!Warning! Adult Content - Frequent Use of Strong Language.
This one was written 4/5 years ago. It's a bit different for me. Hope you enjoy. Please be warned though, if bad language offends, do not read.
Blank Screen.
Dennis felt his face glowing red, physical proof of his anger and embarrassment, even though he was alone. The screen jumped before him as another member posted a message.
blueboots: Well said 2hot2handle!
2hot2handle: Thanx boots. About time someone told that pervert I think.
Dennis was furious. These faceless idiots wouldn’t speak to him like that if they were face to face, without the protection of anonymity to hide behind. Pasting brave words onto a mindless screen was one thing. Saying it to his face would be quite another.
He posted a reply, using his nickname. He felt dangerous when he used it, it made it sound like anything could happen when he was around. Anything.
BlankScreen: Fuck you.
He sat back, watching the monitor for a reaction.
He was not to be disappointed. There came a flurry of responses from blueboots and 2hot2handle and others. Satisfied that he had offended so many with such a simple, unoriginal phrase, Dennis folded his hands behind his head and grinned. His anger was still there, hale and hearty, but he was in a familiar situation now; fighting his corner. He felt focused.
He allowed himself to ponder on 2hot2handle a moment. Was she, he wondered, or was she merely acting out some kind of fantasy on the World Wide Web? And that blueboots. If they both turned out to be porn stars, viewers’ wives or something, not real porn stars, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Why had they got so touchy at his suggestive comments? They hadn’t left, had they? They hadn’t reported him? No, because they wanted it really, they enjoyed it. All women did, they were just too shy or repressed or something to allow themselves to admit to it. But that was ok. Dennis knew. BlankScreen knew. He understood.
A new name appeared on the screen, one Dennis hadn’t seen before.
RedMan: What’s your problem pal?
He knew the question was being asked of him. Fleetingly, Dennis experienced the strangest of sensations, as if he could hear RedMan speaking those words, could see him, unshaven, hot-breathed and muscly before him, in his face. Ready. Aggressive. Dennis’ grin faded. He sat upright, fingers poised over the keyboard, searching for a reply that would reassert his dominance in this uptight little chat room. He wished it was a real room, that he could stride into, pushing people aside as he did so, making himself heard, his presence truly felt. He could envisage it now, could see the reluctant admiration and fear of the onlookers as he leaned in on RedMan and softly said;
‘You, pal. You’re my problem.’
He felt sure that would be enough to get rid of him. That was the great thing about the net; you could be whoever and however you wanted. Most of these guys were just playing at being tough. If you pushed hard enough they’d all back off. Not Dennis though. He was tough for real. He’d see this RedMan off, double-time.
RedMan: That’s right pal. I am your problem.
Dennis was a little taken aback. He hadn’t realised he had actually typed the words he had been imagining himself saying. They had gone now, lost in the wedge of ‘conversation’ that was now taking place around him. He could probably scroll back up and find it, but why waste time? This guy was just afraid to lose face, that’s all.
The screen jumped again:
blueboots: You’re the problem BlankScreen. Get a life!
Dennis ignored her; stupid little scrubber trying to get in on a man’s conversation. He was caught up in his little exchange with RedMan. He wanted to say something clever, about being the solution, about solving his problems good and proper.
He typed; ‘Fuck you too, RedMan.’
White-space silence. A computing eternity. Dennis’ watch ticked away a minute. He was beginning to feel comfortable again.
Then two messages appeared simultaneously.
2hot2handle: Who’s RedMan
RedMan: Would you like that, Dennis?
Dennis felt the thrill of something unfamiliar race up his spine. He stared at the words, his angry mind confused, trying to identify the cause of his fear.
Was it RedMan’s insinuation that he, Dennis, would like to fuck a man?
Somewhere deep in his subconscious a thought was screaming to be heard. ‘Has he touched some sore point with that question? Am I some sort of latent, unwitting homosexual?’ Dennis was not used to such eloquent thoughts running round loose in his own head. His anger increased, and he gave what he thought was another clever response.
BlankScreen: Shouldn’t you be called PinkGirl?
Which was followed by;
2hot2handle: Who? Me?
blueboots: Ignore him, he’s obviously a nutter.
RedMan: Would you like me better if I was?
Dennis blushed angrily. He hit the Caps. Lock key and screamed into the machine, ‘YOU FUCKING HOMO!’
When RedMan replied, Dennis just knew that he was calm and cool, not in the least upset by this exchange. Dennis could almost feel the coolness in his reply.
RedMan: Sapiens? Or Sexual?
blueboots: Who’s a homo? We are FEMALE BlankScreen. (Appropriate name by the way. Couldn’t get much blanker.)
2hot2handle: STOP SHOUTING BLANKSCREEN!
Dennis felt absurdly, inexplicably close to tears. Who the hell did these people think they were? What right did they have to call him a nutter? Ok, so maybe they didn’t like some of the stuff he’d been saying. Maybe he was in the wrong sort of chat room, like blueboots had told him. But that was the whole point! If he’d gone into a porn chat room his suggestive comments and lewd remarks would have been unnoticed, a drop in the ocean. No one would have been shocked or offended, that’s for sure. And that was the point! That’s why he did this; to prompt a shocked reaction. To hear and feel their anger and indignance.
There was nothing that did it for Dennis quite like trapping some innocent in a dialogue she couldn’t get out of. The ones who were too young, too inexperienced, too shy to tell him where to go. The ones that tried to remain polite .
Or pissing people off to the extent that he felt like he was the only one in there making a difference.
RedMan was spoiling all that.
He read the screen again. Someone had made a lame entrance to the room, saying ‘Hi all! How are you?’
Dennis scrolled up, re-reading his conversation with RedMan.
RedMan: Sapiens? Or sexual?
Clever bugger.
Dennis took to the keyboard.
BlankScreen: SEXUAL!
It looked pathetic, there on the screen. He tried again.
BlankScreen: I MEANT SEXUAL, U TOSSER!
Almost immediately 2hot2Handle responded, obviously confused by his latest contribution to the chat. No response from RedMan. Dennis had had enough. He shoved the power button on the hard drive with such force that it tilted backward and threatened to crash to the floor. There was an electric ‘pop’ as the screen went dead, then nothing.
Dennis was panting as if out of breath, and sweating hard. “Bastards!” He said to the empty room, “Bastards!” Who the hell was this RedMan anyway? It was his fault. He had provoked him. ‘Would you like that, Dennis?’
Dennis stopped dead. The beads of sweat on his back turned cold. RedMan had called him Dennis.
Not BlankScreen.
Dennis.
S. P Oldham.