe reply to me. Free dinner and respect included!

Most women I've found on here are making my blood boil. They are vapid and have nothing really in their brains besides "how much money do you make" and "let's watch bieber together or some stupid concert movie now".

If someone like you was like that then I would do it. I would do it for you! My name is bad Eric. It's an old nickname I'm not really bad bwahahaha. You are not like other women on this site but if you are then I'll deal with it the way me bad Eric deals of it. I will sacrifice for you you're prob worth it unless you're not and crumple crumple.

Eric

I met Felicia online. Her profile essays were a little sparse, but I liked what I read. I wrote to her, and she never wrote back, so she didn't cross my mind until a few weeks later, when a message from her appeared in my inbox.

She wrote that she had been at an intensive cooking school program for a while, and hadn't had the time to write back. I was an amateur cook, myself, and we found that we had a lot in common, in addition to promising to cook for each other. After a few weeks of speaking over email and over the phone, I asked her if she wanted to meet up.

"It's a little too soon," she told me, "I'm sorry. I haven't had good experiences with online guys. They've all treated me like crap."

"I understand," I replied, "Whatever you're comfortable with."

I didn't think much more of it, and we continued to talk. One thing that stuck out was that, in one message to me, she asked out of the blue, "Do you like horses?"

I replied, "I suppose so. Why?"

But no response to my curiosity ever came, and I shortly forgot that the question was ever asked. Not long after, she asked me if I still wanted to meet her. I did, and we made plans to meet in a park.

I made it there first and sat on a bench. The time of our meeting came and went, and she didn't show. My phone rang, and I saw that it was her. I picked it up to answer, but she hung up. I tried her back, but then something unexpected happened.

A person in a blue dress and wearing a full-head horse mask walked down the path, toward me. Then, right behind the first person, a second one walked, in a dress shirt and jeans, and also wearing the same horse mask. Then, from a different path, but still close by, a third person, all in black, walked towards me, also in a horse mask.

I stood up from the bench. The three horse-people stopped and looked at me from about ten feet away. All I could utter was, "Uh... Felicia?"

They didn't move. I asked, "Is one of you Felicia?"

Still no movement. I smiled and repeated the question. They didn't move or say a word. "Okay..." I said, and walked away. They followed me. As I walked, I pulled out my phone, in the hope that if one of them was Felicia, it would ring. It didn't, and her phone went to voicemail. I hung up, and as I walked, the horse-people hung back further and further until they didn't follow me anymore. I made it out of the park, tried Felicia one more time, left a short message, waited around a bit, and then went home.

I wrote her an email to ask her if she was behind the horse thing. She wrote back, "Ah, horses!" and that was the last I heard from her.

Story Sent in by Lizzie:

Hugh was a guy I met over the Internet in my early twenties. He sweet-talked me for a couple of weeks, and I agreed to meet him at my place.

The night of our date, he arrived at my place close to a half-hour late. I opened the door for him. He pushed past me, walked in, flopped down on my couch, and practically splayed his legs. "So," he said, "What are we going to do now?"

I stammered, "L-let's go out. We were going to go out, right?"

He slapped his thighs and said, "Great!" then unzipped his fly, pointed to his crotch, and said, "Let's get started!"

Several different potential reactions flashed through my mind. I knew that protesting or getting angry would probably be exactly what he wanted or expected.

Instead, I composed myself, gave him a slow smile, and licked my lips. I stepped toward the door and said, "I have an idea: let's try it out in your car. Right on the street. You got the guts?"

He laughed, clapped his hands together, stood, zipped up his pants, and walked toward the door.

I gave an excited giggle, grabbed my purse, and switched off the light. He lumbered past me and I pulled out my keys, as if to lock the door behind us both. Instead, I slammed the door shut between us both and locked it behind him.

He roared and pounded on the door for a few minutes, then stopped all of a sudden. I heard him yell, "Fuck you, bitch!" and the sound of his car driving off. I have no idea what else he expected. What really chilled me was that this probably wasn't the first time he had tried it. Luckily, he never crossed my path again.

