This is how I troll

Note: The following is not considered a "typical" TFTG post. I just really wanted to get this out there. Regularly scheduled programming will resume when I feel like it.

Yesterday evening I was lurking Facebook, and I came across the profile of a high-schooler named Clay. In one of his semi-recent statuses, he wrote "Top 10 cutest girls," followed by a numbered list of girls he apparently thought were cute, with links to each of their Facebook profiles.
Now, I'm not one to put my admittedly large nose in other peoples' business, but since the status was public and I felt that these girls were being ridiculously disrespected, I decided to comment on the status and voice my opinion (read: "troll the shit out of him"). This is the shitstorm that followed (slightly abridged, for both length and continuity):

My Supportive Friend

In the summer of my fifteenth year, my mother and stepdad were in the midst of uprooting me from our house in Texas, to live in a new one in Arizona. I'd lived in Texas my entire life, and wasn't too happy about the situation.

Aside #1: The day that we actually set out to drive from state-to-state was my birthday, something that I've never forgotten or forgiven my parents for.

I looked for solace in many places, finally settling on the support of others through the internet. I began making friends through websites and chat rooms I frequented, generally speaking to those that were in or had been in the same situation as me. But there was one person, a female named Jenne, that stood out from the rest of people I was speaking to. She'd been uprooted before, and hated the ramifications of it at first, but had slowly grown to like her new life.

Aside #2: I should mention that I did not use my real name in these situations. I usually went by my middle name, Drew.

My friendship with Jenne began a month or two before we were set to leave. I can't remember exactly where we met on the web, or what made us start talking, but after a few weeks, I couldn't stop. I'd only had one true 3-month long relationship under my belt, and was new to the idea of females paying attention to me. She didn't seem to mind my attachment to her, and soon we were scheduling times and dates for when we would talk to one another via instant messanger. We'd start early in the night, and end up talking well into the early hours of the morning, never seeming to run out of subject matter.

I talked about school, my friends, my parents, and anything else that came up. She talked about her job, husband, pets, and what she hoped to make of her life in the future.

Did I mention Jenne was 27 years old? I know should have turned and ran after the first few weeks when she'd first mentioned this to me, but my fascination with how completely different her life was from mine kept our strange friendship going.

And stranger did it become. Soon Jenne was making references to her mental health state, claiming that her husband didn't love her anymore because she was crazy. She claimed to have schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and a slew of other issues that I can't recall.

Again, I should have cut off contact with her after this revalation. But it only made her more interesting to me. As our friendship grew stronger, so did my schoolboy-type crush on her. I didn't make my feelings hidden, and she didn't act like it was wrong.

It was only a matter of time before she began taking advantage of the attention I was giving her. She began teasing me, telling me about her sexual habits and slight fetishes, while also calling me "handsome" and "cute." Sexually inexperienced at the time, I hardly knew anything of the terminology she was throwing at me. She would imply, but never state directly, that my feelings for her were returned.

Aside #3: After everything, I think she didn't admit it because it was because she was truly in love with her husband, though she was convinced he wasn't with her.

Then the pictures started coming. Vanilla at first, they slowly became more and more promiscuous as time went on. She never sent me straight-up nude photos, but some were a moved blanket or a shifted arm away from being so. All were self-shot and in black-and-white, the latter for reasons I didn't and still don't know.

Jenne would always follow up these conversations and sent pictures with claims that she'd "forgotten" how old I was, and that I kept "tricking" her by acting older. All were meant to be in good humor, and seemed tongue-in cheek, but showed me that she knew what she was doing was morally questionable. I wasn't complaining, because I found her ridiculously attractive, physically and mentally.

Aside #4: It's no surprise that I'm attracted to damaged women.

Near the three-month mark of our so-called relationship, I suddenly stopped hearing from Jenne. She was never online anymore, and had never given me a phone number to call, and I was convinced something serious had happened to her. I didn't know what to do.

Then, a month later, I recieved an email from her. She had been taken to a sanitarium for a short-term stay after having a mental breakdown one day at work. She was now medicated for all of her illnesses, and things were looking up between she and her husband. She explained to me that her attraction to me was part of her psychosis, and that she no longer felt that way because of the medication she was on.

