Wednesday, June 8, 2011

i tried to fuck a midget.

my motivation for trying to fuck a midget was the same as it is for every other goddamned thing: I WRITE COMEDY. plus i was precariously close to having spent 48 hours in the same smelly pajamas when he called on sunday to see if i might like to join him for a drink, and that is pretty disgusting. and he was brown and bald and had a gigantic black beard.

so i have pretty indiscriminate tastes. life is too short to waste your time only trying to holler at gary dourdan lookalikes. but if i had to settle on one type, my type would be dudes with a smooth bald head and a neatly bushy beard. OMG I LOVE BEARDS. probably because i hate sensitive dudes and would really like to settle down with someone who looks like he could rip a deer in half with his bare hands before roasting it on a homemade spit for my dinner. and if some freak accident had rendered him mute since birth EVEN BETTER. grunting cromag neanderthal with a jesus beard? yes please.

so i met this little guy on the internet. which, in case you didn’t know, is this magical, glorious place where one might reinvent himself without fear of exposure by people who know how much shitting asshole he sucks in real life. and the place online where this lying most often occurs is on dating websites. i don’t lie on the internet because i would actually like to possibly have sex in real life, and i imagine that becomes incredibly difficult after i’ve shyly introduced my real self to a man who has heretofore seen only a third of the face, and in profile mind you, of a woman who checked the “athletic” body type box and described herself as having a cheerful and upbeat personality. pffft.

there are a lot of 5’7s out here masquerading as 5’9s and 5’10s, so when i received a charming and well-composed message from a dude who ACTUALLY LISTED HIS HEIGHT at 5’2, my first thought was “FINALLY, my opportunity to legally suck the dick of a person too small to ride a roller coaster.” because if 5’2 is what he’s willing to admit to the internet, GUARANTEED his actual height hovers somewhere around “webster stand-in.” but he had a full beard and ridiculous good taste in music, so i wrote back and we began a pretty interesting correspondence.

i’ve always wanted to be one half of a hilarious-looking couple. my brain danced with thoughts of all the fun we could be at parties, him balanced on my knee with my hand shoved awkwardly up his ass while he sang his helium-voiced rendition of “yankee doodle” as i drank a full glass of water to prove i wasn’t throwing my voice. WHAT FUN. we would be such a hit on the social circuit! and if that didn’t work i would be shrouded in the romance and excitement that comes with having regular sex with someone mysterious or socially unpalatable. it would be like having dinner with a dateline decoy.
and consider all of the practical benefits! movies are goddamned expensive, and i’d save a lot of money purchasing tickets for one adult and one bearded child. sure, we might be limited in what movies we’re allowed to see, but i, for one, found toy story quite charming and surprisingly emotionally mature. and kids’ menus these days have an astonishing variety of delicious options at half the cost of a regular human-sized meal. besides, who doesn’t like chicken fingers and grilled cheese?!

getting dressed to meet someone for the first time always poses a challenge, and that challenge typically involves trying to figure out how i will be able to breathe while wearing a spanx that i have stretched from my ankles to my clavicle. attempting to eat in one of those goddamned things is nearly impossible, yet pretending i have a smooth midsection is somehow totally worth the compromise of standing awkwardly still all night, unable to bend at the fucking waist. i decided to wear dark jeans and flat shoes, wondering if it was worth using that scrapey tool every woman keeps in her shower to try and scrub a couple inches of callous off my heels so that i might appear less tall. but i’m fucking lazy, so i decided instead to spend the entire night curtsying.

i like to get to the bar early so that once my date arrives i’ve already picked a spot near the exit and arranged myself in the best possible light, plus i like to have time to stop perspiring and maybe get a jump on a couple drinks. but i was late so i had to run for the train and then sweat my balls off walking to the bar. i stood outside once i got there and used a book to fan my cleavage and underarms dry. pointless, since he’d probably be too short to smell them, but in my mind it seemed like the most polite thing to do. once inside i found him at a table in the corner that had a clear view of the window i had just been FANNING MY ARMPITS IN FRONT OF, and i slid into the chair across from his to avoid one of those awkward head pressed into my nipples short-person hugs. but not before i noticed that while seated his toes DID NOT REACH THE FLOOR.

“i thought you’d be slimmer,” is what he said as i reached for the cocktail menu, and i promptly lifted my mental ban on hobbit jokes. i told myself i had to resist the urge to ask him to show me the bridge he lives under, and i promised to restrain myself from involuntarily reaching over to cut up his meat if we ordered dinner. but then i looked down to the floor where he just happened to be SWINGING HIS FEET LIKE A THIRD GRADER. “slimmer than WHAT?” i asked. "i don't lie to the internet." and that's the truth, man. i fucking don't. lying is fine if you plan to never leave the house so someone can see how fat you really are, but penpals can't buy you dinner and water your plants while you're in the hospital. i could be anyone i want to be if i was going to hide behind a computer screen, but i get tired of going to the movies alone so my shit is really me. full-length pictures that kill me to resist cropping my stomach out of. but i don't, because i only like to cheat when it's actually going to get me something.