About Me

I'm a lover of the outdoors. I hike, canoe, climb, and camp. I can definitely rough it with the best of them.

I always prefer cold to hot. I have a shack behind my parents' house deep in the woods outside of town. Don't be frightened. It's not a shack where I kill with axes! It's a nice cold place with a firepit and bed. Fire can be lit for warmth if necessary but I prefer using bodies! Snuggling close!

I can also be at home in the cities. Whatevs.

I found Moira online, and after I sent her a first message, she wrote back with an excited response. She was a nanny and a ceramic artist who had met with some success in selling her work. We set up a date at a local place.

After we sat down, she pulled out a small black device. "Do you mind if I record this?" she asked.

"Why?" I asked.

She said, "Because I want to."

"Why really?"

"I just want to remember it. I have a good feeling about us."

I said, "I'd prefer if you didn't. Knowing that I'm being recorded will probably change what I would have otherwise said."

"I don't get it," she said, "What would be different? You planning to say some offensive things?"

"No. I just don't see why we can't have a good time without being recorded."

"Fine," she said, sliding the device off the table, "It would have been a nice thing, but never mind. Now you can be as inappropriate and offensive as you want!" She threw the recorder into her purse, folded her hands on the table, and said, "Go on. Offend me!"

I laughed and said, "I don't want to offend you. Can't we just have a normal conversation?"

"Of course!" she said, brightening, and then she pulled out the recorder again.

I couldn't help but grin at this, and I said, "Without the recorder."

A flash of rage blazed across her face, and she hoisted the recorder into the air and smashed it onto the floor, where it broke into pieces. People at nearby tables turned their heads, and the smile disappeared from my face.

She scooped up the pieces quickly, and with a queer smirk, shoveled them into her purse. Not surprisingly, that killed the conversation. We ordered dinner after that, we had some awkward small talk, split the check, and went our separate ways. Thank goodness.

Don contacted me online. I looked at his profile, and it made me curious, so I wrote him back. He was a part-time wilderness guide and part-time bookstore sales associate. He had traveled the world and liked going out to dance. We spoke for a bit and went out on a date not long after we first talked.

He took me out to a nice restaurant, and we ate and talked. He was pretty into himself, and barely seemed interested whenever I spoke, or else he'd take the opportunity to interrupt with his own story of how he had climbed a higher mountain, skied down a steeper slope, or swam in more piranha-infested waters.

Finally the bill came. He looked at it, and his eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. I asked, "Is it that bad?"

He grinned at me and pulled out a quarter. He said, "Let's flip for it. Loser pays for dinner."

I nearly choked. I said, "How about we just split it?"

He ignored that and flipped a coin, catching it in his hand. "Call it!" he said.

I replied, "Let's just split it."

"I call heads," he said, then looked at the coin. He frowned at it, then looked up at me. "Two out of three," he said, then flipped it again. "Heads!"

He looked at it again, and his face scrunched into a comical pretzel. Flustered, he said, "Three out of five!" He flipped it again.

I took the opportunity to look at the check and kick in what I owed, plus tax and tip. He didn't seem to notice and kept flipping away and grumbling to himself.

When he didn't stop, I said, "I'm going to go."

No response from him, just fevered flipping and grunts and groans. I left the restaurant, and I hope that he eventually sucked it up and paid for his half of the check.

Rose and I were a couple for a little over a year before she had the idea for us to visit New York City together, over a weekend. She had never been, and I had visited only once before. We found an inexpensive place to stay just outside the city, and we made the 10-hour drive together in good humor and with high hopes.

We arrived at the hotel on a Friday night, and made it into the city the following morning. We toured around a bit, and at lunch, she told me, "My friend, Kyle, from college, lives in the city. I'm going to try and contact him."

No problem on my end. I had bought tickets to a show for that night, so as long as nothing interfered with that, I'd be fine.

After lunch, she called Kyle and made arrangements for us to meet him in another part of town. We met up with him over a quick coffee.

He talked a lot about his struggles as an artist and how much he needed money but never looked for a job, and so on. I grew tired of him, and when he offered to show us around his neighborhood, I asked Rose if she'd prefer to catch up with him on her own while I went around to sightsee some more. Rose agreed to that, and promised to meet me at the theatre in a couple hours' time.

