A window popped up, and a name I’d never seen before appeared. Did I want to chat, the message unfolded.
Sure. I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile, and no one I knew seemed to be interested in saying hi.
“I’m curious about your name.”
“My real name?” No way was I just handing out info to an unknown person. And his name, MissionK, didn’t exactly inspire confidence in him.
“No, not that. Titania. I’m hoping it’s because you have an awesome rack, get it? Tit….” I could almost hear the adolescent snicker. This was going to be a very short conversation, I suspected.
“The name was suggested by a friend. It’s from a play.” Both true, totally avoiding why the friend suggested the name—and honestly, I didn’t know. I figured it was just because Titania was queen of the fairies.
“Oh…(insert sad face here)…so you’re not built?” This conversation was almost over. “Never mind answering that yet. I’m usually not so crude.” Maybe there was hope for MissionK yet. There was nothing else I needed to do, and I still had some energy, so I could give him a couple more minutes.
“If you’re so interested in names, is there a story behind yours?” Maybe he was an astronaut! I could use an astronaut friend.
A Big smiley face popped up in reply. “First, are you really 46?” No Bibles were in sight, and I decided not to list my real age after discovering that admitting to being 49 made me a magnet for 60 year olds. For some reason, 46 didn’t have that same effect.
“About, yea. I’ve had a birthday since I filled out the profile.”
Another big smiley face winked at me. As helpful and friendly as emoticons can be….I’m sensing overkill on this. “Well, I don’t usually tell women this quickly what me name really means—I have a couple good lines about it—but I’ve never chatted with an old chick before, so I’m going to try a different strategy.”
I reread that. Should I laugh or cry? Be insulted and storm off and block him? I slumped, not happy at being an “old chick.” But I shouldn’t shoot the messenger, I guess.
“Strategy—sounds important,” I try feebly to flirt back. Of course it’s feeble, that’s all we “old chicks” can manage.
“I probably need to rephrase that. Would older woman be better? Or mature—how about it I call you mature?” How about if you not call me anything?
“Just tell me about your name,” I suggested.
“Here’s the real story. My ex-wife was a major bitch, but she had been a babe before our daughter was born. She just let herself go to hell, but she still thinks she’s hot. Anyway, when we broke up, she announced that she’d have another guy in her bed by the end of the month, but I’d spend the rest of my life beating off to the Playboy Channel. You still there?”
Hmmm…I could leave and never come back, but this might be an interesting culture experience. “Oh, yes, she sounds like a major bitch. I can’t imagine saying that to someone.”
“Exactly. And I’m a great guy, good income, good dad, even help with dishes and shit sometimes.” A prince. I can tell. “So I told her that I she might find one pathetic loser to hold her dildo for her, but I’d fuck a thousand women before I turned 35 once I was free of her fat ass.”
Okay. The plot thickens. “And so your mission is the thousand? “
Another Happy face. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
I’ve just gotta know more—I guess watching a person spontaneously combust could be fun. “And how’s the mission going? High customer satisfaction, I hope?”
“Well, usually I wouldn’t have told you what was going on, and honestly, I’m not sure I’ll make it before I turn 35. I’m 32 now, and only at 345. I’m running behind. I shoulda said 500. Here’s the thing. I didn’t consider how many girls want dinner and a date or two before they drop their panties. Over half of them weren’t a one date deal. And I didn’t realize the bitch would insist that I take my daughter all the time. I’m not gonna hit 1000 by 35.”
What’s the chat version of Candid Camera? I’ve found it. That’s the only logical answer. “Maybe if you designed a schedule with goals and stuff,” I suggested helpfully.
“Yea, I have to do all that at work, and that’s part of how I know I’m behind. ‘
I send a sympathetic looking emoticon.
“Here’s a thought, though. I’ve been chasing the young girls, the ones my age or younger. I don’t tell them about my mission, usually, either, because they get all snotty. Even the ones who will sleep with anybody get all offended if I tell them they could be number 237.”
Hmmm….he’s data-driven. Wonder if he’s a teacher.
“So maybe my approach is slowing me down. You haven’t seen young cock in years, like….12, 13 years, since you were my age. So if we’d get together, it’d be special for you, and the dinner and conversation and all that would just waste your time. Older women respect time more, I bet. “
I should be offended. I should be reaming him new orifices—but I’m laughing too hard. What an idiot. “I have a fairly acute sense of time, and I guess it would be kinda fun to be part of a mission, I’d be sort of an astronaut or something, I guess. “ giggly emoticon accompanies the tripe I send.
