The Word “No”

I’ve been receiving a rather large influx of messages on these dating apps I like to fuck around on. Like, I’ve gone international; it’s some crazy shit.

I typically send very odd responses to most of the ridiculous stuff that litters my inbox (I’ve posted a few), but when the conversations have run their courses and the tomfoolery ends or I don’t have the time/energy to write anything witty, I express my disinterest in a very straightforward manner. No confusion. I’m out. Donion rings.

But some people can’t take “no” for an answer. These guys lose their shit when I say “no.”

They typically ask me to reconsider. Some shower me with compliments. Some give me some space and then ask again.

When that initial stage of kindness fails, they turn to nastier tactics. Condescending remarks. Threats. Some guy described how he’d find and rape me.

At that point, I’m not sure of what to say. I really don’t like the person anymore. Am I supposed to just date the dude to please him? Does he win some measure of licentious behavior from me because I decided to reply to his smutty messages? HELL FUCKIN’ NO!

Typically this sort of nonsense doesn’t bother me too much, but I had a run-in with one of these fucks in-person. He was divorced (according to his profile) and rather raunchy bastard. Typical fucker who has an Asian fetish. I’ll admit that I was scared; I didn’t have a computer screen between me and him.

Bastard: Wow, look who I ran into. Since we’re here, how about we go get a drink and take things back to my place.

Me: Nope. That doesn’t sound like my brand of booze.

Bastard: Come on; you’ll enjoy it. *stands next to me and leans against my side*

Me: I don’t think I will and don’t touch me. *makes jerky movement to move away*

Bastard: You’re a real piece of work. Class A bitch. Here I am being nice to you and all you do is go “no, no, no.”

Me: I’m actually more of an asshole. I think I may have mentioned that to you. Here’s a tip from me since I don’t want yours. Learn to actually be nice to chicks; maybe that’s why you’re divorced.

We were at [redacted] so I didn’t have to worry too much about him taking a swing at me in front of bystanders, but I fucking sprinted, dodged, ducked, dipped, dove, and dodged all the way to my car when I walked out to the parking lot. Close call, Jess.

This has made me rethink the manner in which I handle messages online. Should I just ignore all of the ones that I know will not go anywhere? Am I not allowed to have wonky banter for shits and giggles? …Am I in the wrong for doing so?

Shit, man.

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