Reader Discretion Advised.
Online dating has exposed me to a lot of things. A lot of cheesy, douchey, scary things that is. Many messages I’ve received are from men whose pictures involve making gang signs, or lifting their shirt in the bathroom mirror, or posing with wax celebrities. So when I opened a message from a 6’4”, muscled, tan hunk with a surfboard, who was an ex-Angels player, I heard actual angels singing. The smooth operator’s first message was simple and to the point: “Hey.” Clearly, the angels were singing so loudly that I couldn’t hear the warning bells that maybe there was a reason he had so little to say… I, of course, wrote back with twenty-one questions. We bantered back and forth online for a bit and then began chatting on the phone.
He wasn’t the most talkative of men, but at least he called (which, hey, is more than I can say for 99% of males in Los Angeles). He mostly spoke about his time at the gym and eating habits but he was friendly enough and wanted to meet up. So that weekend, we grabbed a bite by the beach and hung out watching movies. For the next few weekends, I was all about this new potential boyfriend and was even willing to look past the fact that he went to jail for a year for assault. (That was why he was an ex-Angels player and not a current Angels player.) But then things got weird… On Monday, I received a picture message from him. I opened it…and there staring at me was his wiener. In all its unsolicited, uncensored glory. Next to a Coke can. For comparison’s sake, I guess?
Since this “incident” I have come to realize just how popular this trend has become with the male species. Men love their wieners! They love them so much, they want to text them to me all the time. I told you online dating exposed me to a lot of things. So, I did what any normal girl would do — I created a folder in my phone for “Dick Pics”. What? Where else was I going to store them? I actually have quite the impressive library now. The mis en scène varies from text to text as well…some are very graphic — it’s just a slab of meat on the bathroom counter and some are more artistic — like it’s laying by a rose. There are just so many different ways you can pose it. But there is a reason we do not send pictures of our Pikachus — it’s not very photogenic…no matter how you style the hair.
That said, prior to this, I wasn’t used to getting hotdogs in my inbox, so I was flabbergasted my first time. Twenty minutes later I received another wiener picture. I didn’t really know how to respond because I didn’t want to offend him by not responding — after all I liked this guy — but I also didn’t really want to encourage more. I decided to skirt the issue (you may recognize my problem with dealing with confrontation from my previous post). I just wrote back “Aww. Hope you are having a great day! What are you doing tonight? xo” He seemed to take the cue and he took our texting back down to a G-rating… until that Wednesday. When things hit their peak.
I remember the night very well, I was watching movies with one of my best girlfriends and I had just finished telling her all about my ex-con-ex-Angels-player-maybe-future-boyfriend. The movie was almost over and I received a text. It’s from the ex-con! It read: “There’s a huge tub of ice-cream in my freezer.” Now, if you could have read the archives of our texts over the past month, you’d see that it consisted of a lot of questions from me (in an attempt to keep the conversation going) and a lot of dead-end sentences from him (where I couldn’t really understand why he was texting me with that information). I showed the text to my girlfriend and asked, “WHAT am I supposed to respond to that? Am I supposed to encourage him to eat the ice cream? ‘LOL’? Tell him to make a protein shake instead?” Then, in a flash, my girlfriend snatched my phone out of my hand and started texting. Before I had time to grab it back, she had already pressed “Send”. I looked at the screen and she texted him “…oh yea? And what do you want to do with that ice cream?” I wanted to DIE. First of all, I am awful at the game of sexting. I do not know what to say and I usually write something incredibly embarrassing and “not very sexy” back. Secondly, I am not going to be able to continue this standard of texting after my Cyrano de Bergerac leaves. Thirdly, as I just pointed out with the dead-end sentences, I knew he was just going to write back “Eat it.”
I panicked, explaining to my girlfriend he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed regarding language skills and he will definitely just write back “Eat it”. I waited for five painful minutes and then he texted back! I looked down at my phone and he just wrote “Eat it”. I showed my girlfriend. “See? I told you!!” I flung myself onto the coach, mortified.
Thirty seconds later another text came through, “…off your pussy.” Oh. Dear.
My girlfriend was overjoyed. She high-fived me, but I couldn’t bask in her glory, because I knew where this conversation was going to go…Of course, right after that, I got another wiener picture. Followed by a succession of texts begging me to send a picture. There was absolutely no way. I asked my girlfriend what I should do and Sage Sexting Sensai that she is, she suggested we go online in search of my Pussy Doppelganger. Brilliant. We did a Google Image Search and after a while of weeding through pictures of my possible PD (and a few more nude-soliciting-texts), we finally came across THE ONE. It was very close up, clearly photoshopped and obviously professionally lit, but I figured his biceps were bigger than his brain and he wouldn’t notice. So, I took a picture of the computer screen with my phone and sent it. We waited…and waited…and waited. No response. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. After a couple hours, we called it a night and my friend went home and I went to sleep worried about my future with the gorilla. The next morning he called, “Hey babe. Sorry I didn’t get back to you last night. That picture was so hot. I just jacked off and fell asleep.”
Phew! Safe! Content that little uncomfortable chapter was over with, I went about my day, excited to see him that weekend. A few hours later, I received a text from him and it read: “THAT WAS NOT YOUR PUSSY.” I froze. How did he know? Did he Google image Search, “Woman Pussy” too? Maybe he noticed the Pikachu makeup job? Knowing things would only get more convoluted via text, I called him to clear things up. I admitted to sending the fake picture, apologizing profusely and explaining I just don’t send nude photos. He retorted back with “how dare” I send a fake picture, etc, etc. It was a major fail and there was no rectifying the situation. I thought he would eventually get the humor in the situation seeing as we’d spent a fair amount of time together and it is not as though I was sending him fake pictures of my face?? But, alas, things ended rather badly and it was “Sayonara Superjock.”
When I got home later, I looked at the picture I sent him again and did a double-take…I left the cursor in the picture!?! Epic fail. In hind sight, my friends knew it wouldn’t work because of his jail time and I knew it wouldn’t really work because he was a Republican. But, lesson learned: Be yourself…and if you can’t dish the dirty talk, don’t have your bestie do it for you.