Rose didn't show up at the theatre, and her phone went straight to voicemail. Luckily, I was able to sell our tickets (at a bit of a loss) while I kept trying her. Soon, I tried her parents to see if she had perhaps made contact with them. I didn't have Kyle's number, and I was in a panic. I went back down to his neighborhood to look around, but I had no idea where he lived precisely. The only thing I could do was return to our hotel room. I didn't know what to think, but I had a feeling that something awful had happened.

The next day was Sunday. I returned to the city and kept trying Rose. Finally, around one in the afternoon, she called me to ask where I was. I met up with her and found her in the same clothes she had been in the day before. She looked haggard, tired, and not at all herself. Also notable was the fact that she stank of alcohol.

I had a million questions for her, but the first one that I asked was, "Are you okay?"

She said, "No. We need to talk."

I found a nearby Chinese restaurant and we sat down. I ordered both of us something to eat and asked her, "What happened to you?" Was she raped? Was she lost on the streets overnight? Did Kyle try to take advantage of her?

She said, "Kyle and I... we went back to his place, had a few bottles of wine, and... I think we slept together..."

My heart pounded, but no longer with concern. She went on, "...a lot. A lot." She cried and reached out for me, across the table. I didn't take her hand or even move. She continued, "I think he had some friends or roommates there... and they watched us... oh God, Clarence, please..."

I stood up, felt dizzy, then sat back down. She reached for me with both hands. I didn't take them. She sobbed. She said, "I'm sorry" over and over, apologized for missing the play, and babbled on.

It was pathetic, and I was tempted to forgive her, or at least to put it aside until the trip was over and we could talk about it properly, but then she said, "I knew it would happen as soon as we planned the trip."

I asked her, "You knew it would happen?"

"I thought I could resist it, but what scared me was that I didn't want to."

When I stood up that second time, I was no longer dizzy. We hadn't even received our food yet, but with her there, crying her eyes out, I left the restaurant, returned to the hotel, and drove the 10 hours back, by myself. She called me over a hundred times, but I didn't pick up once, and I've never been sure how she made it back home from there. Perhaps Kyle drove her. I hope it was worth it.

Story Sent in by Phillip:

Zoe and I had been on one date already, a light dinner affair. It went well, and she invited me to her house for a homemade, candlelit dinner for date number two. I was excited about it, and when I arrived at her rather large house in a well-to-do neighborhood, she led me into her dining room.

A single candle, placed in a candlestick in the center of a long wooden table, was the huge dining room's only light. She had set up our place settings at either end.

"Have a seat," she said, "Dinner's almost ready." I sat down in the dark room while she exited to attend to dinner.

A few minutes later, she returned with two bowls of soup. She placed one in front of me and then sat down with hers, at the far end of the table. With only the single flickering candle, I could barely see her at all, much less my meal.

"Mind if I turn on a light?" I asked.

She replied, "Then it wouldn't be a candlelit dinner anymore, would it?"

"No, but I can't really see you."

"Your eyes will adjust."

They did, a little bit, and we chatted for a few minutes. Then, the candle went out, dropping us into darkness. I waited a moment or two for her to relight it, but all I heard was the sound of her spoon in her soup bowl and of her slurping the soup.

I stood up, felt my way to a light switch on the wall, and turned it on. Zoe screamed and covered her face with her arms. "Augh! What are you doing? It's a candlelit dinner!"

"It was pitch black!" I said, "Were we seriously going to eat in the dark?"

"That's what a candlelit dinner is! In the old days, if a candle went out, it went out! Turn the lights off! Now! Now!"

I did. She said, "Now, sit back down. We can still talk and converse in the dark."

I asked, "How about another candle? Or at least relighting this one?"

"Jesus Christ!" she yelled, then stood up and made for the kitchen. There was a terrific crash and a scream and her voice shouting, "The blood! Oh God!"

"What can I do?" I asked, but she was apparently up on her feet and out of the room. I took the opportunity to turn the lights on. There was no sign of anything broken anywhere in the room, so perhaps she had just walked herself into a wall. I called for her one more time, then sat down and finished my soup.

