Fair warning, I’ve promised to be honest in everything, even when love and relationships aren’t the best (as evidenced in my last post). You can rest assured of my authenticity if but for the fact that I’m not here to fabricate a magically amazing rebound. No, unfortunately, what follows is a string of bad luck. But do not fear! Because in true Vixey fashion, I am not here to rant, nor drag you down with a flailing mess of ‘woe is me’. Instead, we are going to crack open a metaphorical bottle and have some fun with a line of duds.
Remember that period of time Ryan had decided to inform me of his other relationships? Well, I decided to see what kind of fish were biting out in the proverbial dating pool.
As my luck would have it and as you likely deduced by this story’s title, one such fish was decidedly less than genuine. “Roger”, ladies and gentleman, was a catfish. (Quick aside: I typically use false stallion names to safeguard their identities but since “Roger” had already seen to that part himself, I’ve decided to use the false name he gave himself.) We connected on AFF. He had a sexy photo, well-done bio and he managed more than a “‘sup” for his opening line. I figured ‘what the hell’? We started chatting.
“Roger” was good at communication. For anyone wondering what the secret to that looks like: consistency and an investment in getting to know me BEFORE dropping the dick pic. Prioritize the boxes of my libido (link) and when things eventually turned sexy/flirty, I was sincerely excited about the potential.
We connected well online. I was ready to see how that translated to reality. Unfortunately for “Roger”, catfishing can only take a guy so far. So when I began the exploration of feeling out the physical through shared pics and date planning, he began side-stepping away from anything that might blow his cover. What poor “Roger” failed to realize was that he was inadvertently swimming himself right into the crosshairs of my suspicion.
Make no mistake, it’s not so easy to pull one over on this vixen. The unfortunate thing for “Roger” was that he had found me while I was a bit bored and perhaps a bit less gracious with male self-indulgence, following the recent Ryan revelation. The catfish swam up to play. The vixen was happy to play.
His pics were the first suspect. As any insecure personality might, “Roger” made use of the internet to build his perfect male persona. The only problem? The images he used were different men. When I casually asked, I received the excuse that these were of him throughout the years. Curious how someone’s entire facial structure could change over the years but I didn’t press…yet.
Instead, I pivoted to ask about a necklace in one of the photos. The response I received dropped my jaw in the best way possible. “Roger” proceeded to inform me that the necklace was from his favorite cousin…who had been brutally murdered by his uncle. And it pained him to talk about it. I instantly knew I had hit the catfish jackpot. Of all the stories the guy behind “Roger” could tell about a random piece of jewelry in a stolen photo, he chose the murder of a family member. Hell yes. I got the popcorn and readied myself for the upcoming train wreck.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Tragic backstory effectively established, “Roger” moved on to describe in great generality his struggles in the cutthroat world of Obscure Sales.
“But what do you sell!?”
“Nevermind…”
“Ooookay.”
You see, “Roger” was the best kind of salesman. The misunderstood genius kind. He regaled me with harrowing tales of his sales-y adventures. Like the time he cut a client meeting short to speed the man across town to the hospital where the client’s wife was giving birth to their first child. “Roger” made it just in time!
There were more stories, of course. The very nature of a catfish is self-service deception and I could only indulge the fantasy for so long.
I began probing when we could meet. Naturally, every set time and date was either inconvenient or had to be moved after being scheduled. He was out of town. He was on a business trip, caught COVID and couldn’t fly home for our scheduled date. Finally, “Roger” called off our last date because he had mixed up his weekends. The weekend we had established (weeks prior and talked about frequently) was apparently the weekend he was flying out to see his mother in Canada and he totally forgot. Strike three, “Roger”. By this time, I was tired of the game. I called out the inconsistencies and was met with the expected defensiveness. More than that, catfish “Roger” condemned my heartlessness for daring to think I meant more to him than his imaginary Canadian mother.
He ended our imaginary relationship and I buried my imaginary heartache in haagen dazs.
At the end of the day, “Roger” was never more than a casual distraction. Would I have liked to find an actual relationship with an actual person? Of course. But the diversion “Roger” brought wasn’t all bad. And I did appreciate the lesson in spotting my first catfish.