27 June 2011

My Name Is . . .

I can't imagine dating a twin. Remember when it was finally revealed in Christopher Nolan's The Prestige, it turned out Christian Bale's assistant was actually his twin? That was crazy! Wait, you knew that right? In any case, there are two Bale's in this imaginary world: HOT. Imagine being double teamed in a Bale Sandwich?! Not Elijah and Milo Peters style, YUCK! They'd probably leave you out!

Marty was not a twin, but he had a similar looking older brother, Cory. I guess the introduction isn't entirely appropriate then, but let's go with it for now. Marty was 3 years my junior. In reality, the 3 years do not make that much of a difference, but not when you have to lie about it - which he did - it made you wonder what else he had up his wizard sleeve. I met Marty when I was 24, out at Happy Hour with work friends, and a drunken mess. He was the server who kept giving me eyes from across the room and immediately whispered to his waiter-mate each time cruise-contact was made. He looked familiar. What was it . . . ?

Mustering up some confidence, I gave him my number and [poof!] we were on a date in no time. The dating was semi-intense. I had moved into an apartment on my own and at that point was financially in a good place, making sound decisions: I chose a 30-pack over a six; I wrapped before I tapped; and I exchanged names before taking someone home. It's called growing up. So, in this particular relationship, I made time for Marty and courted him properly with some wining and dining. I also neglected a few things: his older brother was someone I went to grade school with and who was also accused of rape. It had nothing to do with him, so why would it matter?

Try as I might, I obsessed with the whole rape accusation and gossiped about it with friend's. I talked to them about how I was dating the younger brother of an alleged-rapist. I felt like I was turning my back on Antoine Dodson. Yet, in some sick way I was wondering if he had sexually-aggressive tendencies also and how that it would play out in a fantasy. I walk in from a hard day at work to a seemingly empty apartment toting environment friendly grocery bags in each hand and then - cue violin - from behind me, Marty, with one hand over my mouth to stifle my screams for help and the other hand unbuckling my pants begins to . . . you get the picture.

In this two week long affair - YES, two weeks: he was 21 for gods-sake - I realized I could not get his brother out of my mind for one reason: I knew how he was in grade school. I wouldn't put it past him to do such a heinous thing and try to get away with it. I was suspicious of everything Marty did and eventually found out he was a coke fiend and an alcoholic. What else was he hiding? Admittedly, I was probably sabotaging everything, but come clean already. But eventually, it all came to a head. During a sleepover and at the end of week two, we were making out and whilst receiving the final bj of our diminishing relationship, I moaned: "Yeah, suck that dick, Cory . . . I mean, Marty."

[Exit Marty]

Point of the conversation: The dime-store psychology of things will answer most.

- DeeCue

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