Twenty minutes went by, and she hadn't returned. I called for her a few more times, took a quick walk around the downstairs rooms, wrote her a hasty note, and left. Never heard from her again.

Let me be the key to your locked treasure box. I mean of course your mind. It is a place of wonder and imagination and I want to see what yours holds, that locked box of treasure.

Once it is opened I can thrust purposefully and repeatedly into the treasure box. I can only tell you that I speak of your mind. A place of danger and shadows and yet also of wonderment. I would enter it to please both of us.

I am a lover of the mind. Would you mind if I loved your dark box of treasure all night long? Just a simple connection... of beauty and danger. Perhaps a mind-douche is in order!

Jim

I met Jeff in town one evening, and the plan was to go to dinner. He approached me, as if he wasn't sure who I was at first. He said, "Christa?" then stepped back and said, "Whoa. Your face... it..."

I was alarmed. "It what?"

He sighed and gave me a look as if the answer was something that I should have known. He then pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

When the somebody he called picked up, Jeff said, "Hey, Moki. How's it going, man? Great, great. Look, I'm out on a date with this..."

He looked at me as if analyzing something, then went on, "...girl, and her face sucks. How much would you charge at this time of night?"

Shocked, I turned away from him and walked away. He yelled after me, "Wait, come back! Your body's fine! Come on!"

For the record, my profile always has included at least three photos of myself, all of which have been taken within the past year. Nothing about my face, to my knowledge, had changed much from when the photos were taken to the night of the date. Whoever Moki was, I hope that Jeff received his money's worth.

Lara and I were walking and talking after dinner. She was a former teacher and between jobs, but had saved up enough to be independent for a while.

"I had to quit teaching. Couldn't take it anymore. Looking for a new job. Maybe I'll be a ninja."

I smiled. "A ninja?"

She said, "I have experience. A friend and I started a ninja club in junior high. We pretended to be ninjas and—hi-ya!"

She karate chopped me, hard, square in the throat. I coughed, wheezed, and gasped. She said, "There was something crawling on your neck. I'm a ninja!"

"Then tell me!" I yelled, "Don't hit me! What the fuck?"

She cried, "I was only trying to help! You could've died!" and then she ran away. I called after her, but that was that.

Story Sent in by Kerri:

Nolan and I walked through a park in the late afternoon sun on our first date. There were several rocky deposits off the path, and we stopped a couple of times to pick some up, inspect them with our rudimentary geologic knowledge, and then put them back down to continue on. Nolan collected a few in his pockets.

He was a quiet guy, but thoughtful and kind, as he asked me more than once if I wanted anything to drink or eat. I opted, however, to wait for dinner.

When the sun set, I suggested that we leave for supper. He had other ideas. He took the rocks out from his pocket, placed them upon the ground next to each other, and tried to stack them, one on top of the other. He had a fair amount, at least a dozen and a half, mostly pebble-sized.

I asked him, "What are you doing?"

He gingerly placed one stone on top of another and said, "Making a tower in your honor."

It was unexpected, but I appreciated the thought and let him work at it for a minute or two.

When it became clear that he couldn't balance more than five on top of each other without having the entire thing fall down, I said, "I appreciate the gesture. Maybe you can keep working on it later?"

He shook his head and tried building the tower using a different configuration of stones. He also became increasingly agitated. His grunts turned to groans, which turned to "Damn it!" "Shit!" "Fuck!"

I was hungry, and he had been ignoring me to build a tower in my honor for close to 15 minutes. I finally said, "Maybe I could just meet you at the restaurant?"

Without looking up, he said, "Then you won't see the tower when it's done."

I said, "I could come back after dinner to look at it."

He said, "Some fucktard will come by and kick it over. Stay."

"I'm getting hungry. Maybe—"

"Stay!" he screamed, then smashed the precarious tower of pebbles over and threw the rest into the nearby trees.

I backed away. He turned to me with a trembling head and quivering lips. "Look what you made me do! It was supposed to be in your honor!"

