Lolita

Forward this story to anyone who has ever considered internet dating.

My friend Rich had a theory that any girl in NYC could have a boyfriend, it was simply a question of effort. He decided to take me on as a kind of project to prove his thesis. His first task was to create a profile for me on Match.com. He selected a picture and drafted a profile he insisted would be irresistible to men. It’s true I received responses, but most of them were revolting. Men from Turkey and India looking for casual relationships. Men who typed response emails like a 13 year old nymphomaniac. The requisite dirty old men trolling for the desperate. Guys writing me long philosophical emails about my attitude on life and finishing with “I just want some action with no strings attached.” And way too many pictures with mullets. But Rich wouldn’t let me give up. He insisted that I continue to read my email and screen for possible candidates. One day a very attractive man who could not only spell polysyllabic words, but also string them together sent me his profile. We began emailing each other. He worked in the film industry and was impressed with my knowledge and ideas about film. After about two months of emailing, he asked to meet me for a drink. I wasn’t expecting much. Or actually I was kind of expecting an experiment in terror-something like a 300 pound version of the Toxic Avenger dressed as Baby Jane. But he showed up as cute and well put together as his picture. We sat in a lounge downtown chatting over two glasses of wine. He began to flirt-a touch on the knee there, a brush on the arm. And I was all for it-a cute, funny, successful guy who works in film-wants to brush my knee? Who am I to stand in the way? But as the villain says in Oldboy, “You will never get the right answer if you ask the wrong question.” What I should have been asking myself was “Why is this guy single?” Of course, he told me a story that he had been seriously involved with a girl, and they had broken up recently. “I never thought I would find anyone online, but in my job I don’t really have that much time to hang out in bars and clubs trying to meet someone.” As much as I was enjoying myself, it was getting late, and I was about to suggest calling it a night when he leaned in and said, “I want to ask you something.” I was expecting the usual comeback to my place inquiry, but instead he looked in my eyes and said, “Has anyone ever asked you to dress up like a 13 year old girl and pretend to rape you?” I never went on Match.com again. Rich never mentioned it.