Chapter 3 - Opposites Guy

After crawling back out of my shell a week later from The Mormon incident, I believed I was a pillar of strength and experience... Ha! One religious scare wasn't enough to throw me off my game-plan - Like it or not, I was kind of excited by the prospect of getting back on the horse again... I'd had my freaky experience over a dinner and movie and that was behind me now, surely now it was clear sailing!

Logging on to my online profile, several messages clicked through to my inbox, and the art of sifting through the options was an art I was already quite good at...

No... No... To Young... Maybe... No... To Old... No...

Wait a second...

"Hey there. Nice pic! I really like the sound of your profile...
Up for a chat sometime?"

Interesting.

In terms of Internet Dating, this message roughly translated to "Hi, judging from your pic, I think you're fuckable - Want to see if I am?" Clicking the link directly to TuffGuy11's profile, I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw; Thirty-two year old guy... looking for a relationship... interested in sports and the outdoors... 'Straight Acting'...

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Good so far.

'Straight Acting' was a term I was still coming to grips with myself - It was rife throughout online profiles: "No fems, straight acting only!" "Must be straight acting!" "Don't bother unless Straight Acting"... There were many guys out there that would counter this with "Im not straight acting, or gay acting, Im just me..." - Basically speaking, a straight acting guy doesn't behave in an outwardly 'gay' way.

Checking out Tuffguy's picture, I was greeted with the friendly, smiling face of a guy dressed in a rugby uniform. He was well built, blonde, posing with his beer and a couple of mates.

Tick.

I shot a message back to Tuffguy11's inbox - Cheers for the message, sure Im up for chat.

I attached my msn address and waited for him to add me.

He did immediately.

And thus the internet dating dance had begun once again... Formal introductions, aimless chat about ones day, how one is feeling, what one has planned on the weekend... No I'm not online much, yes I'm out, no I don't have a boyfriend... So on and so forth...

Tuffguy seemed pretty cool... He easily kept up with me on msn and fired questions back as quickly as I could reply and send my own - Nice work! Encouraging...

"What do you do for a living?" I typed, honestly interested.

"I work part-time..." he replied. "...Im studying." He didn't answer the question.

"Really?" I asked. "...Studying what?"

"Metaphysics..."

I paused. That sounded hardcore... Clearly Tuffguy11 had his head screwed on if he was interested in the nature of reality and mind over matter...

My interest had been sparked.

We continued to chat for a few days - I deliberately drew this out longer than normal, because I wanted to check and double check that there were no hidden skeletons in his closet that would come bursting out over dinner to dance across the table to kick me in the face.

Finally, I decided that Toughguy11, otherwise known as Steven, was sane enough to meet face to face. We organised a time and a place - 6.30pm, out the front of Hoyts Norwood.

"I'll be wearing a brown jacket" he typed...

Good to know. We exchanged numbers and locked it in.

I've learnt that exchanging phone numbers with a guy online is an interesting concept - Heaven forbid you should actually call them... Generally recieving a phone number means you move from chatting on msn to chatting via sms - Guys who actually call the number they recieve will no doubt get diverted to message bank to leave a message... This means the guy on the recieving end can suss-out his callers voice; friendly? masculine? coherent? Being diverted to message bank means the caller also gets to judge the guy on his voicemail answering message: how does it sound? short? long? to the point? waffling?

Such a tangled web... but I was learning these are the subtle ways on the Internet Dating scene.

Either way, I never actually called Steven on the number he gave me.

I had already learnt from my previous experience with The Mormon to leave plans open... Dinner was far less of a commitment than dinner and a movie - And if we were going to meet at Norwood, and things were going well, we always had the option to take things further to a bar or indeed the cinema if we wanted to... A good plan.

The evening rocked around, and I decided for a more covert approach to my evening. Knowing where Steven would be meeting me, I staked out the cafe across the street, sitting quietly with a coke, watching for a brown jacket to appear across the street...

6.30pm rolled around. No brown jacked.

6.35.

6.40...

6.45......

If it was one thing my parents taught me, it was time management... Being late, unless with a relatively good excuse, was enough to lose points with me... Especially on a first meet with someone.

6.50 ticked over, and a tall figure appeared across the street wearing what appeared to be a tan, leather jacket... Could that be Steven? I hoped not.

