Sexy Beast: The Intimate Adventures of an Ugly Man - Stan Cattermole

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and establishing a presence thereon, is that, robbed of the physical fact of my appearance, people are finally forced to react to what lies beneath the surface. They are forced to react—if you will—to the real me.

      I’m fed up with being a freak show. Done with it. I’m done with the titters and the comments and the endless opinions. I’m done hearing, ‘Oh, you’re not that bad,’ and I’m especially done hearing, ‘Yeah, actually, I see what you mean.’ I’m done with all of that.

      Now I exist in a place separate from my unpleasantly misshapen face, and that’s how I like it.

      However, what’s good for the blog may not necessarily be good for the dating site. After all, I know that when I search for the Woman of My Dreams, I always tick the box that says ‘Photos Only’. I suppose my hoping that the Woman of My Dreams is not quite as superficial as I am—as well as wickedly beautiful—is probably a tad unfair.

      Oh well. Balls then, to dating sites.

      Thankfully, the internet is not yet out of ideas.

      Last week I began frequenting chat rooms in earnest. In case you’ve never dabbled in such things, let me explain. Chat rooms are basically online spaces packed out with young people, the vast majority of whom—if my intuition holds water—are wasted teenage boys pretending they’re unusually attractive, sexually active, lexically unsophisticated, and incredibly non-discriminating women. However, I am convinced that there are genuine women in there too, and if you happen to have your wits about you, you can sometimes track one down.

      After a few hours on my first night on chat patrol, I tracked one down.

      For the next few days, we chatted intermittently, and after a couple of hour-long sessions, I’d say we knew one another fairly well. It was only in the early hours of this morning that the conversation began to take a turn towards the spicy. Her name was Grace. Or, quite possibly, his name was Grace. No matter. Although if he was a teenage boy pretending, then kudos to him. He was good.

      So here, with permission, is my virtual cherry, all popped and pulsating…

       wicked.grace: So do you want to ‘cyber’, as I believe the kids call it?

       elbows: But I’m eating my banana and peanut butter sandwich.

       wicked.grace: Well hurry up. I’m feeling sexy.

       elbows: Oh my.

       wicked.grace: What are you wearing?

       elbows: Oh god, lots of clothes. It’s freezing in here at the moment. I think the heating’s busted. I keep meaning to have a word with the landlord but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. And he’s not the easiest person to get hold of at the best of times, let alone when I want something doing. You still feeling sexy?

       wicked.grace: You’re not taking this seriously are you?

       elbows: I’m sorry. Am I supposed to? Are you?

       wicked.grace: A bit. Well, I was going to try and give it a try.

       elbows: OK, hold on. Right. Sandwich finished. Now I just need to establish a couple of ground rules here—I’ve never done this before you see and I really don’t know how it works. So—am I supposed to tell the truth? Or just tell you what I think you want to hear?

       wicked.grace: I’m not sure. The truth I guess. Maybe with a couple of sexy lies thrown in.

       elbows: Really? OK, here we go. I’m wearing a large T-shirt with an amusing slogan on it (‘Warning: this T-shirt may contain tits’—hilarious), plus a big fisherman’s jumper, plus a woolly hat pulled down over my ears. On my bottom half, however, I’m wearing skin-tight sexy rubber pants, and no underwear. Woof!

       wicked.grace: Hmmm.

       elbows: What are you wearing?

       wicked.grace: I’m wearing leather boots and tight blue jeans. On my top half I’m wearing a green shirt and a green scarf around my neck.

       elbows: Long or short sleeves?

       wicked.grace: Long sleeves, pulled up to the elbows.

       elbows: Please don’t say ‘elbows’.

       wicked.grace: Sorry. Long sleeves. I’m also wearing red lipstick and my hair is tied back in a pony tail.

       elbows: Gosh, I’m becoming aroused already. It really works!

       wicked.grace: Would you like me to take off some clothes?

       elbows: I’m not sure. Is your heating working OK?

       wicked.grace: Tip top, yeah. I’m actually quite warm.

       elbows: OK then. Maybe you could slip something off.

       wicked.grace: Will you join me?

       elbows: OK then.

       wicked.grace: I’ve loosened the scarf around my neck first. I’ve slipped it off and let it drop to the living room floor.

       elbows: I’ve taken off my hat. And thrown it at the cat.

       wicked.grace: I’ve undone the top button of my shirt. And the next.

       elbows: You’ll be here all night at that rate. Hold on…There. I’m naked.

       wicked.grace: Hmmm.

       elbows: Nnngh! Nurk!

       wicked.grace:?

       elbows: I came.

       wicked.grace: I don’t think you’re very good at cybersex. I’m sorry to have to say that to you. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you should know. In fact, you’re the worst I’ve ever had.

       elbows: I’m sorry.

       wicked.grace: Meh.

       elbows: No I really am sorry. I wish I could make it up to you.

       wicked.grace: Maybe you’re better in real life.

       elbows: Much better, yes.

       wicked.grace: I bet you’re not as repulsive as you say you are.

       elbows: Honestly, I’m worse.

       wicked.grace: I kind of wish you were here anyway, so I could see for myself.

       elbows: I am here.

       wicked.grace: I mean here.

       elbows: So do I. I’m standing behind you right now. Can’t you hear me breathing?

       wicked.grace: Oooh, hello.

       elbows: You’re sitting at your desk in the living room. I’m standing behind you. I reach my hand out and run my fingers over your neck, over the hair at the back of your neck.

       wicked.grace: That’s nice. Would you kiss it maybe?

       elbows: Kissing’s later. First I pinch your ear lobes with my fingers, then lean forward and smell your hair.

       wicked.grace: You’re making me slightly moist.

       elbows: It smells nice. Your hair I mean. Not your moistness. I can’t smell your moistness. Not yet.

      

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