I was crazy about the first guy I really dated, at 18. He was perfect. We would get married, I thought, and he would whisk me away from my lame existence. Being with him, it was easy to forget that I had dropped out of college, had recently been fired from the concessions stand at a local movie theatre and the last application I submitted had been for a shelf-stocker at Woolworth, a job for which I still appeared to be underqualified.
It wasn't long before he dumped me and I spent the next few months imagining him so very tormented about not being with me yet too ashamed to bring himself to call. He'd have to call soon, of course, admitting that he just couldn't get me out of his head. That he couldn't do any better than me. In spite of the fact that he was 23, 6 foot 2, handsome, wealthy, owned his own business and lived on two continents.
Eventually, I was forced to face the fact that he had likely moved on. So I needed to move on too. At that point, I was working in a 7-11 type store and porn theatre in Montreal's red light district. My dating prospects were slim.
I talked to a friend of mine, Aggie, and eventually I came up with a possibility.
,"Hey, remember that guy at your college that we ran into a few months ago?"
We were in the school hallway and a guy passed by. Aggie had said ,"Hi". He had smiled and said, ,"Hi" back.
,"What about him?" I asked.
,"Well," she said, ,"He was gay. But he says now he's not."
Now most people would have taken this as a distinct, flashing "STOP" sign. (The first of, what was to be, many.) But not me. I was desperate. And intent on destroying myself. Yes, this would work out perfectly!
,"Could you ask him if he'd go out with me?"
"Sure."
I imagined their conversation: ,"Hey, do you remember when, a few months ago, you said 'Hi' to me in the school hallway? Now, remember the short brunette gal who was with me? Sort of? Well, OK, now that you're not gay anymore, do you want to go out with her?"
She called me a few days later to say that Don had said ,"yes", and she gave me his number. After a fairly decent phone conversation, we set up a date at my apartment. He came over and I cooked, we made out, and he said, "Hey, do you want to come over to my house next time. My neighborhood is not as sketchy and I wouldn't constantly be worried about someone breaking into my car." More romantic words could not have been spoken, and two nights later I was over at his place. His place, where he, had neglected to mention, still lived with his parents.
The first thing I noticed in Don's room were the cop hats. There were five police hats prominently displayed on a shelf. This was disturbing not only because I had just seen ,"Unlawful Entry", but moreover because his work had nothing to do with being a police officer. He was an unemployed wanna-be radio announcer.
He made no attempt to explain the presence of these accouterments and I was too confused to ask. Besides, I wanted a boyfriend so freaking bad, and I was prepared to ignore anything that would indicate mental unbalance.
It was around then that the red police light began to circulate around the room. Yeah, those lights that police cars have atop them - he'd hooked up one of them to go off when his phone rang.
He picked up his phone and chatted for a bit. I began to go into full denial mode.
,"Hey, wanna do something fun?!" He asked after he'd ended the call.
,"OK..."
,"Alright! Check this out! He explained that he had some sort of setup where he was able to listen in on calls that a neighbor was making, unbeknownst to the neighbor. When we tuned in, the man seemed to be discussing some secretive transaction.
"Hey, maybe we shouldn't be discussing this on the phone," his counterpart said momentarily.
,"Don't worry, no one can hear us, replied the neighbor.
At this point, Don, piped up and yelled into the call, ,"Yeah, wanna bet?!"
Awkward.
The guy on the phone was clearly taken aback. ,"Who the Frost is this?!"
,"Just the person listening to your entire call, Dumbass!"
Hey, you know what a really good plan is when someone's acting all Gary Busey?
If you said, ,"make out with them", you get 0 practical life-skills points!
So, we made out again. This time I gave him a blow job. Now, up until then, I had thought my technique was pretty impressive. I watched porn, read some books - plus, the last guy seemed really pleased. But what I was doing wasn't working for Don and he became very instructive. Very instructive. OK, I thought, I am open to feedback, I can get better at this, that's cool. Still, even with constant direction, it took a long, long, long time for him to finally come.
I felt pretty defeated.
That's when he pat me on the back. Kind of like a consolation pat you'd give your buddy for not playing well in the game.
"I'm sorry, that didn't work for you," I managed.
,"No, no, it was OK," he offered in comfort, ,"I mean, after a while I pictured that Joey from 'Blossom' was doing it and that made it work."
Whoa!
Shhh, Mind, Shhhh! I am on a date - so I'm ,"moving on"! For whatever it was worth. For whatever I was worth.
Eventually he offered to drive me home. We headed out and were about to cross the street to his car when Don whipped his head around.
"What was *that*?!"
I hadn't heard anything at all.
,"I.. don't-"
He began to race down the street. I watched him stop in the parking lot about 20 feet away. He began to fight. With himself. Shadow-boxing someone only apparent in a special place in his mind. To this day I wonder if he really imagined this person or if he was trying to impress me in some way. I'd like to flatter myself, but given his Joey comment of earlier, I am forced to opt for the former.
What was even more bizarre was that sometimes, he was the one getting hit...
I stood, transfixed. Eventually he ,"won" the battle and ran back to me.
He threw his car keys at me. ,"Get in the car!" He ordered, before running back into the house. "I'm calling for backup!"
I know. A normal person would have said, ,"Frost this noise." A normal person would have booked it down the street, hailed a cab, even hitched a ride with a stranger. After all, what were the odds I'd get someone more unhinged?!
But a normal person might not have, in the first place, been out with a gay man trying to convince himself he was straight who thought he was a cop.
And, well, frankly, this had become fascinating. This was a lunatic! Live! In person!
Don emerged from the house. "Why aren't you in the car?!" He demanded.
,"I, I don't know."
,"Anyway, they're on their way."
We got into the car and within seconds Don exclaimed, ,"We've got to LOSE him!" and began to careen the car from one side of the street to the other in a ,"Dukes of Hazard" fashion. Of course there was no vehicle in back of us.
After about 10 minutes of this, he turned around and observed, ,"Oh good! Backup has arrived."
I had now grown weary of humoring him with my silence. I turned around, saw a regular car behind us, driving at normal speed, and said, dryly, ,"OK. That looks just like a normal car."
He rolled his eyes. ,"It's unmarked."
,"Then how do you know it's a police vehicle?"
,"Because I'm WITH THE FORCE!"
Ah.
"I'm going to confer with them now."
,"Uh huh."
He stopped the car and got out. The car behind us drove away. Don had a conversation nearby with himself.
He got back in car and said. ,"Glad that's all resolved now. Sorry if I scared you."
I think I said something like, ,"it's cool."
And he drove me home.
Marveling at my stupidity? Wondering how someone with such poor self-preservation instincts ever made it into their twenties (or thirties, for that matter)?
Well, then, I probably shouldn't tell you the most shameful, mind-boggling part of this story...
I went out with him another time.
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