Source Jockey

Sometimes, I’ll find myself chatting with someone for months before meeting up, if we even meet at all. Such was the case with “Belle”. She sent me three very blurry photos of herself (one was actually a scan of her passport photo, so it had a hologram through it), and while that’s normally a red flag, she seemed very nice, and we talked on the phone a couple times a week. I continued to pressure her to meet, yet she always came up with an excuse why she couldn’t.

Finally, one afternoon, she IMed me and asked if I wanted to meet for lunch. I readily agreed, and met up with her at a nearby shopping area.  I was pretty excited, as we knew quite a bit about each other, and putting a non-blurry face to a person is fulfilling.  I had a picture of her in my mind, based on the photos, and from what she told me over time.  5’8″, a little “chunky” (her words”, and clumsy.

She walked up to me in the parking lot, and said hello.  I was stunned–she was gorgeous, had an amazing figure, and if she was clumsy, her heels didn’t indicate any clumsiness.  We walked to a nearby café and talked for a bit.  Something was a bit off–she was much more aggressive in her tone than she ever was on the phone, and something sounded…different.  ”Belle,” I started, “tell me more about what you’re studying.”  She looked at me with a grimace.

“Adam, I wish you’d stop calling me Belle.  It’s creepy.”  I was confused.

“What do you mean?  Isn’t Belle your name?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “Belle is my little sister.  I’m Hailey.  You and I never chatted or talked before, but my sister talked all about you constantly–I wanted to see what the buzz was all about.”

I didn’t know what to say.  She had switched places with her sister!

“Adam, please don’t tell Belle that we met.  I didn’t tell her I was doing this.”

So we talked for a little bit longer, and then parted ways.  As it turned out, Hailey had just broken up with her  boyfriend, who she talked incessantly about, and apparently just needed someone to talk to.

About 6 months later, I met Belle.  She was, in fact, 5’8″, “chunky”, and clumsy.  In person, she wasn’t as open as she was on the phone, and it just didn’t work out.

Ok, maybe that wasn’t *that* exciting, but I figured it was worth sharing!

I wasn’t going to tell this one originally–it’s not nearly as sensational as some of my other meetings, and it has some somewhat serious racial issues; but it definitely sticks out in my mind as one of the more bizarre incidents.

“Glenda” described herself as attractive, intelligent, funny, and engaging.  Her photos were nice; beautiful, nice body, and a great smile all added to her allure.  She was definitely nice, and someone who seemed like she could be minimally be a friend.  During our phone conversations, she seemed openminded, and she alleviated my reservations about going out with her.  Until meeting her, I had never gone on a date with a black girl.

We met on campus in a public place, and we decided that we should just be casual and hang out.  Unfortunately, it was cold out, so we went to my dorm room.  After a brief discussion about USC, she started a diatribe about race and racial relations.  Suddenly, she accused me and “my people” of being responsible for holding down and enslaving HER people.  Every time I interrupted her to get a word in edgewise, she would cut me off and continue to explain how my relatives only a few generations ago brutally treated her relatives, and that I should pay for it.

Finally, I put my foot down.

“I’m of Jewish heritage–my people did NOT enslave yours.  In fact, MY people were enslaved many years ago.”

Her response?  ”I don’t care–you’re white–you hold us–me–down.”

I was incredulous.  ”You don’t care?  You’re attacking me on false grounds.”  This back-and-forth continued for a couple minutes, before I realized that the only reason she came over in the first place was to pick a fight.  I asked her to leave–and after a bit more yelling, she did.

Stunned does not describe how I felt after that.  What was supposed to be a nice date turned into a waste of time.

Interestingly enough, I haven’t had that many online dates lie to me about their age–and if they have, they’ve appeared to be awfully close to their actual age.  In the few times when someone has been older than the date listed on their profile, it’s usually no more than a year or two.

That said…what scares me the most is the prospect of meeting someone who has lied in the opposite direction…  This hasn’t happened in a long while, as my dating preference is really older than 24.  But when I was 19, I didn’t mind dating someone 18.

So I was 19 or 20 when I met “Jane” on one of the sites that doesn’t allow postings for people less than 18, which, at the time, wasn’t common.  Some sites would allow people as young as 16, which was probably for those states where the age of consent is lower.  We had been chatting for about a week, and I saw around 15 or 20 photos of her.  Cute, a killer smile, and a rather stunning figure led me to believe she wasn’t faking it.  She was a freshman at a local Orange County community college, and seemed to be pretty bright.  So I asked if she wanted to hang out one night.  She agreed, and I met up with her at a Starbucks near her house.

When I met her, something seemed a bit off–nothing too terribly alarming; though I was a little surprised that she had some slight B.O., and her style sense was a little bohemian.  She was wearing overalls and a ribbed long-sleeve shirt, which only served to amplify her appearance of a rather large chest.  There were no seats in the Starbucks, so she asked if we could hang at USC.  I agreed.  On the drive up, I noticed the B.O. a bit more, but the conversation was a little odd, too; she didn’t talk much about school, and was focused more on entertainment gossip.

We arrived at USC, and we decided to hang out in my dorm room.  I’ll admit that I was a bit excited, she was definitely very good looking, and what 19/20 year old guy doesn’t want that??  We talked about what television shows she watched, what music she listened to, what movies she liked…and she suddenly says, “So, do you like my outfit?”  I was a bit stunned by the sudden change in topic, but told her that she looked very nice.

“Very nice?” she asked, “Just nice?”  I know a complement fisher when I see one.

“Actually,” I said, “you look great.”  She seemed excited.

“I’m wearing a new top,” she started, “and a new bra.  It’s not padded, and to see?”  Through her shirt, she pulled the bottom part of her bra and squeezed it to show it wasn’t padded.  I was being pulled in two directions–I wanted so badly to reach out and feel what looked like legitimately huge breasts, but the alarm bells were piercing my thoughts.  I closed my eyes a moment, and took a breath.

“Um, Jane, look, I would love to do more–but something doesn’t feel right.  What did you say you’re studying in school?” I asked.

“Pre-calc, biology, AP History…” she started, and stopped short with a small gasp, before she said, “I mean…uh…”

For some reason, I wasn’t surprised, “So not in college, then? How old are you really?”

She stammered, “No, no, I meant World History…I’m 18.”

“May I see your ID, please?” I requested.

“No, I don’t have one,” she said, “I don’t need one because I don’t drive.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, everyone has an ID if they’re over 18–even if it’s not a drivers’ license.  I’m taking you home.”

So during the drive, she was begging and pleading to continue the date–all the while insisting she was 18.  Later on, after I got back to my dorm, she and I chatted a bit longer.  She admitted to being 16, and that she was sorry, and that she wanted to hang out again.  I responded by saying no, and blocking her.

This was a really close call; had I not been more cautious…well, let’s just say I’m glad I was.  Since then, two other people lied about their age, but both came clean from the moment we met, and fortunately, disaster was averted.