Steven described himself as having a 'rugby build' - well built, solid... The figure across the street was probably best described as portly if it wasn't for his height... his height just made him appear oafish...

The guy across the street easily looked in his forties... Though he was wearing sunglasses, and from this distance it was had to tell... Steven's profile claimed he was 32.

Sitting on his hip with his arms crossed, I figured it wasn't him. Straight acting or not, you didn't have to be an expert to realise the figure in the tan jacket was a little 'nancy' acting simply by decoding his physical body language... He looked mincing.

My intuition offered a soft growl of warning.

I reached for my phone, and dialed Stevens number...

It rang.

Please don't reach for your phone I thought - Please don't be him.

The figure across the street turned around and reached into his pocket.

Flipping open his phone, he answered my call.

"Hello...?" he mumbled. Nervous.

"Hi... Steve? It's Josh."

I watched as he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder. Steve crossed his arms and paced to the left. Was he cold? The sun was shining...

"Hi. Where are you?" he asked quickly. If I had pondered on it, it was almost like he was accusing me of being the late one. I pushed the thought aside.

"Im across the street" I said, standing up - I raised my hand in the air.

Steve turned around and looked in the opposite direction.

"...No, the other side..." I corrected...

Steve finally caught sight of me and raised his hand in reply. He flipped his phone closed and started to cross the street.

No... No no no no no no no.

"Hey there, nice to meet you..." I said as I extended my hand to shake his. We connected.

It was weak and limp wristed. A slight shiver ran down my spine.

The perfect way to judge a man... my grandfather once told me ...is by his handshake. And if Steves handshake was anything to judge by, Steve was possible an 8 year old girl.

"Sssssssorry Im a bit late" he chucked.

I cringed inwardly - Steve lisped the 's' in 'sorry', and not in an unfortunate speech impediment way; he sounded like he was channelling Ertha Kitt as Catwoman. Straight acting? No. My heart sank a little. He sounded gayer than a bag full of butterflies...

We made brief small talk, and decided to walk to the nearby Indian restaurant to grab a meal. Like it or not, I was a man of my word. We had agreed to dinner, and I wasn't going to bail within 30 seconds of meeting someone.

As we walked, I quickly went over everything Steve had told me previously - By his definition of 'rugby build', Frankenstein possibly could have made the team - He was large, wide, and slow moving... Sometimes when he walked it almost looked like he swung the same arm forward as the leg he was stepping with, something I'd only ever seen happen when choreographing uncoordinated dancers in theatre... I never knew it was something someone could do simply walking down the street...

If he was honestly 32 years old, then I was the Prince of Abu Dabi.

His lisp was unfortunate.

Sadly - I know this entire breakdown makes me sound like a shallow, vapid man-hunter... Unfortunately though, when meeting one from The Internet, a description is something you heavily rely on - It's not like you see someone at a bar and decide to talk to them - It relies a lot on the back and forth interactions that happen electronically...

I decided the photograph he used on his profile must have been at least 4 or 5 years old...

It was then that I remembered he was dressed in a rugby uniform.

"So you play Rugby?..." I asked, trying to break the awkward silence that had already fallen

"...huh?" he breathed.

"You play Rugby...?" I continued "...The pic on your profile... you're in a Rugby uniform"

He paused for a moment. "Oh that..." he chuckled. "No, that was a dress-up party..."

A dress up party...

Of course it was a dress-up party.

This guy didn't look like he could catch a ball if he had velcro sewn to his palms.

It occured to me then, that he was pretty much the opposite to everything he said he was...

No rugby build...

Certainly not 32...

Not straight acting...

Our evening continued awkwardly... For the first time, I found myself faced with a situation where even I couldn't fill in the quiet moments with conversation. His answers turned into one word replies that made our chatter almost robotic.

Yes.

No.

Blue.

Adelaide.

Yes.

Sometimes.

No.

Uh huh.

Sadly, I gave up.

Excusing myself from the table - I subtly grabbed my mobile and headed quickly to the bathroom. I didn't even bother with an sms this time, I called my wingman directly.

Voicemail.

