A Chatroulette Love Story
I can’t remember who I was talking to before that. Probably a large group of Russian men in a house floor to ceiling with empty vodka bottles. Everything leading up to that point became meaningless, the black, infinite darkness before you come sliding out of the womb. I just remember her face. Elfin, pixie-ish, with shoulder length brown hair and one of those thin, perfect noses cosmetic surgeons just can’t emulate, no matter how hard they try. She looked into the camera and smiled, lighting up my world, and most incredibly, she didn’t hit F9.
Your partner is typing…
“Hey! What’s up?”
I fumbled for my keyboard, caught between a “not much, you,” or a “Hi! You’re incredibly attractive…” But then, tragedy. My browser hung. The small square containing the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen was now just a mocking, blank 320×240 pit of emptiness. I refreshed, my guts in my mouth, hoping against hope that our paths would connect again, hearts across the wi-fi, only to be confronted by a man having sex with a toilet seat.
That night, I lay awake, unable to get the image of that girl out of my head. In my freshly-beating heart, I knew it was meant to be. Was it really that crazy to fall in love with a smile? Nobody laughed at our Grandparents when they saw each other through the windows of a moving train and just knew they’d spend the rest of their lives together. There was no choice; I had to track her down, I had to find my soulmate, no matter how many more connects it took, and the tale of this would be our story, told hand in hand at weddings and parties for fifty years.
Dracula once told his beloved that he’d crossed oceans of time to be reunited with her. The jagged, thrashing waves of my ocean were proud between the legs of pixelly, headless men. Thick, sweaty horsecocks and stubby little nobs clasped between thumb and forefinger like rotten strawberries; my righteous path was strewn with enough penis for ten thousand lifetimes. I asked men dressed like Jesus and shirtless OAPs if they’d seen my girl, if they could only give me a clue to her whereabouts, or to let her know that I was looking for her, should they find themselves connected. Most just hit Next and moved on. Some laughed. Many started masturbating. One girl showed me her boobs, but I quickly hit F9, so’s not to cheat on my beloved. And then, following a close-up of a beltbuckle reading ‘DAD’ with big, swollen testicles poking out of the fly, there it was – that smile. The rush of blood to my head was so intense that I almost fainted onto the desk.
Your partner is typing…
“Hey! What’s up?”
Heart booming in my ears, I pasted my carefully pre-written text – a short summation of my quest complete with email address – into the chatbox, and slammed on the enter key. Sure, it was needy, maybe even stalkerish, but times like these you have to throw caution to the wind. Faint heart never won fair maiden.
Your partner is typing…
Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you
…
One part of that was totally true. Can you guess which bit? And this link isn’t even worksafe if you work in a crackhouse. Click here to find out.
No comments:
Post a Comment