I backed away some more, and some sort of sanity must have regained control in his mind, because he calmed down in a matter of seconds, closed his eyes, and asked, with a smile, "Ready for dinner?"

"No. I'm going to go." I took off there and then, and that was the last I saw of him.

What I'm looking for:

I think that people can be divided into two categories: men and women. I'm interested in women, because I want to zestfully fulfill my urges to have sex with women. Most women cannot satisfy me. Their fault I guess but I am mighty Thor and I wield a hammer of mighty power betwixt my legs like venus flytrap. NO MEN PLZ!!!

(Arthur says: "Marisa wrote to me first. Her email was exuberant and friendly. Her profile confessed that a childhood nickname of hers was 'Bloody Butt.' In my response to her message, I asked her about it. She wrote me the following. After I read it, I wrote her back to ask her if she was just kidding. She never wrote back.")

Arthur,

When I was in elementary school I had friends over at a slumber party and one of them clogged the only toilet in my house so when I had to go to the bathroom I had to go outside in the dark and I pulled down my pants and sat down accidentally on my parents' rosebush. I started crying and ran inside with a bloody butt. They all became my enemies after that and they called me that until I went to a different high school.

I really appreciate you bringing it up. You're a real piece of shit asshole, you know that?

Marisa

Wendell was an acquaintance I knew through a friend of mine. I had seen him at a few get-togethers, and he seemed nice, but quiet. At a recent party, he and I spoke for over an hour, and I gave him my number.

He called me two months later to invite me to his house to watch a movie. That struck me as more of a third-date sort of activity, and so I suggested that we meet out for dinner.

He said, "I know a great place that makes good homemade dinners."

"That sounds good," I told him, "What's it called?"

"Jacob's," he said, and he gave me a time and address. I hadn't heard of the place, but it sounded good to me.

The evening of the date, I drove to the address he specified. Surprisingly, the address was that of a house on a residential street. I parked and double-checked the address, and I definitely had it right. Perhaps he made a mistake. I called him up.

I said, "I'm at the address you gave me, but it's a house. What's the right address?"

"Come on in," he said, "I see you parked outside."

I replied, "This is your house?"

He said, "Jacob's home cooking! My middle name is Jacob. Come on in. We'll eat and watch a movie."

I said, after some thought, "I thought I said that I preferred to meet out somewhere for dinner."

He replied, "I told you that it would be dinner at Jacob's, and you said that it sounded good. Now you're going back on your word?"

I said, "You tricked me here! Maybe I should just go."

He roared, "Don't you dare!" and the next thing I knew, he burst from the door of his house and ran at my car. I hung up the phone and drove away.

He must have called close to two dozen times. I let it go to voicemail each time, and I deleted each of his messages without listening. It'll be awkward if I see him at another gathering, but I know that I was in the right, and I'm ready for him if he says anything.

Story Sent in by Edward:

Kendra showed up to our date with a white blouse that bore a design: three yellow squares across the chest. It made me curious, but I waited to ask her about it.

When the time finally came that I did ask her, she said, "It's an internationally-known symbol against rape."

I replied, "More power to you for wearing it."

She said, with utter seriousness, "No rapes on my watch. Sorry."

"'Sorry'? You're not disappointing me."

"No more rapes," she warned, "Ever."

"Works for me."

A heavy, unsettled mood fell over the table after that. I tried to change the subject, to talk about the plays in which she had acted, the jigsaw puzzles that she liked to complete, etc. She gave me very short answers and was clearly upset about something.

Ultimately, I asked her, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, putting her fork down and sliding her dinner plate away from herself. "I was just thinking about rape, that's all."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, then pointed to her shirt. "It's an epidemic! And no one seems to care!"

"I care. I think it's awful."

She groaned and said, "That's great. You think it's awful. But what have you actually done about it?"

I answered honestly, "Aside from never having raped someone myself, not much."

She said, "Exactly. At least I'm wearing a shirt. Everyone knows where I stand."

"But I didn't recognize the symbol when we first sat down."

She replied, "I made it up, but you see, it makes people curious and so they ask me and so I can teach them."

