#37 THE GUY WITH THE FAKE EYE: THE KISS BOYS
#37 THE GUY WITH THE FAKE EYE: THE KISS BOYS
On humiliation: that time I felt like a predator and someone was repulsed by me
I hope everyone has the best holiday season and New Year. We just enjoyed a delicious tea cooked by my lovely husband (the best mash and roast potatoes); we invited my beautiful mother-in-law ‘round, which was delightful. I’ve had a couple of glasses of white and am now drinking something that Michael got from a customer on his postal round (M&S “Christmas Colada” which tastes like Werther’s original + pineapple + rum + coconut). I usually only drink very occasionally (as I’d rather not sleep in or be hungover when I like to write in the mornings) but I love the opportunity to be merry around the holidays.
We are looking forward to Grammy coming over for Christmas Eve and having a three-course festive meal at our favourite pub, The Staff of Life, in Todmorden in West Yorkshire.
Here’s my final story of the year – with many more to come in the “Why We Met” saga.
Thank you (THANK YOU) for all of your support, reads, subscribes, etc – and thank you to my paid subscribers and founding members.
At Halloween that year of ATC when I was dressed like a “woodland fairy,” Darcy and I (and whomever was with us at the time) met the “Kiss Boys.” Three guys (I guess they lacked a fourth) dressed up like members of the band Kiss. In makeup, they were hot and mysterious and out of makeup they were hotter.
They all had honed gym bodies and big arm muscles. They weren't uni students at the time but they lived in an apartment near my uni house. The same apartment that used to house DJ, actually.
One of the Kiss Boys was German and had a glass eye or was blind in one eye or had a fake eye but I only knew this because he told me; you couldn’t tell by looking at him. Two of the Kiss Boys who were housemates lived together and then the third one — I’ll just call him “The German” lived out of town somewhere and was visiting Valdosta. They’d all gone to high school together.
I randomly added him on Facebook (as I did with all the Kiss Boys, finding them by my creeper FB stalking skills) and was all like “do you remember me! I think you're hot.” Very forward of me.
He replied (edited version below as his capitalisation, word choice, and punctuation was more “text speak”):
Yes, I remember you very well! 😉 I would really like that yeah... 😕 Only problem is I don't live in Valdosta. I was visiting my bros lol...but def a rain check though! I should be back down there real soon so...here’s my number (478-XXX-XXX), You can hit me up. Call me anytime day or night! I’d love to hear from you.
Except “anytime” was spelled “netime” and “night” was “nite” and “to” was “2,” you get the gist.
Then I said he should call when he's in town and gave him my number. And like a totally desperate loser, I said that he should accept my FB friend request. Probably because, you know, other people could see it like ATC and maybe it would make him jealous. Rolls eyes.
I reiterated that he was hot.
The German: Ok great...really? Even with all the face paint? LOL. Well, I just happen to be attracted to you as well!
Elaine: Um, I can see your face in your profile picture. And you looked pretty hot with the face paint as well. Not that I've found KISS particularly attractive before, but it looked good on you.
Was KISS the band in all caps? I spelt it out in all caps back then…
The German: LOL oh yeah…sorry, I’m not too good with this Facebook/MySpace stuff...haven’t taken any pics of myself in like forever so Halloween was the first time in a really long time...but thank you that was nice of you to say…made me feel really good inside!
Then we talked briefly about when he moved to the US and learned English (age 7) and how he was studying to be a paramedic.
I guess our chat moved off Facebook and we must have texted because that was it.
Tbf I lightly flirted with all three of the Kiss Boys as evinced by my short FB chats with them except one just sent me weird poetry or motivational phrases and not actual conversation. I suppose I was not choosy about which Kiss Boy I kissed. I do remember though actually chatting more with the poetry guy and this was the time when I made actual phone calls. It must have boosted my ego after HSS to flirt with half a dozen people at once.
Somehow the German with the fake eye ended up staying at my house. I don't think he was into me at all (despite our early chats where he said he was attracted to me). I was just a convenient location relative to his mates. Why he didn’t stay with them is beyond me. I even cooked for him and Brittany met him – and she reminded me about him on our recent weekend together because otherwise, I'd like to block the humiliation of feeling like a predator.
One of my all-time favourite Substackers/journalists/editors
talks about “humiliation” in her post on “What no one tells you about love” and it’s poignant.
I feel the humiliation deeply when recalling this encounter because Kiss Boy number 1 (the hottest Kiss Boy, the non-poet, non-German one) and The German Kiss Boy and I all went on a double date. Hottest Kiss Boy’s date was Miss Perfect Gym Body 2000 (I say 2000 because that seemed fitting sound-wise but it was 2009). I need to re-discover my timings of ATC but it was after ATC before Dorian (the Stella Adler Academy Actor), and before Scandi Lit Prof (still coming later).
Miss Perfect Gym Body 2000 was thin, fit, muscular, beautiful, had luxurious long red hair, and dressed skimpy-ish for our Buffalo Wild Wings adventure. No judgement on the outfit as if I had her body, I’d practically wear a bikini everywhere. I don’t even remember what I wore. I wanted to forget everything so badly.