Luckily, I hadn't fooled myself into thinking I'd actually had a chance with her, so my heartbreak was only minor. I tried to continue our friendship after this, but was met with half-assed responses to my emails and attempts to talk to her. I think she was ashamed of the way she'd acted towards me, and didn't want to be reminded of it.

Either way, I'm now thankful nothing happened past what did. I'm glad she never sent me nude photos, and that she never admitted that she had feelings for me, because my head probably would have exploded if she did.

The Babysitting Story

Before I begin this story, I'd like to ask everyone reading to think of the single most depraved act they've ever committed. If you're cringing while thinking of it, you're on the right track. Now, think of how you would feel if that story was told to every single person you have met or ever will meet in your entire life. That, reader, is what I am putting myself through by telling you this tale. I hope you all enjoy it.

I've been in a lot of relationships in my life, and a lot of them have been, looking back, pretty fantastic. But as any serial dater like myself will tell you, the bad is always quick to follow the good, as was the case during my senior year in high school.

I had recently ended what was the most rewarding and longest-running relationship I'd been in at the time, and had began dating a girl that was two years younger than me, named Mia. Taller than me by about two inches, and by all accounts a "sensually curvy"-type of girl (the yin to my "concentration camp"-type body yang), we made quite the impression on the regular occupants of the schoolyard when we began dating. It seemed that by the second or third day of our relationship, everyone (including a teacher that we shared) knew about it. Neither of us cared, because we were too smitten with one another to waste a thought worrying about it.

Aside #1: Yeah, we were one of those couples.

Things went fantastically, for the first few months. Besides some initial rockiness when her ex from another state had found out about us, things were perfect. She was exactly the kind of girl I loved at the time: one that would hang onto my every word and provide genuinely impressive feedback to whatever teen-angst bullshit I'd decided to spout out. We were a match made in heaven, the two of us.

Then sex entered the equation. She seemed to have insatiable carnal desires when it came to me, once claiming that her body ached when it was not naked and near mine. With the both of us still being in school (and obviously living with our parents), it became near-impossible to satisfy her need on a regular basis. So we began to improvise. Everywhere we went became a potential "sex spot." Playgrounds, cars and outdoor walking paths were suddenly places to get laid, under my new mindset.

Eventually, we both agreed that our public displays of over-affection were becoming far too risky, and opted to sneak over to each others' houses in the dead of night on a regular basis. Unfortunately, it had to stop not much longer after it started. We were never caught, officially, but we had far too many close calls to warrant a continuation of this behavior.

Aside #2: Her dad had come up to her room no more than ten minutes after I'd left her house one night, claiming to have heard a noise. I would not be here today if he'd caught us doing what we were doing, especially when you consider the way we were doing it.

So we were stuck with no place to fuck. As with any sex-deprived relationship, the outside veneer of ours began to show cracks in its surface. We were fighting constantly, not being able to patch up our spats with sex. It was driving us both crazy.

Then, about a month into our mutual dry spell, Mia picked up a job babysitting for a couple that her parents had been friends with for the last few months. After a few weeks of this, and a lot of trying to convince me to do so, she had me over to their house one night after she'd put the trio of children she was watching to bed. We sat in their living room, cuddled, and watched a movie. Of course, things started to go beyond the innocent cuddle, only to be stopped by my suddenly-found list of morals.

We didn't have sex that night, though she begged me to. I had some issues with porking my girlfriend in a house owned by people I'd never met, especially when their impressionable children were sleeping less than fifteen feet away from us.

But the next week, all of my previously-held inhibitions were abandoned. It had now been two months since we last did it, and I was starting to go crazy. Mia had informed me that after I'd left the previous week, she'd snooped around the house and discovered that the master bedroom had two types of locks on it, one on the handle and a chain lock, to ensure that there was no possible way for us to be interrupted by anyone.

When I arrived that evening, we wasted no time. Leading me by the hand to the couples' bedroom, I began to notice a trend amongst all of their wall-hangings and paintings: each had a very, very heavy Christian theme. There were framed Bible verses and crosses lining the hallway to the room, which suddenly felt endless and Kubrickian. My moral compass was screaming obscenities at me in my head. But I ignored it. I was going to get laid, and I was not going to feel guilty about it. Period.