instead of answering he offered to get our drinks at the bar and i agreed to let him, thankful for the opportunity to inconspicuously shove some napkins into my soaking wet bra and practice sucking in my gut. i did crane my neck to see if his head cleared the top of the bar, though, because i am an asshole. he came back with my club soda and a couple shots for himself. “can you believe i had to wait five minutes for him to find the macallan?! man, i always get the short end of the stick.” I FROZE.

one time i had awkward baby sex with this dude with an incredibly small penis. afterward, while he was still naked, he started joking around about his “fun-sized snickers bar.” thinking that i was in on the joke, i said, “yeah, i couldn’t tell if you were trying to fuck me or if you were giving me a thumbs up.” CRICKETS. i didn’t know that i wasn’t supposed to say anything, and he just stared at me with such disdain that i immediately put my pants on and got in my car and drove home. hesitant to repeat such an uncomfortable incident, i just sat there like a dog, blinking. and then my giant ass opened up and said, “well it’s busy in here and maybe they’re a little SHORT-handed?” wink, nudge. he glared at me.

he really loosened up after a couple drinks, and all i could think about was how quickly his tiny body had metabolized that alcohol. he invited me over to his place to watch television, and i agreed because PLEASE GIVE ME A GOOD REASON I SHOULD HAVE SAID NO. when he came back from paying the tab this little asshole leered and said “guess where i live?”

“oz?” i ventured, snickering, and he frowned briefly before swaying on his feet and motioning to the door. “should i drive?” i asked while he fumbled with the keys to a lexus suv parked across the street. i’d had three club sodas while this dude the size of a ten-year-old had consumed the adult equivalent of a handle of whiskey. “sure thing,” he slurred, tossing me the keys while i gave him a boost up and fastened him snugly into the carseat. “should we listen to veggie tales?” i asked as i steered the car onto lake shore drive, but he was already fast asleep.

thankfully mean tiny drunk people with no sense of direction do things like program “home” into their car’s GPS, so i followed the instructions of the mechanical voice as she guided me down the yellow brick road to a really nice townhouse in streeterville. i jabbed him in the ribs to wake him up and so he could let us into his beautiful house. “NO SHOES,” he commanded, kicking off a pair of men’s size fives in the front hall. i stepped out of mine, double in length. i wondered if he bought his clothes at baby gap. he offered to make us some snacks and i asked if he had any keebler's soft batch cookies or lucky charms. "what about a poison apple?" i stood barefoot on the heated tile floors a maid had obviously cleaned while he pulled out a teeny step ladder and grabbed a couple pears and some fancy cheese from the top shelf of the refrigerator. “where’s mr. drummond?” i asked, helping myself to a bag of pecans on the counter. “is willis coming home soon?”

you know a motherfucker is balling out of control when he has a couch in his bedroom, unless he lives in a studio or his couch IS his bedroom, and we sat on his boudoir couch watching dvds while he tried to explain to me why blu-ray is worth it. (i still don't get it, but whatever, i still listen to cassettes.) what happened next can only be described as HE CRAWLED INTO MY LAP. seriously, like a child would. and even though he was a grown man with a full beard, i looked down and saw those tiny hands struggling to undo his belt and i just couldn’t do it. i’m desperate and everything, but i don’t know that i could in good conscience make love to a human being the size of a My Buddy doll. also, he called me fat and not in a sexy way that made me want to eat more. sensing my repulsion he stopped. “i’m not a midget, and i have a normal-sized penis,” he said, and even after he pulled it out of his buzz lightyear underpants (it was veiny and normal) i still couldn’t bring myself to touch it. i just couldn’t imagine how it would work, logistically, with him being the size of one of my legs and all. he sighed and climbed down off me (OH MY FUCKING GOD) and got into bed. also, can people say the word "midget anymore in public? or is it one of those words like "mulatto" that makes everyone at the dinner table stare uncomfortably at their plates and make you feel like a shithead?

after a few minutes of sitting on the couch like an asshole i got up and laid next to him, and in the middle of the night i vaguely remember feeling his toes brush against my kneecaps. and that is gross. i woke up just before dawn and blinked, trying to figure out how i’d ended up in this enchanted cottage in which my feet hung over the edge of the bed. suddenly i had a craving for just right porridge. dude wasn’t next to me, so i imagined he was out somewhere whistling while he worked and opened the windows so the birds and chipmunks and other woodland creatures could come in and make the bed while i sang to them.

“you should probably go,” he called from the adjacent bathroom toilet when he heard me stirring in the bedroom. really? shitting with the door open already? REALLY?! he obviously didn't want to drift in and out of a fitful, dreamless sleep while lying stiffly next to me again. i grabbed my bag and thanked him for the $6 worth of club soda he paid for. “you did eat a lot of pecans,” was his sharp reply, and i blushed and hurried down the stairs in expensive nut shame, quickly throwing open the door hoping my carriage hadn’t yet turned back into a pumpkin. i stood on his stoop, vainly clicking my heels and wishing my way back to kansas. i had four bucks cash in my wallet and didn’t want to go searching for an ATM in an upscale neighborhood while wearing clothes off the sale rack at old navy. “get off my porch,” he called out of an upstairs window. “i can’t,” i called back. “could you lend me twenty bucks to get home? i’m a little, ahem, short on cash.” BOOM.