To the Guy I Met on Chatroulette

A Story by Rachael

A letter to the guy who meant so much and yet so little.

To the guy I met on Chatroulette:

It was a warm Saturday night just before the end of summer. After four days of walking around Disney with my aunt, we retreated back to her house, our bellies full of theme park food, our hands full of souvenirs. Wanting to take my mind off the fact that I was going back home tomorrow, I mindlessly went surfing the internet, eventually on Chatroulette. Like every other person who goes there, I found myself appalled by the constant, blatant advertisement of male genitalia. Few chatting partners caught my interest.

Until you. You with your post-pubescent look of newly-found freedom, a ring on your brow and gauges in your ears. You with your coppery-brown eyes and softened expression that found itself out of character on your otherwise tough, late-teen face.

What I remember most was your expression when you first saw me, your chatting partner. I wondered: was it excitement? Was it hope, perhaps: hope that the pretty girl on the screen wouldn’t click ‘next’, that she would stay and find you interesting?

I found your expressions intriguing, overwhelming, to put it lightly. When an emotion occurred to you, it was apparent in your face. Though I hadn’t understood the expression on your face when we first met, I quickly discovered that I could see just about every other emotion you were feeling. When you asked me about a band that I had never heard of (something… 41?) you raised a sexy, pierced eyebrow and cocked your head. It was your subtle expressions that caught me off guard, and I couldn’t get enough. More than anything, at my vulnerable age, my initial physical attraction gave me a burning desire to reach through the screen and touch some part of you, just to know that you were real.

I felt like there was a connection, one above physical desire. Eager to find out about this new heartthrob that made me drool pathetically, I asked about music. Of course you knew and loved every band I mentioned. Of course I loved every band you posted a video link to in the chat. Would you have expected any less?

And when we laughed, we laughed about everything: life, people, and dumb, corny jokes that couldn’t have been funnier just because they came from you. I’ll bet you remember.

I told you I wanted something more than this. I wanted to know you. You called me the girl with the sexy smile. I thought how nothing else could matter but my dream of being with you, and everything that was you… I wanted your laugh in my ear, our silly jokes, our connection, our mutual love of old rock. I could have spent the rest of my life watching the expressions on your face. I wanted you.

But as with any dream or fantasy, especially at a young age, you must eventually wake up from the perfect world that you think surrounds you. When I woke up from that fantasy it was not in a way that slowly pulled me away from my comfort zone. No. I was yanked clean from my little dream world.

You asked me for a ‘picture of my tits’.

… So I stopped believing in the ‘good intentions’ of people on the internet, and I’d like to tell you kindly, sir, that you should go crawl in a deep, musty hole until you suffocate. I think now I know what was contained in your expression when you first saw me.

-The girl with the tits you will never see