Swinging the door open, we entered the one room in the house that felt off-limits. Immediately, Mia slid the chain lock into place and pounced on me. I fell onto the bed, which felt far lumpier than it should have. Pushing her off of me, I stood up and looked at what I'd fallen on. Laying there where I had just been were a pile of children's clothes, freshly laundered and neatly folded.

Uncomfortable with this revelation, I asked Mia if we could avoid touching the bed, because it felt so wrong. Begrudgingly, she agreed, and led me over to an easy chair in the corner. Pulling my pants down to my ankles, she dropped to her knees and began to show me just how much she'd missed me.

Aside #3: If the quality of the blowjob I was receiving was any indication, it was a lot.

Soon, she'd pulled her own pants off and was on top of me. But the shape of the chair I was sitting in simply wasn't built for girl-on-top sex, so we moved to the floor.

Five minutes later, we heard a noise coming from outside. The knob on the door turned, and the person on the other side tried to open it. Impeded by the chain lock, the door only opened enough to allow a single, tiny arm to enter the room and wave around as the child on the other side called out Mia's name just like she had been doing with mine not seconds earlier.

Aside #4: If you ever find yourself wondering what the most fucked up thing I've ever written is, refer to the above paragraph.

I don't think I've ever gone from the missionary position to standing that fast. Matching my speed, Mia was re-dressed in a flash and unlocking the door to tend to the child while I hid silently in the bathroom attached to the room. We knew that if he saw me there, the chance of us being able to do this in the future were highly unlikely.

I don't know what she said to calm him down, but whatever it was, it had worked, and she was back in the room within a minute. Wanting to finish what we'd started, she began to unbutton my pants again. My moral compass wasn't just screaming at me this time, it had rounded up a few of its moral compass friends to yell at me in unison, warning me that I would come to regret what I was doing at this moment, and that no amount of awesome sex could possibly be worth the guilt I would carry after all was said and done. Once again, I ignored it, as the smaller head of my two began to take over. Thinking I'd already crossed over the threshold between "wrong" and "despicable," I stepped over to the bed and swept the neat pile of clothes onto the floor with a single arm, tiny socks and shirts flying everywhere.

Suddenly, we were both naked and having the type of tantric sex that even the most well-seasoned porn star would think was a bit much. We did it this way, we did it that way, we did it in ways that we'd never even imagined were possible before.

Aside #5: I'm actually ashamed on Mia's behalf for what she allowed me to do to her that night.

Once we were both finished, we laid out on the bed side-by-side, sweating profusely. Slowly but surely, we sat up and began getting dressed. Mere steps away from the bedroom door, Mia kissed me goodbye. Somehow, through forces unknown to me even to this day, this final embrace turned into her dropping to her knees for a second time that night. Working with the same type of sexual determination she had while we were in bed minutes previously, it didn't take long to get the job done.

Zipping my pants up, I walked towards the door to the bedroom. Inches away from the door handle, my hand stopped in mid-air as it began to rattle against both locks.

Terrified, I stowed away in the bathroom once more. Seeing that I'd done so, Mia opened the door to find the parents of the children that she was sitting on the other side. Knowing that there was no sense in hiding anymore, I admitted defeat and walked back into the bedroom.

I've never seen comprehension of a situation dawn on two peoples' faces simultaneously before, but that's exactly what happened the moment after I stepped into their view. Impressively and miraculously retaining their composure, both kindly yet curtly introduced themselves to me (neither offering to shake my hand, I should note), the husband mentioning that he "didn't know Mia was having a friend over tonight."

After this admittance, the tension in the air was palpable. Without moving a single part of her body besides her mouth, the wife offered to drive the both of us home, rightly assuming I lived nearby. Not wanting to make worse of a bad situation, I took her up on her offer. I made the wrong choice.

I've been in a lot of painfully awkward situations in my life, but sitting in the same car as the female half of the nice Christian couple whose bed I just had sex on, next to the girl I'd just had sex with definitely beats out anything else I've ever been through or could even imagine. I wouldn't wish the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach as they dropped me off at my house upon my worst enemy.

Needless to say, Mia never babysat for that couple again. In fact, they had called her parents and explained exactly what had happened, something that they rightfully never really forgave me for. If there was anything positive to be taken from the situation, its that Mia and I weren't together for much longer after that, and I would come to realize that I was much better off because of it.

