Monday
Tonight I got this message in my inbox from someone with the handle [email protected]. Hmm...could be junk mail. Against my better judgment I click on the message. To my surprise, it says (in summary): Hey, your profile caught my attention. My friend is trying to get me to date again. My last boyfriend was too jealous of my attention from other men, so I had to break it off. I'm in very good shape. How about hooking up sometime? I'll be waiting...
I didn't really think much of it at first until I realized she had a profile at adultfriendfinder.com. Ah yes, totally forgot about that one.
Basically I (shamefully) signed up to this site about a year ago (using a false moniker), so I could see what it was all about. Now a year later, someone replied to my anonymous, picture-less profile apparently wanting to hook it up. Hell, what do I have to lose in replying? I justify. I'm single now, why not? I reply to her coy inquiry with honest details about myself along with a picture, playing guitar nonetheless. Hah! Maybe she likes the boyish, faux-musician type.
Tuesday
Today I received another message. (in summary) When I read your profile you seemed like a sweet guy, and that's what I'm looking for. I feel weird about looking through personal ads to meet a man, but my friend says it works. I'm a cheap date. I'm not a slut, I want to get to know a person before I get intimate. If you're looking for the same as me, we should get together. This weekend would be great. I also put up some pictures on a site I made: www.host4mbfree.com/danaspage xoxo Dana.
She has her own website; the layout is pretty generic. Whatever. The pictures on the site exude an aura of slutiness. Definitely not my type, but she looks like she'd be doing spreads in a centerfold. She has that bleached, big breasted, and airbrushed all-American look that most guys go for. What the hell does she want with me? I'm way out of her league. Maybe I should call this off and save both of us the embarrassment. I agree to meet this weekend.
Thursday
I spent high school subconsciously working the "nice-guy" angle, which, to my dismay, didn't take me very far. I can recall numerous incidents where some girl at a party, or whatever, would confide with me of her boyfriend's insensitive behavior; his indifference, his verbal abuses, infidelity, or other signs of obvious dead-end behavior. They would express their hopes for a nice guy to eventually whisk them away. It would be my duty to console and advise, even through grinding teeth and the desire to shake the hell out of said female, and yell "Date me! I'm not an over masculine asshole!".
Around this time I realized that I didn't want to become the typical male stereotype, fulfilling the cultural rite of becoming the macho, courageous and tough alpha male we're all supposed to strive for. I'm a 110 lb. wuss, surely incapable of feats of brawn and agility. I couldn't get into Nascar, lifting weights, or testosterone fueled bands like Pantera. Realizing masculinity was out of my reach, trying to be myself included a sea of homophobic insults from my peers, and my parents perpetually worried of having a gay son, contrary to my verbal reassurances.
So ensued a period of contempt for the opposite sex, all due to a mere misunderstanding. I sulked in the corner at dances and parties, and they continued to probably not notice. How could women be in such awe over muscles and tribal art tattoos, measuring guys by their crotch-rockets (pun intended) and not intellectual merit? What am I doing wrong?
Anyhow, before I get off the beaten path, I took this course last semester on Gender Roles, and came away with a lot more ideas than I could have ever imagined. In relation to my previous ramblings, I formed some subtle revelations. Being a "nice guy" is just as dumb as the other alternative. It's just a different approach to the same agenda. Also, generalizing women isn't going to get a person anywhere. There's no vast conspiracy against men. Last, but not least, I'd rather be myself and meet few women, than being phony or charming and gain a lot of interest. Yes, very rudimentary revelations, but positive nonetheless.
Friday
After a few non-productive hours of light sleep last night, I napped after class, hung out with Julian, and eventually ended up at Ralph's for a beer and to dodge another night of routine seclusion. That's right...no date, and now I'm enjoying Fargo's finest white-trash atmosphere at Perkins. I was scammed. I finally started to figure things out Wednesday night, after I jumped the gun and bragged about the date to friends, showing them pictures. heh. Anyhow, I went back to her website and double checked everything, just in case I missed some vital information. Near the bottom of the page is a soft-core picture of her, and below is an advertisement soliciting a website that shows her more "provocative" pictures. I clicked on the link, and found that for only $39.95, you can get acquainted with her or any other members. After this stark revelation, I didn't expect another email back from her. Wasn't surprised when I didn't get one. Regardless of how genuine she seemed in her emails, she was just trying to get me to sign up to some shitty dating/porn site. I fell for her trap. Predator and prey.
Saturday
I drive east on NP Avenue towards Moorhead. Drive past the only adult video store in town (the ABC). Fifteen or so presumably college-aged students stand outside, facing the front of the store. They hold hands while their heads are bowed, for the souls inside, I presume. It's a sad scene, for all involved. I pull into Moorhead and park in the lot on the north side of Atomic. I walk past a makeshift memorial for a girl killed the other day by a train while riding her bike. Some candles are lit, while others are expired. Flowers sag and point towards the ground. Up ahead are a group of drunken college students. Frat boys, I presume. Their faces animated as I draw near. They whisper.
