My brother only smiled when I asked him how he had come across ‘Bianca’s Smut Shack’. I supposed then that what I didn’t know didn’t hurt me and I didn’t push it. When 11pm rolled around, I logged on and went to the chat room for a look around. I had never been in a ‘chat room’ and I had no idea what to expect. I found different kinds of rooms, some interesting, some just too smutty for me. Over the next couple of nights I spent some time reading ‘chats’ in the different rooms and finally settled on the Parlor.
At first I just read the different conversations that were going on and tried to understand how the whole system worked. I could see there were people who seemed to know one another and had obviously been visiting this chat room for a long time. I was loath to offer a comment as I had the ridiculous idea that people could see me and would know it was me. I blushed furiously when I first commented and waited with baited breath to see what would be the reply. I was ignored completely. Everyone chatted on as if I didn’t exist. Mortification added to my embarrassment and I just wanted to sink through the floor. No one wanted to chat with me.
This seemed to be the story of my life. I had been single for so long that I believed I would never find anyone. Even with Cid as my best friend – I was still lonely. I had taken out an ad in the big city paper in the ‘Companions’ section in the hopes I would meet a man. The first man who answered my ad was (unbeknownst to me) cheating on his wife. What we soon discovered after a few dates (according to him) was that he was allergic to me and any exchange of body fluids gave him a rash. I kept looking.
The second man I met was extremely good-looking and I was impressed. One evening I invited him home and showed him around my house. He was very interested in my closets and paid an enormous amount of attention to my clothes. He would take an outfit off the rod and hold it up as if viewing it against me before returning it and selecting another. He went through my entire closet as I sat on the bed and chatted with him. The next thing he wanted to know was if I owned stockings and garters. What woman doesn’t at one time? I showed him my drawer full of different lingerie and he picked up my stockings and ran them across his cheek. I began to wonder if he wanted me to dress up for him. When he sat beside me on the bed and admitted he was a cross-dresser – I was floored! He wasn’t interested in me – he was interested in my clothes.
I was terribly hurt and cried for days about not finding anyone.
The next fellow I met was a virginal Jehovah’s Witness looking for an escape from his religion. He was attractive and I dated him a couple of times before I realized his intent. I didn’t want the church elders to come looking for me with pitchforks and I let him run.
Cid and I spent nearly every Saturday together. At least the ones he wasn’t spending with his mother. When I tried to ‘make a date’ out of our time together he acted like he didn’t know what I was doing. At the end of the day he would kiss me good-bye and drive back to Edmonton. I was heartbroken. To give you an idea what Cid looked like I will offer up this description. One day my girlfriend got in my car and noticed a cd sitting on the console. “What is Cid doing on the cover of this cd?” she asked me. I smiled when I picked up the jewel case and pointed at the name on the front – Andrea Bocelli. “He looks just like Cid!” she said and I started to cry.
So when they ignored me in the chat room – I wasn’t in the least bit surprised. I seemed to be fading into the background of life. Unnoticed and unloved.