Social Experiment

I wasn’t surprised to find that my friend had already vacated the chat room by the time I clicked the link, as my favorite pervy dating site is notoriously slow in refreshing the names of members present in the room. I was surprised, however, to find someone in the room whose handle I didn’t recognize; someone who pounced with a message before I could click away.

“Would you be willing to have intercourse with me this afternoon? I live in XXXXXX.” This appeared on the screen so quickly that I had to wonder if he’d pre-typed it in anticipation of the the next wayward soul to wander through.

I could have left then, I know, but as so often happens curiosity got the best of me and I couldn’t help but answer. “It’s an awful long drive between XXXXXX and my town just for an afternoon of sex,” I replied, quickly calculating that the trip would require some five hours of travel time.

“I’d need you to drive here,” he responded. “I don’t have a car. But we could meet at this little motel just up the street from my mom’s house. I could walk.”

As he was typing I checked out his profile. It listed his age as 47 and his occupation as “stock broker.” The town matched what he’d told me. Before I could respond (or run), another message appeared. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he typed. “If you have intercourse with me, I’ll give you a brand new car.”

That hooked me, not because I had any wish or hope that he was serious but because the offer was so mind-bogglingly odd. “A brand new car, eh? Just for sex?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I own stock, and as soon as it goes above $3 a share I’ll have a million dollars.”

“I see,” I said. “And how much per share is the stock worth now?”

“$0.034, but it will go up just as soon as I have intercourse with a woman.”

I soldiered on, for what reason I could not say. “Really. How exactly does that work?”

“The bastard who owns the company has a cap on the stock until I prove that I’m straight,” he answered. “All I have to do is lose my virginity to a woman and he’ll remove the cap. The stock will shoot right up and within six months you’ll have your car.”

“I see,” I typed, at a loss for how to respond to this revelation. Apparently no more was expected; his reply appeared a fraction of a second after mine.

“But I’m surprised they haven’t gotten to you yet.”

“Who is that?”

“The owner and his cronies. I’m surprised they haven’t warned you to stay away from me. You see, they don’t want me to make money off this stock.”

My mind was spinning. “How would they possibly have gotten to me?” I asked.

“They watch my screen,” he typed. “They can see everything I do, every site I visit, every keystroke I make. But I still want to have intercourse with you, as long as you’re not too scared. You aren’t too scared, are you?”

Here I paused. “No, no, I’m not scared in the least,” I finally typed. Amazed? Yes. Flabbergasted? Absolutely. But scared? Not so much.

“Good. Then you’ll come?” This message appeared only an instant before my final message, in which I gently wished him luck with his plans. As soon as it was sent I took leave of the chatroom.

This took place a day ago, and I swear upon the most recent version of WordPress that I have not exaggerated or embellished a single word of it. I keep nervously checking my dating site email, dreading the moment when this man might decide he has a bit more to say to me.

Thus far he’s remained silent, and I’m left to wonder if he was conducting some intricate social experiment designed perhaps to seek out answers about our willingness to engage in risky sexual activities. That’s it, right? He was just running me through a social experiment, wasn’t he?

I really hate to contemplate any other possibilities.

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