Here I was with three people who clearly spent hours upon hours per week at the gym when I spent hours drinking my body weight in vodka. I wasn't fat at the time but boy did “15% body fat woman” make me feel it. I was easily double or double and a half her body size. And I was probably the only person who chowed down at dinner. Worst and most uncomfortable date ever. I felt oddly ashamed at having excess body fat and only slight upper ab showage (not a full-on eight pack) – and really it was all my own internalised fatphobia and had nothing to do with anything they did or said per se. Just them all being close to perfect was enough for me to feel lesser. And maybe they didn’t find my body repulsive. I’ll never know. I'm sure they're really lovely people even if they did spend lots of time in the gym.
After said date, The German was also coming back with me to sleep in my bed. I think we made out a little at which point he looked full-on repulsed by me so I backed off. Needless to say, there was absolutely zero sexual contact. The kissing and maybe my feeling his arms and abs barely even counts.
I just had to wrack my brain to remember his name so I could do my due diligence of FB stalking him to see what his life is like now.
Verdict: married, still very muscular, tiny pretty wife, photos of him draped in German flag and cover photos presumably of his German hometown.
Oh then I stalked his wife’s page and they seem to have two children now and he's sporting a Tom Selleck ‘stache.’
It looks like he became a firefighter (had to find that on his sister's FB page and I had no idea he had a sister until today). He should maybe chat to my old neighbour, the one I ghosted.
All in all, The German muscle guy made me feel like a creeper and used my bed like a hotel. I wonder if I ever made anyone feel that way! I hope not. Because besides the ghosting incident, I hope I’ve never humiliated anyone. I hope I (mostly) choose kindness with people’s hearts and feelings. I failed a few times but I was young.
This experience is opposite to the one where I let this very hot tall guy sleep over. We will call him Quinn. Quinn was a friend of another hot, super smart (so smart) guy I worked with at the tutoring centre (who later joined the military and we’d have friendly spats because we were politically opposite and ideologically opposite) but the trouble with both of them was they were the hyper-religious virginal sort of men that you maybe only get in the South and other religious places who were saving themselves for marriage. I, always having enjoyed sex, was never too keen on the sexually inexperienced (outside of when HSS and I were actually virgins experiencing sex together). Plus, I never did fancy the idea of marrying someone and then discovering you were sexually incompatible – or doesn’t it matter because you try and find out as little about sex beforehand as possible? Or learn together? I mean, HSS and I learned together but I also didn’t spend the rest of my life with him (thankfully for both of us as I think we both found our “person”).
Quinn seemed hot and mysterious. He was tall with dark, full hair; he was broad and well-built with a big smile, and he seemed super sweet and kind. But then I got to know him. He was still all of those things and I liked hanging out with him but he was too innocent and maybe semi-nerdy. Not that there’s anything wrong with hot nerds (Henry Cavill amirite?). Quinn was like the nerdy sexy guy in rom-coms except he doesn't turn out to be the one you want to date, which is the opposite of rom-com lore.
When he slept over I didn't get a wink of sleep. Not for the fun, hot reasons you'd think but because besides my vag he practically touched every part of my body the whole night. I'm surprised he didn't have a feel of my toes. I'm quite grumpy if I don't get my sleep so I wasn't in the best of spirits after a night of Mr Octopus and the odd boner in my back. Again, lovely guy but it'd never have worked out for me. Such a waste of a super hot guy, too. Same with his friend. Lols.
My lovely friend from my hospital internship days where I worked at a diabetes management centre (that housed two specialist endocrinologists), Kristi of
, writes about asexuality and her journey on her Substack, which I’m loving reading. So, I know that people are on the spectrum of sexuality. I happen to have always been on the side of wanting it “too much and too often.” I know that Michael's colleagues give him shit for having a wife that won't leave him alone. I can’t help that I find my husband sexy and he’s usually game (thank goodness) so I never have to feel like a totally humiliated creeper/stalker with my own husband.In college and grad school, I got myself in these sort of Mr Octopus situations because I didn’t like having an empty bed (so much to unpack in therapy). Whether it was a girlfriend sleeping over, a guy friend, or a sexual partner – or someone I had the odd make-out with, I rarely slept alone. And, funnily enough, now I rarely share a bed with anyone not even my husband as we sleep blissfully in our separate bedrooms, which people may think is weird but we are totally fine getting a perfect night’s sleep in our beds that have our specifications of duvet thickness, sheets, textures, room temperatures, pillows, and so forth. I mean welcome to thirty/forty where sleeping and sleep routines are now serious business (like babies).
Next up, the time I accidentally slept with my professor friend (before he was my professor or my friend).
Don’t forget to check out the other thirty-six posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place – and the odd “present day snippet” of what I’m up to lately.
Have you ever gone on a date with someone that was “just not that into you?” Let me know in the comments.