I could have pointed out to her that she had told me minutes prior that the symbol was "internationally known," but instead, I said, "I see."

I asked for the check shortly thereafter, we left, I wished her a good night, and returned home a little more confused than I had been two hours before.

HOPE U LIKE A MAN WHO HUNTS. IN MY LIVING ROOM I HAVE TWO DOZEN TROPHIES ALL WITH MOUTHS WIDE OPEN AS IF SCREAMING. I SHOT THEM ALL INCLUDING BEARS, ELKS, DEERS.

I LOVE KICKING BACK WITH BEERS AND HAVING A NIGHT IN WITH BUDS. U WILL LIKE MY FRIENDS. I STUDIED AT THE UNIVERSITY AND THINK WE WILL GET ALONG GOOD! LOOK AT MY PROFILE AND READ MY MESSAGE AGAIN AND LET ME KNOW!!!!!!

BROM

(Arianna says: "His profile included a series of pictures of a balding guy with a beer gut, making gang signs in front of various screaming animal heads. Stole my heart right away, only not.")

Cleo wrote to me online. Her message was friendly enough, and I checked out her profile. It didn't seem like we had a lot in common, and she wasn't really my type, but I wrote her back all the same, as we had both written on our profiles that we were interested in making new friends.

Additionally, I made it clear to her that I was only looking to be friends. She said, "No problem!" to that and so I didn't see any harm in meeting up with her over coffee.

I showed up in a shirt and jeans. She arrived in something approaching formal wear, and she gave me a big hug.

I knew that things were heading in the wrong direction when not long after we sat down, she asked me, "Why do you just want to be friends? Is it me?"

I lied, "I just don't have the time right now for something serious."

As if I didn't say anything, she went on, "Because I can change, if you need me to."

"I don't think I'll need you to."

She drank some of her coffee and said, "I haven't been in a relationship since high school. I'm not desperate, but I really want to know what I've been doing wrong, you know?"

I said, "Probably nothing. It's all a matter of timing. Just don't force it."

She was sipping her coffee when at once, she spat it out, jerked up, and threw her mostly full cup on the ground, as if she had drank poison.

"What is it?" I asked, standing up, myself, "What's wrong?"

"Cockroach! Cockroach in the coffee!" she screamed.

I looked into the cup, around the floor, and on her chair. There was no sign of anything resembling a cockroach. I asked her, "Where did you see it?"

She replied, "It was in my coffee!"

"Your coffee had a lid on it. How did you see it?"

"I just knew it was in there!" She then walked over to me and clutched me tight. "Can we get out of here? Just us, together?"

We left, her still clutching at me, and we weren't a minute away from the place before she turned to me and said, "This is like one of those stories we'd tell our kids about our first date. Like a bonding experience between you and I, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, "Funny how I couldn't find that cockroach."

"It was there," she insisted, grabbing my sleeve all the tighter, "It was there."

Not long after, I wished her a good night. She wrote and left me messages quite often over the following weeks, telling me how much she enjoyed our date, and how much she looked forward to our next one, which, incidentally, never ended up happening.

Neil:

I had a glorious time with you. Perhaps it is time for a new phase in both of our lives! A phase of sunshine and glory, now and forever!

You've been hurt, I've been hurt. This is terrible but perhaps we can forget about the past. We can make a new past together and work enough on each other's pasts to make new pasts and pretend that the old pasts never happened! Talk strange things to each other all night long!

Speaking of which, I was a little upset that you cut off our conversation so soon last night. I could have kept talking for hours and hours. You said you were tired, but you were obviously awake enough to brush your teeth, turn off a light and go to bed. From now on it would be so beautiful if you fell asleep with me over the phone. Just don't do it too often or it WILL upset me.

Oh Neil I am so excited! I am giddy to be your girlfriend! Where shall we meet for our second date? It will be our first date together as boyfriend+girlfriend so choose it well and it will become part of our new shared past. No more separate hurtful pasts! No more dying! Ah, Neil!!! AHHHHHHHHH NEAIL!!!! OOHHOOHHOOHHHHH!!!!