I'm not the sort of person that looks back on events in their life with regret, so I can't say I'd take anything back that happened that night. But if I could go back and do it over again, I'd be sure tell the couple to change the carpet in their room and burn their bedsheets. I hope they did anyways.

My First Date

When I was in the ninth grade, I was a douchebag. I was constantly yearning for attention from my upperclassmen, while also feebly attempting to "get laid;" a combination of goals that no female with a brain stem found inherently attractive. I hadn't experienced anything sexual outside of my failed blowjob from Ashley the previous summer, and was beginning to get anxious. Not from sexual repression, but from the sort of oozing bog of loneliness that those like myself find themselves sinking in when young and filled with angst.

Thankfully, this slump didn't last long, and by that October I'd already set my sights on the next girl I wanted to pursue. Her name was Megan, and she was a junior at my high school. She was sort of tomboyish; the type of girl that would always wear her hair in a ponytail, who would come to school in a different band t-shirt every day. She wore all-green Chuck Taylor high-tops, and she was the most attractive girl I'd ever seen. Needless to say, I was smitten.

I'd managed to enter her social circle through a few mutual friends we had, and began talking to her at school on a regular basis. She was incredibly flirty, a trait I hadn't yet learned to protect myself against at such a young age. We eventually made plans to hang out beyond the confines of the school walls, with her offering to drive me to the mall to "hang out." Not well-versed on teenage relationship etiquette, I assumed that this was to be the first of many actual dates. I was thrilled, and told my parents all about it over dinner that night. My mother was excited and began fussing over my hair, offering to take me to get it cut after school the next day, hours before Megan picked me up. I took her up on her offer. We went, and I ended up getting what I thought was a cool hair cut. I walked out of the barber shop feeling confident with my new look, excited to show it off.

Aside #1: I should mention right now that at this age, I had no friends that drove, and didn't (and still don't) drive myself. This was a sort of monumental moment for me, being the first time I was actually allowed to be driven in a car piloted by a teenager. Sadly, this detail is probably what set this mall "date" apart from my previous, parent-driven mall "non-dates" in my young mind.

I spent the next few hours nervously picking out clothes that I felt suited the evening, trying on several dress shirts before settling on a "cool and collected"-looking black turtleneck my mom had bought for me, paired with my favorite jeans and a brown leather jacket that I'd received three Christmases earlier (that was three years too small). In my mind, I looked awesome. I thought of myself as a sort of James Dean-ish character, and was positive that she'd immediately want to make out with me upon seeing my outfit.

Of course, she didn't. But that didn't bother me, because I'd have the whole night to win her over with my unmatched wit and charm. Except I didn't have any wit and charm. Nervous and unwilling to fail, my first mistake was made shortly after getting into her car. After exchanging greetings, her eyes lit up.

"Do you like ska?!" she asked, grinning.

"Er. Well...yeah, I like ska," I replied, nodding my head.

Aside #2: This is the only time I've ever said the term "I like ska" in my entire life.

If she were more intuitive, she would have realized that I'd very clearly never heard ska music before, and was completely lying to her. But, her excitement clouded her perceptions, and she excitedly pushed a tape into the stereo. The sound of horns started blaring through the speakers as I awkwardly bobbed my head along at a pace that was nothing like the one in the song, pretending to enjoy myself. Megan, however, was drumming her steering wheel furiously, singing along with a sort of crazed fervor that only ska fans are capable of.

I was terrified. Having never driven with a teenager, I was completely unaware that most of them act like fucking maniacs when behind the wheel. After a few minutes of hiding my fear and feigning interest in the music, I began to feel itchy. You see, I hadn't taken a shower since I'd gotten my hair cut, for fear that I wouldn't be able to make my hair look as cool as the barber had.

Aside #3: You've all done it before, shut up.

Of course, this meant that I had residual hair clippings sprinkled over the back of my neck and shoulders, irritated by my unfortunate clothing choice. Trying not to look too obvious about it, I began rubbing my shoulders against my seat, soothing my uncomfortability. It started out with a sort of gentle rub, but over the course of the next few minutes it evolved into a sort of free-form homage to the way bears shamelessly scratch their backs along tree trunks. Nothing subtle about it.

