The One With the Beard

October.

The leaves were changing rapidly from the beautiful greens of spring and summer to an orange and fiery red.  The air held the hope of crispness to come, though the heat hadn’t really bothered to go away.  I was working in a neighboring town as an LPN on the weekends, so when Beard Guy messaged I saw that he lived in the same area as my employer.  His tagline was “Must Love Beard.”

Now let me preface this with the following:  My father has sported a beard for as long as I’ve known him, aside from one very weird summer where he’d shaved (I tend to try to forget that summer; it was as if someone else was giving out the rules.)  Also I feel the need to say that beards had never been an issue before.  I figured if a man didn’t feel the need to shave his face daily, a beard would grow.

This guy’s profile picture showed a nicely manicured albeit slightly long beard, and I thought “eh I can deal.”

So he invites me over one day after work.  That Saturday I actually put make up on, knowing full well it may sweat off by end of shift, but damn it all I would try to look nice.

During our conversations leading up to this point, he’d spoke of going back to college to get his bachelors in Chemistry.  He was 30, and I thought that was admirable.  I did not realize that he’d be living on campus at thirty.  I pulled up outside the building he requested and sighed with relief that there were at least 30 people ambling around.  I knew then and there I’d be missed if something were to go awry.

As soon as I’d parked my vehicle a rather portly fellow ambled up sporting the most unruly and unkempt beard I’d seen outside of the Duck Dynasty guys.  He wore a windbreaker and a pair of plaid shorts and some geeky t-shirt, literally it said Geek on it.  (I made a mental note to buy one of those.)

“Hey Madison, right?” He asked as he hung up the phone.  I put mine in my pocket as I exited the car. (He’d been giving me directions as I’d rarely ever traversed the campus in question)

“Yep, BG, right?”  (Mentally came the war of words, “Don’t let this be him.  Don’t this be him.”)

“Yep, Care to come back here with me?  My buddies are all hanging out back, we’ve liberated some tables and chairs and made a bit of an oasis away from the authority.” (A caution flag had been tossed, I saw it clearly defined against the mental playing field but I shrugged it off, we’d talked for almost a month now, I felt reasonably secure being on campus, so I agreed.)

What happened next was almost poetic.  We traipsed through a few feet of bushes and brambles, one of which he’d held back to get through and it smacked me in the forehead like a whip.  We walked just a few more steps and there it was in all it’s glory!  Six wooden chairs, a wooden outdoor coffee table, and three people.

The first was a foreign exchange student from some Asian country, who would turn out to be the funniest of the group.  Mr. Handlebar, a hipster who not only sported the clothes, he’d grown the facial hair to match.  Then finally, Mr.  I’m rather well off and my father pays my bills.  These guys were BG’s friends apparently.  We all sat there rather quietly, until someone probably Mr. Rich said something about Star Wars and the ball was rolling.  The conversation was primarily held between the friends and myself.  BG was quietly contemplating a move in his virtual chess game against Mr. RIch.

I was having a decent time with this group of folks until BG decided to pull out a pipe.  Now if this were a tobacco pipe, I’d not have blinked an eye, but with my being an LPN the site of the pipe turned my stomach.  Not that I had a problem with weed per say, but we were in public, or at least close enough to public that unwanted attention could come from three of the four sides around us.

“Is it alright if we smoke?” BG announces more than he questions.  I must have sputtered for a few minutes before I replied.

“Sure, but I need to be going.  I have some errands to run, and I have to meet a friend in a few minutes.” There.  I was safe.  I’d used the other alternate date I had coming up as an excuse to leave, but alas it did not work that way.

“We can walk over that way” He made some gesture with the pipe and the three (four?) amigos left me sitting there.  Now as I sat  I started to count all the things I’d rather be doing, and as I’d gotten to around 20 or so, they came back higher than a Georgia pine.

“Well that wasn’t enough.  We need more, who’s buying this time?”  Now the conversation was all about weed.  I was literally nearly asleep from boredom at this time, I checked my watch again.  5pm.  It was definitely time to go.

While they spoke he had sat down across from me, and my nurses’ eyes focused on something dreadfully unfortunate.  He had what appeared to be psoriasis running the lengths of his shins.  I couldn’t focus on anything other than that silvery pink flaking skin.  My stomach was doing flip flops.  He’d offered to go back to his room, and while I knew what he was hinting at I really needed to pee, so I agreed.

What awaited me inside the dorm room was the foulest smell I as a nurse have ever smelled. There was no way I was even using the restroom in this place.  I sat on the edge of a chair in the room while he yelled at his ex about his son, and when that was finished I excused myself, but he had to follow me out because the door locked automatically upon entrance and exit.

Somehow or another I was conned into taking him to the local Wal-mart along with two of his friends, I dropped them off and high tailed it out of dodge.

Over the next few months, I continued to chat with him on Facebook.  A few words here and there.  He’d gotten kicked out of college for getting caught smoking weed off campus.  I should have deleted him from my page, but I honestly forgot he was there at all, until a month or so ago, when he started messaging again.

BG: What are you doing tonight?
me:  Working.

A few days later, another similar conversation occured.

BG: What are you doing tonight?
me:  Busy.

Finally, a week to two weeks went by with no contact, perhaps he’d finally given up.  But then the unoriginal happened.

BG: What are you doing tonight?
Me:  I’m sitting at home watching television, you?
BG:  Oh I just wanted to talk to you about some things.
Me:  Oh, ok like what?
BG:  Well, us for starters.  I don’t think we’d ever work out as a couple.  See I’m a Dom, and I need a sub.  I need a woman that will fuck black guys while I watch, and literally lick the shit from my feet.
Me: …(my left eye twitches as I rehash this)
BG:  After my divorce I realized I want something not boring, I don’t want the same old shit day in and day out I want a subservant and I just don’t think you can fulfill my wishes.

Now at this point I was thinking a million different thoughts, about how big an asshole he is, to what kind of sick fuck did I manage to waste ANY time on.  Then clarity reigns supreme.  Absolute crystal clarity.

Me;  Wow, thanks for letting me know!  I wish you all the best!
BG: Really?  You’re not upset?”
Me:  No, I hope you find her.  Have a good life.

Then delete. Wash, Rinse, Repeat.

 

 

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