Nicole

Doug wrote to me online when I lived in Denver. He said that he lived in Evergreen, an easy 40-minute drive. We spoke for a couple of weeks and finally made a date for a Saturday night.

We met at a parking lot in Denver, and I went to hug him in greeting. He went in for a kiss. I dodged away.

He said, "I drove over six hours to see you tonight. The least you could give me is a kiss, maybe some more."

"Six hours?" I asked him, "Denver's not six hours from Evergreen!"

He said, "Yeah, but it is six hours from where I live in Buffalo, Wyoming."

I stared at him. "You drove here from Wyoming? Your profile said that you lived in Evergreen!"

He said, "Yeah, well I live in Buffalo. So now maybe you can come back to my car with me. It's important. And I could use a place to stay."

I felt awful that he drove all that way, but not awful enough to give away my dignity. He moved in for another kiss, and I had the following thoughts: if he was a guy who had come from just out of town, I wouldn't have kissed him under those circumstances. Why, then, should I have done anything with him at all? Because he lied about where he lived and drove six hours for a date? No way. I stepped away from him.

He yelled, "Christ! Six hours and nothing to show for it?"

I yelled back, "You lied about where you live!"

"Because I wanted some action! Now are you going to give me some, or not?"

I laughed, "No!"

He screamed, "Don't you laugh at me! I'll show you!"

He climbed into his car, peeled away, and I never heard from him again.

Sebastian wrote me a message online. His profile included a photo of him in a living room and sitting on a pile of raw meat. The photo caption read, "Me at my best!" Aside from that, he seemed like an interesting guy, so I wrote him back, sure to include a question about the meat seat.

"Oh, that," he replied, "I did it on a dare back home."

It was silly, but it was also my kind of silly, and so we went out together on a date.

I didn't mention anything about the meat seat thing, but he did. "Did you like that picture of me on the meat?" he asked, as well as, "If I got a pile of meat, would you be interested in seeing me sit on it?" and "You think you might ever be into sitting on meat with me?"

At that point, I was pretty wise to what was going on. I asked him, "Are you trying to get me in on a kink or something?"

He grinned sheepishly and replied, "Maybe."

I said, "I'm flattered, but I don't think that I'm too into meat."

He said, "You asked me about it in your first message to me. I thought you were all sorts of interested in it."

"I asked you about it because it's unusual. No one else has pointed that out to you?"

"No. You should try it with me, tonight. Free your mind."

"No thanks."

He rolled his eyes. "You've never had sex 'til you've had it on meat, but whatever."

It cast a pall on the remainder of the evening, and although we were still both polite enough towards each other, I think we were both relieved when the date was over.

Monica and I had a solid first date, and after it was done, I offered to walk her to her car.

"Are you sure?" she asked, "I mean, it's a little bit of a mess."

I said, "I'm sure that it's fine."

I walked her to her car, and the entire backseat area was stacked, nearly floor-to-ceiling, with rolled-up, balled-up clothes. There was literally a solid wall/mound of clothing.

I said, "You must have twelve wardrobes back here."

She replied, "I know. It started back in high school, but now it's become something else."

I smiled. "A Salvation Army Thrift Store?"

She glanced at it and said, "I wish. It's more of a boarding house. I have a friend who dug out a tunnel and lives in it."

I laughed. She didn't. She did a complex knock on the rear passenger window. The door opened, clothing tumbled out, and a scruffy, red-eyed guy's head poked out of the clothing mound, close to the seat.

Monica said, "Paul, this is Theo."

Theo flapped his hand weakly in greeting, then pulled himself back into the clothes. Monica closed the door after him.

I asked, "Out of curiosity, why is a random guy sleeping under a pile of clothes in your backseat?"

She replied, "Theo's not a random guy. He was kicked out of his house a couple of weeks ago and helped fix my car in exchange for a place to stay."

"Why isn't he staying at your place?"

She said, "I live with my parents, and my parents know his parents. We have to keep it secret. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

I tried to think of who I would tell, but no one came to mind. I asked, "How long will he be there?"

She said, "For as long as he needs me. We're friends and we love each other. I lost my virginity to him."