I'm not sure how long she was looking at me before I noticed, but I think any amount of time is plenty in this situation. Luckily, we'd arrived at the mall, and the loud-ska-fused-with-weird-tension-in-the-air bubble that had been growing in the car was popped. We parked, and started walking through the mall. Stiff-legged, nervous and still itchy, I followed Megan as she buzzed about from store-to-store happily, not noticing my discomfort. But then, somehow, we were holding hands. I'm not sure when it happened, or who made the first move, but I remember being in the kitchen wares section of a department store when its significance to the future of our relationship dawned on me. This adorable girl that I liked had looked past my weird display in her car, and still liked me. It was monumental. In my pubescent mind, this was a symbol of great things to come.

Eventually we began heading towards the exit to the mall, still hand-in-hand. I'd forgotten all about my itching issues, my mind dreamily focused on thoughts of Megan and I's future together. In the parking lot, her cell phone started ringing. Her hand left mine when she picked it up, but I didn't even care. We'd have all the time in the world to hold hands.

Aside #4: If you think I'm some sort of obsessive weirdo at this point, remember that I was young and filled with hormones. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking half the time.

After she finished her call, she told me that we were going to turn around and visit one of her friends that worked at the Cheesecake Factory in the mall. He was on his smoke break, she explained, so it wouldn't be long. I cooly remarked that it wasn't a big deal, and we started walking the other way. Oddly, her pace had picked up dramatically, and she was now power-walking towards the restaurant. I thought it was really charming that she wanted to see her friend so bad, and didn't try to keep up.

I saw her friend before she got to him, and something in the back of my mind threw up a red flag. He was over six feet tall, goateed and wearing a cook's apron. If that hadn't set off an alarm in my mind, the way they hugged would have.

Imagine, if you will, the most obnoxious hug that you've ever seen, where one party picks the other up and twirls them around while making unintelligible "happy" noises. It was like that, but with an added side of soul-crushing heartbreak as her lips met his in mid-hug.

Of course. A boyfriend. Her hand-holding must have been a mark of friendship, not of any sort of attraction. My hours of preparation were wasted. I mumbled a half-assed greeting to my new nemesis, jamming my hands in my jacket pockets angrily. They decided that he was going to walk with us to her car while he was finishing his break, so we turned around for a second time. As a way to show my frustration with the current predicament I found myself in, I made sure to walk on the other side of the parking lot aisle, shoulders hunched. They didn't seem to notice. His hand was occupying the same place in her hand that mine was just minutes earlier. Seeing this made me try to brood harder, so that the end result was me looking like a pissed-off hunchback with bad taste in leather jackets.

We arrived at her car, which she didn't unlock until after kissing him for a solid ten seconds on her side. Quickly, I sat inside and crossed my arms, pretending I was cold (not seething with anger). She continued to kiss him, the both of them plainly visible through the driver's side windshield. His tall figure was craned over her small one, arms around each other's waist/shoulders (respectively). The minutes dragged on forever.

Aside #5: I'm really not sure how long I was sitting there staring at them, but I'll hope you'll forgive me for using the cliche "it felt like forever in just a few minutes" line.

Finally, their embrace broke and he departed. She opened the door to the car and sat inside.

"Sorry, I didn't know he was working tonight," she explained, starting the car.

"You didn't know your boyfriend was working tonight?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend. He's just...my friend," she replied.

My Megan, a whorish cocktease. It all made sense (but for real this time). I shifted my body weight in a way that showed that I clearly didn't approve of the situation, and she understood the message I was conveying.We didn't talk the entire drive back to my house. Ska music came through her speakers, but at a much more acceptable volume than before. She wasn't drumming along, or singing loudly. Her hands gripped the small grey steering wheel until her knuckles went white. There was a sort of angry and confused tension in the air, until I arrived home. Immediately after she pulled up to the curb, I flung the door open and unclicked my seatbelt. I said a rushed goodbye, slammed the door, and started to walk slowly up to my front door, fishing my key out of my pocket. I was nearly there, when I heard Megan blare her ska music before peeling out and driving away. I had a lump in my throat as I entered my house, finding my parents waiting for me in the living room. After a few questions answered with no enthusiasm whatsoever, they got the hint and let me go to my room to feel sorry for myself.

I didn't see her much after that, and aside from dating one of my friends for a few weeks, never was really forced to interact with her.

I learned a lot of valuable life lessons from my first (and only) date with Megan. But what really breaks my heart is that she didn't even notice my cool hair cut.