One dares, "Are you gay?", while trying to keep a straight face. Laughter ensues. I dig deep down in my most gravely voice and utter, "Go to hell."
"What? I was just curious man...you look really gay!" followed by more laughter.
I trudge inside Ralph's and show my ID. The crowd is sparse and the Pixies play on the jukebox. I get something on tap and sit at the bar. No one here that I know, as usual. I try to bs with the bartender, but he's to busy. I'm seated next to a middle aged Native American with headphones on. He's really jamming out. "Fucking Metallica rules, man!" he slurs as he notices me next to him. Sure guy. I watch the muted tv, smoke stale cigarettes.
"I'm not a terrible person." Says the Indian.
"I didn't say you were man." I say with a nervous laugh.
He looks dejected, his face sagged and looking punched out from years of booze and hard work. So I engage in a conversation with him about jobs. He works as a roofer, and brings in 30 grand a year, but he works very hard and puts in long hours. I should know since I spent a summer roofing with my dad and grandpa. It fucking sucks, trust me. Sitting up on a hot black roof in 100 degree weather is no picnic.
He gages up other guys in the bar. "They couldn't do work like me" he says with pride.
Conversation degenerates into him talking about random girls in the bar and wanting to watch their faces when he "makes them cum". I excuse myself to the bathroom. I try to pee, to feel justified that I left the conversation, but to no avail. I come out and pace around, trying to make myself look as friendly and inviting as possible. I'm not like the other losers here, right?
Minutes turn to an hour and I consider saving face and heading for Perkins. Then another middle-aged man approaches me. He appears polite and harmless enough. He's about 5 foot 5, 40 years of age, Scandinavian, and wears glasses. He has the archetypal car-salesman personality and delivery. He tells me that he lives in the cities but he is here visiting with his wife. Apparently his wife's father is dying from complications of diabetes. His wife doesn't know he's here at the bar (huh?). He tells me that he went to NDSU around my age, but is finishing up his degree at Metro State. His details are elaborate and he appears to have a genuinely nice character.
Conversation goes from chipper to awkward when he blurts out, "So, are you gay?" Ah fucking hell...are you kidding me? I politely tell him that I'm not, but that I realize that I give everyone that impression. He talks about all of the "hot poon" he sees around us. I wouldn't exactly use that definition, but I agree to avoid any more awkwardness. He then tells me that I remind him of who he was at my age. Whatever guy.
"My beer is warm, I'm going to grab another." He says as he dumps the rest of his beer into my cup, then wades through a sea of drunks to get another at the bar. Hmm...seems cold to me. Strange, but I continue to drink anyway. He comes back with a beer for both of us.
"I don't normally drink this much. I'm a lightweight and have to drive home." I reply. Why does it seem like this guy is trying to get me drunk? Five minutes later I'm royally drunk. I've had one beer and I'm spinning, nearly seeing double. I look at my cup...uh, oh.
"I'm going to score us a joint." He says, noticing my concern. I stumble around, and look for help. Then a girl comes out of nowhere and introduces herself. We talk and I describe my situation. I see the guy leave out the back door and I feel more secure. The girl is rambunctious and friendly, asking too many questions. I tell her that I'm not gay, attempting to beat her to the punch. And soon our conversation is cut short as we're shoved out the door by the bartender. It's 2:00. I'm dazed, but I assure myself that I'm okay to drive. I check my backseat before hopping into my car, making sure Dahmer isn't waiting to rape me.
I make it to Perkins without incident and head inside. Two drunk guys in flannel stare and laugh at me. When I walk by them, one declares that "someone should beat his faggot ass." Thanks guys, I needed the self-esteem boost. But its true- I just look gay. I weigh 110 lbs., cross my legs when I sit, have a shy voice, and dress in unisex clothing.
Sunday
My kidneys hurt badly today, and I've been really sick to my stomach. Didn't sleep at all last night I feel dead inside. While I was freaking out, I called my dad up and explained my story about the roofie cocktail. He told me of a story about a guy he knew who had gone to a bar and met a pretty girl. This girl invited him back to her house and he obliged. What he didn't know is that she had slipped a roofie into his drink when they were still at the bar. Back at the cabin, a night of supposed kink started off by her handcuffing him to the bed. Unfortunately before he blacked out, a guy in a batman suit jumped out of her closet, beat the shit out of him with a whip, and then ass raped him. He woke up in a field naked the next morning, and stayed in bed for weeks because he was so traumatized. Thanks Dad for the pep-talk....