She must have read my expression, because she followed it up with, "But that was a long time ago! We're just friends now, really. Sort of. He gets lonely, but it doesn't mean anything."

Nothing would have been accomplished by me running away and screaming, although that was my first inclination. I wished her a good night, and she said that she looked forward to seeing me soon.

She wrote me an email after not receiving one from me. She told me that Theo "liked me," and that she really wanted to see me again. No thanks.

(Marisa says, "You'd assume this profile was from a teenage girl, but it's a guy.")

About Me

(((Re@L Qu!cK)))~>.I LiKe 2~Go "FisHinG, CamPinG & BeinG OuTdo0Rs" + "SurFiN', Sk8_B0aRdN', BiKeN' & Sn0wBo@RdiNG".!i!~~> I LiKe 2 LisTeN 2 @LL KindS oF MuSiC, AnD cAn PlaY @ FeW SonGs oN ThE PiAnO & ThE Gu!TaR.*!* I

JusT WanT To0 geT aS MucH aS i cAn OuT oF Th!S LiFe, And TrY noT 2 Let AnyTh!nG PaSs Me bY...?!? "SoO0Oo, I Th0uGhT i WouLd GiVe ThiS @ TrY" AnD HaVe SoMe FuN.!i! ~> I "gUEss" WhaT i'M L@@Kin' 4 iS @ N!Ce GiRL 2 GeT 2 KnoW ~ {ToO B Fr!EnDs 1sT, B4 @nyTh!nG fUKKz0r} ~ BuT ST!LL Don'T MinD To0 GeT @ ((.Lil.W!LD & CraZy EvErY NoW & @gAiN.))~> sO iF AnY oF Th!s InTeResT YoU, oR You JusT WanT 2 SaY "Hi & FinD OuT @ Lil. MoRe"...ThEn "geT BacK @ Me", AnD TelL mE @ Lil BiT @bOuT YoUrSelF & WhaT YouR L@@K!N' 4..?!? ~~>

Story Sent in by Agnes:

Serge and I used to work together at a big company's investor relations department. I was let go in a round of layoffs, and he was laid off shortly thereafter. I found a new position, doing bookkeeping (and a bit of marketing) for a smaller company, and all the while, Serge and I stayed in touch.

He was a nice guy, a few years older than I was, and we had been friends for a little while. He asked me out on a date a few months after we had been laid off.

We met at a nice restaurant that we had frequented when we worked together. He looked great, but brought a... well, a... a friend with him.

This friend was a stuffed animal, a brightly-colored, green and yellow bird with a human head. The dad was white, bald, had black button eyes, a thin red mouth, and a vacant stare that was more ghoulish than anything else. Shortly after our greeting hug, he introduced it to me.

"This is Laffy," he said, and then shook Laffy lightly, flopping his wings around.

"Hi... Laffy," I replied, "Serge, what's this about?"

He shrugged, stuffed Laffy into his pocket, opened the door for me, and we went inside without another word.

At the dinner table, he set Laffy next to him, and then stared at him with a queer smile. I tried to make conversation, and Serge would typically respond, "Huh?" as if I had snapped him out of a reverie.

When the waitress came and took our orders, she smiled at Serge, pointed at Laffy, and asked, "Who's that?"

Serge replied, "Laffy eats baby pig."

Without missing a beat, the waitress said, "And what would you like to drink, sir?"

He ordered a beer, and then looked back at Laffy as if he was the most interesting thing in the world. I tried my hardest to take Serge's attention, but no matter what I said, he wouldn't make eye contact with me, opting instead to watch the mysterious stuffed thing, sitting next to the salt and pepper.

Our food came, and Serge instantly asked for his meal to be packed up. I asked him if everything was all right.

"Huh?" he asked, then, "Things have been a little tight since getting laid off, you know?"

"Are you all right?"

He didn't reply, but looked at Laffy, giggled, and nodded his head.

Serge paid for dinner, we left, and I hugged him goodbye. One more time, I asked him, "Are you sure you're okay? Can I help you with anything?"

He shook his head, said goodbye, and walked away. I haven't heard from him from that day to this, even though I've tried to contact him. I hope he's okay.