“Exactly. And let’s be honest—there’s no chance we’d be able to be friends. I’m so much younger, you probably don’t even talk to people my age often. The older workers always hang together—I’d be as boring to you as you would be to me. Besides, I’ve got a whole ladder to climb at work—I’m ambitious, working on my MBA. Know what that is?” The B stands for Bullshit, I know that, but no, I’m still playing nice. Could this be a setup? It’s gotta be.
“Sure, a masters in business. From where?”
He seems impressed that I know a bit about college, and admits that he’s going to BG nights, and that he hangs out at the Student Union to pick up college girls when he has time.
“But you see my point,” he begins again. “There’s no reason to pretend that we could be friends. There’s just too big a difference. You don’t really know anything about the world I live in—I live in the future. I’m impressed that you even IM at your age. Or do you do it to talk to your grandkids?”
I may meet him so I can shoot him, I decide.
“Nope. I have a son and daughter in their early 20s, but no grandkids. “ Playing along a bit could be interesting—a jury of my peers will never convict me if he keeps going.
“You live at Walden, right? I hang out at bars there some, playing pool, finding girls. Most people think I’m only 26 or so, so I tend to hang with people that age when I’m out. I’ve probably played pool at some bar with your son, where’s he go to drink?” Nope, not telling this asshat anything.
“Depends. He’s away at college, so he’s not out here much.” True. Every word.
“And your daughter? Maybe she’s one of my previous conquests—it’d be cool to do both a mom and daughter. Oh…but maybe you don’t wanna think about that right now.” He seems to think he’s on Lucky Street with me. Wow. And I barely need to say a word.
I assured him that the chances he’d met my daughter were slim, and the chances that he’d gotten to know her well even slimmer.
“You have a son in college. That’s cool. It’s pretty hard for a lot of people, so I hope he works hard.”
“You know how kids are.” What the hell does that mean, and why did I say it? It’s not nice to set this boy up and laugh at him. He sends the cowboy hat emoticon. Maybe he thinks that’s sympathetic.
“I hate to brag, but since we’re a kinda different situation, I’ll tell you the truth. I’m probably the smartest person you’ll ever meet. All those tests you take in high school and college—I aced them. I don’t brag about it, of course, but I’m about always the smartest person in the room.”
“So you’re telling me you’re a loner” I sent a smiley face so he knew I was kidding. Of course he’s a genius. I can tell already—and I bet I know what else he’ll claim before long.
“You’re funny, and not exactly dumb yourself,” he said. I love getting stroked like that. It’s been too long since I’ve been told I’m not exactly dumb.
“So you wanna meet soon? This weekend? I can be in Walden.” Oh, the business man wants to close the deal. “I promise it’ll be worth it. I’ve got tricks and skills you’ve never seen—and my young cock gets harder than you’ve seen in years. Let the cowboy ride, honey.” Yep, the cowboy emoticon finished that statement.
“And the bonus—you don’t have to try to pretend to be my friend or interested in me or anything. We go into this like adults, and we both get what we want and it’s done. ”
Meeting him might be fascinating. Worst case, I kill him. Best case, I decide he’s not really such a jerk and play cowboy. Before I can respond, he’s back.
“I could send you a picture if that’d help you decide. Which head shot you want—the 8 inch one or the one showing my new haircut?” I called it. Before the conversation ended, I knew he’d claim at least 7 inches; it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d claimed to be 10.
“No picture, not tonight. I’ve gotta think this over.” I’m deciding if deconstructing his approach and offensiveness is worth it, or if I’m missing a chance to redefine myself.
“I’m pretty psyched. I’d never really thought of old chicks before, and I clicked on you by accident at first—there was a really hot picture right below your avatar. But I’m glad—I think I could make up some time with ladies of your maturity. You have friends, right? Lots of friends your age? Maybe after you sample the merchandise…” Smiley face.
“I have an early morning—gotta get some sleep” I finally get a word in edgewise. He really hasn’t mastered this whole ‘he says something, I say something” thing.
“So this weekend?”
“I’m in Cleveland this weekend. I’ll think this over and we can talk later. G’Night.” I signed off before he could possibly say anything more, still wondering if there was even a slight chance that conversation was a set up from kids who knew me. It’s gotta be, I decided.
A couple weeks later, MissonK messaged me saying that since we talked, he’d been trolling for women my age and had met 2 of them, and they had a great time and I really should meet him soon. I know that people say “never say never,” and you must do that which you don’t want to do (or something like that…Eleanor Roosevelt urging people to leave their comfort zone), but….no. I feel pretty safe saying never to MissionK .