It was many and many a year ago (2004, actually).
I’d just bought my first house, and my then-husband had just copulated with his best friend’s fiance – not necessarily violating the sexual rules of our open marriage, but definitely violating their monogamous relationship, the bonds of brotherhood, and the decency rules applicable to all mankind.
When I was a teenager, I frequented a particular AOL chatroom. We, the frequenters, stayed friends and became great real-life friends as we grew older. Well, most of us.
One of them was a habitual liar…which is something you have to discover the hard way.
They set me up on a date, with a tall, dark, handsome stranger who was too elite for anyone.
The truth is ludicrous, really…and something I wish I’d learned before publishing to bad sex communities.
The truth is that they, with nine(?) brothers, were born in a cabin in the woods.
No education. No social security numbers. Illiterate, insane, and according to him, inbred.
In my wildest fiction, I wouldn’t write that. It is too weird. Reality, however, makes far less sense than fiction.
So, after the I laughed at his penis (I honestly thought he was making a joke) and taught him about the existence of “ice buckets,” we went our separate ways. Or so I thought.
Sometime after “Facehugging in the Crackhouse Swamp,” but before telling everyone that a bee stung him and he developed amnesia (before hitting on me again), he told his small cadre of illiterati that I was still “somewhere in these woods” and wildly fornicating with locals. Also, he asked his male lover…
…I’m really glad I’ve got a chat program going on while I write this, because it allows me moments to compose myself.
…his male lover to perpetuate his story, claiming that he and I were somehow together.
I want to make some argument like “I was posting from my office, not living in the woods,” but then I realized that illiterate cannibal hillbillies don’t have internet access.
Fast forward eight years and many relationships, and his former (male) lover still sends me messages of the variety suggesting we are outrunning some redneck Illuminati.
Imagine, if you will, if the Illuminati were destitute and illiterate, what a threat they would be.
Since I have systematically eliminated every idiotic presence in my life, including the man with one arm who sought sexual counsel for the woman with one present (unfortunately on the opposite side), who previously reported to him, Amnesia From Bees and his fellows have no other way to contact me.
I feel like, after eight years of material, I should be writing a comic about this or something.
Originally published at The Pandemonium Project. You can comment here or there.