A couple of weeks ago, I received this message on OkCupid. I honestly haven’t read through the whole thing until just now. It’s pretty long – and a bit disturbing considering this is coming from someone I’ve never even exchanged hello’s with. His screen name makes it even worse. I try really hard not to mention people’s real, full, or screen names on here, but I’ll just say it has the word ‘Penetrating’ in it…which really isn’t a good idea for a screen name for an online dating site. Or just a screen name in general, really.
I’m sure this was copied from some Harlequin Novel, and he copies and pastes it to a slew of different women, but it makes for an interesting read, nonetheless…
I’ve decided that it doesn’t make sense to limit the pool of women under consideration to just those relatively few who happen to live within a few miles of me, when it is overwhelmingly likely that the one whose contours best fit my own is among the relatively many who don’t. Geography can be transcended, if necessary. Not finding the right person can’t be.
But distance means relying on our imaginations a bit more at the outset, so, let’s see if mine appeals to you as much as you already appeal to me:
You stood draped in the dusky mist of a moonlit night, alone, in a realm conjured from shared dreams, seducing the unseen and the unknown. You felt my presence, knew I was there admiring you, but somehow couldn’t quite see me in the shadows, weren’t quite sure where to look. Such is the nature of dream realms, not quite like those in which we live, but sometimes more like reality than reality itself, distilled and carved from the fabric of truth.
You knew that your curves, the shimmer of your dark-nylon-clad legs, the draw of your ample cleavage beneath its own translucent veil of fabric, held my eye captive and made my body yearn, and that the dulcet sounds of your voice, like a siren’s song reaching a shipwrecked sailor, filled me with awe and desire.
I’d like to quickly interject that this is clearly a copy and paste deal, because I’m pretty sure ‘ample’ is not the first word that would come to mind when looking at my cleavage. Trust me.
And there you were now, on a balcony overlooking a tapestry of dark shadows amid cascades of soft white moonlight, wondering where I was, who I was, and why I, who knew only a hint of who you were, desired you so ardently.
Somehow, you knew I was in those shadows, had willed me to be there, had conjured me from your own desires. In your heart you knew that I was not a man with any patience left for the dry rituals of modern courtship, the cautious distance and coolness of a world woven of mutual distrust; you had not conjured such a man, had not made manifest any desire for such a man. You wanted, though you feared, something more, a man who lived and loved boldly and responded only to boldness in others. You knew that such a man could only be intrigued by someone with the courage to seduce, and so, like Christine Daaé*, allowed yourself to long for a phantom who filled your darkest dreams.
* Christine Eloise Mary Daaé is a fictional character and the female protagonist of Gaston Leroux‘s 1910 novel The Phantom of the Opera. She is a young singer with whom the main character Erik, the Phantom of the Opera falls in love.
Yes, I had to look that up on Wikipedia. And to be honest, I had to look up most of the words from this message on dictionary.com.
And so there you found yourself, draped in moonlight and dark translucence, feeling hidden eyes ravaging you, in the grip of a hard resolve that was both present and remote. You knew my passions and preferences, knew how to overpower me with your allure, how to make me long for you absolutely. You moved with the knowledge of how to do so, of what to reveal and what to hide. You strummed the strings of my imagination like a harpist enchanting a hungry heart, every movement and gesture and sly little smile another note in your symphony of subtle seduction.
You trembled inwardly at the madness of it all, of this creation of a shared space spun from fantasies and fetishes, but knew that it was a sweet madness, an opportunity to experience something unique and wonderful that comes along just once in every several lifetimes. The normal and mundane rituals by which we seek to realize the magic of love are too safe to yield that rare gem. It is a seed that germinates most naturally in chance encounters, and grows in the soil of some combination of uncertainty and excitement.
And so you stood there, on display, aroused by your ability to arouse a man you couldn’t help but be intrigued by. You imagined what it would feel like to have me there with you, devouring you with my eyes, enfolding you in my arms, filling and fulfilling you with my passion. You had strummed the harp of my desires that brought me there, and now longed to be strummed in turn, the harp of your own desire played by a maestro whose every stroke and pluck would elicit moans and murmurs and muffled pleas.
At last you turned away, walked back toward the French doors separating the balcony from the bedroom, wondering if I had been nothing but a mirage after all, something you had imagined and wished for but had never been real. The anticipation and tension in your body began to release, a mixture of disappointment and relief washing over you. But it was just in that moment that you felt me behind you, warm and immediate and very, very real. And your whole body quivered with the realization that something truly extraordinary was about to happen….
To be continued?
No, Sir. This will not be continued. In fact, it never should have begun. And for the record – if I ever felt you behind me, ‘warm, immediate, and very very real,’ the only extraordinary thing that would happen is a heel to your balls or an elbow to your jaw. Juuust sayin’