"Dude, it's Josh - Call me immediately - I don't care what you have to fake, but get me the hell out of here - This is a fuck'n nightmare! Pretend grandma is dead or something..."

I hung the phone up and returned. Ensuring my phone wasn't on silent, I sat back at the table with Opposites Guy.

We ate our dinner in silence. Occasionally discussing the taste of the food or the ambience of the room... The complete stranger sitting across from me didn't make things easy for me.

I sat there silently begging my phone to ring.

"So metaphysics, huh? How's that for you?" I asked...

"Oh that..." he spoke through half-chewed butter chicken. "It's not really metaphysics..."

"Its not...?"

"No..."

Silence again. Conversation with Opposites Guy was slowly killing me. I waited for him to elaborate on what it was if it wasn't metaphysics he was studying. He didn't, so I probed him further; "If it's not metaphysics, then what is it...?"

He looked at my warily. "Some people don't get it... I don't often talk about it..."

I had already surrended myself to the fact that the night was a write-off, so I pushed further.

"Well... Im interested." I lied. "So go for it..."

"Im studying Tarot..." he spat out suddenly, like he was confessing.

I raised an eyebrow. THIS was interesting. Having a background in Tarot myself, a smile broke across my face. "Really? I know Tarot. What deck are you working with? The Rider Waite?"

Finally something mutual to talk about...

"No... Angel Cards" he replied.

My heart sank again... Angel Cards were not Tarot Cards... It was at this stage of the conversation that I also realised you couldn't study the Tarot - Online he made it sound like he worked part time because he was studying at uni... and he certainly wasn't able to study the Tarot at a university level... let alone at TAFE level... and even then he wasn't studying Tarot, he was 'studying Angel Cards'...

Christ, get me out of here...

I stared at my phone wondering what the hell my Wingman was doing.

This was pointless.

We finished our mains and I took the opportunity there to end the night.

I paid for the bill myself - Quick and painless - And we headed to outside onto the Parade.

"Tonight was fun..." he smiled.

Seriously? Fun? Had he actually enjoyed himself? I was briefly shocked into silence.

We walked back in the same direction to our cars.

When we arrived, he spoke again. "...Do you want to catch up again?"

Do. Not. Lie.

I couldn't do it. Tonight's dinner was bad enough, the actual thought of sitting through another night of it was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Do. Not. Lie.

I took a deep breath.

"Well this is what sucks about meeting someone off the internet..." I began.

WHAT? I was suddenly split in two... My mouth was running by itself while my head screamed at me to shut up. My mouth wasn't listening.

My mouth continued; "You build up an image in your head of how someone is going to be..."

I took another breath while my head continued to scream at me: Shut up... Shuuuut uuuuup! "...and then when you meet them, they're nothing like you imagined them to be..."

The small, imaginary Josh sitting inside my head threw his arms in the air and just stared in disbelief at what the real Josh was saying.

"Really...?" he asked. "How did you imagine me?".

Well I walked right into that one, didn't I...

The imaginary Josh facepalmed himself.

Once again, my mouth responded before I could filter my answer. "...differently."

"I imagined you differently" I continued.

I had an image of myself with a boot squarly planted in my mouth.

Another image of myself digging myself further and further into the ground flashed into my head. This was, quite easily, the most awkward conversation I had ever had. Ever.

"So..."

"...So"

I was suddenly talking under water. Under sand. Concrete even.

"Drive safely..." I smiled. "...lots of Cops around"

"...Uh huh"

Im a bastard, I thought... a heartless, cruel and judgemental bastard. Steve stood there looking heartbroken... Seriously? Had he really enjoyed the night that much? Did he honestly think we hit it off? I was confused and tired and embarassed and I just wanted the earth to open up and swallow me...

Steve stepped closer, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek in the middle of the car-park.

"Have a good night..."

This was God punishing me... Had The Mormon prayed for this? Opposite Guy, despite being everything he said he wasn't, despite what I thought was a terrible, awkward evening, despite me absolutely saying the worst things possible to end the evening, had kissed me and wished me a good night.

I was evil incarnate.

We separated and I walked back to my car as a light rain began to fall across the suburb. I didn't bother to run - I deserved to get wet.

This was strike 2.

3 Strikes, and I would consider myself out of the Internet Dating game...

But they say third times a charm...