It wasn’t even something I had wanted. He was so ordinary, unaware, and even reckless. The glow of the TV was reflecting on my face, an ever-changing spotlight. She sat there expecting the worst. Think of every possible way to jerk off and then multiply that by ten. For a while I held my fist up to the webcam saying, “pound it”, with pretty good results. If they replied with a pound, I said a drawn out “yeah” then said, “have a good night” and “nexted” them. I alternated between “what’s up dawg?” and “what’s up negro?” as a greeting. They were all very different, rarely judgmental.
He was sitting in what looked like a crowded computer lab that could have been anywhere in the world. He was some kind of Asian and there were little kids scampering about behind him. I am not sure whether he spoke English, as a matter of fact; he never said or typed anything. He either nodded or shook his head, and he sometimes looked completely uninterested in our conversation, but then he would nod or shake his head, as if he had been listening the entire time. He didn’t answer most of my questions and she thought he was some kind of creeper. Just sitting there, like some kind of master of facial expressions.
I asked him about everything. Mostly morality, philosophy, science, religion, culture, daytime television and soap operas, whether or not he watched Dog The Bounty Hunter, and abortion. I reverted to yes or no questions, because when I asked open-ended questions he simply ignored the question. By this time, my girlfriend told me she was bored with how things were going, and wanted me to stop. At one point, I looked out the window and said “it’s snowing out,” and he smiled. He had on these big headphones that divided his Afro into separate hemispheres.
I made a joke about Sarah Palin and he laughed uncontrollably for several minutes. I asked him “Is there an afterlife?” and he began to flap his arms like a bird, and I felt embarrassed. I didn’t know what to think. His face was an explosion of several emotions of which I cannot describe. She fell asleep.
He showed me the pinch pots he had made in his ceramics class. He held each one up to the webcam. He talked to the clay, but not with words. Now that I think about it, he did type one thing. He gave me Kim Jong Ils cell phone number. I was confused at first but he just kept nodding and smiling, and then I felt a little better. I felt like I knew what he intended at the time but have long since forgotten.
I bent down and kissed her on the forehead. She was tired, and I was getting tired. I finished my vodka and peach juice, finished hers, and he finished whatever he was drinking. I should have asked him more important questions. I should have obtained ”the answers” But he didn’t answer any of my serious questions. It seemed almost as if he just wanted to enjoy the experience of talking to someone over the Internet.
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