Planet Craigslist: Kill Yourself

Planet Craigslist recounts my years of trolling men with a series of depraved sex ads. The entry outlining the project can be found here: Planet Craigslist: Bang My Mom

From the age of 15 to my late 20s I met countless people off the internet. Now at 32 I still do though not as often. As a six foot male I spend near zero time thinking of their intentions. If they are who they claim to be. If they’re out to fuck with or hurt me. I’ve never come to a date carrying pepper spray. Never told a friend I was meeting someone and here’s their info. Not even when it was in a park after midnight.

I once drove to a sketch hotel at three in the morning after just a few words with an internet stranger. I had an off feeling so stood back from the door in case it was an ambush. It wasn’t. All that waited inside was an awful hookup. That I can handle.

The sole time I met a man for sex I took precautions I rarely do with women. I parked far off, carried nothing with my name, and came barefoot in case I needed to flee. Not that there is no danger in meeting women but I give it little thought. Despite sketchy nights I’ve never been hurt. I’ve had the privilege of ignoring my instincts. I’ve felt uncomfortable. Wanted to leave from the second I laid eyes on someone. But I’ve never felt scared for my safety.

In Portland I met a friend I’d known for years through Facebook. We went to school in the same town and had a clutch of mutual friends. When she moved to Oregon we finally got together in person. The first time we met was at a bookstore in daylight. The second a comedy show at midnight. As I drove her home I took a wrong turn and wound up in an industrial yard. It was vast, empty, and supa creepy at two in the morning. In no time I got us turned around and took her home.

A long time later, after we’d hung many times, she told me of that night from her perspective. How she had the knife in her purse ready to go. How maybe I wasn’t really lost but rather was readying to rape her. Despite my carelessness with strangers I’ve never considered such things. The worst I’ve had is discomfort and disgust. Even that’s no biggie. It comes with the territory of rolling the dice on an internet stranger.

For years Craigslist acted as my site of choice for sex. I shifted through the country and into new cities. Craigslist gave me the skeleton key to someone new. For a long time it worked. I met cool folks and fucked a few of them. I never thought much about the risk other than swaddling my cock in a condom. I guess I trusted my gut. Still, I often ignored the warnings it sent me. I found myself in sketchy situations. The nineteen year old who after I banged her told me this was actually her neighbor’s house. The drugged-out Russian whose mom called at five in the morning to scream how her daughter’s a bitch. The old ass lesbian in Minneapolis.

She contacted me off Craigslist and sent a single photo. It masked her face but showed a bare body wrapped in mesh. She asked if I was on FetLife. Told me of her shallow vagina but stated we could try penetration. She rarely took cock but wanted one now. I felt iffy about her photo. It was black and white and told me little. But she was near seventy and I like old ladies. I gave power of attorney to the man in my pants and he said go for it.

We met late in a grocery lot near her place. I parked down the road and walked up to someone in a rubber raincoat. It had to be her as this was the only person there. I felt disgust the second I saw her. I got why she masked her face in the photo. It was rough. Overtly masculine and tore down from the decades. I’m no beauty but at least I don’t hide who I am. It felt like deception but really I just didn’t do my due diligence. That was my fault not hers.

My instinct was to flee at full speed. I knew she couldn’t catch me and I owed no allegiance. But that would be rude so I greeted her, the disgust inside now growing stronger. We hugged and it felt wrong. I felt no attraction. In fact I felt the opposite. She walked me back to her place. The doorway opened to a long, rectangular bedroom lit in blacklight. To the right sat a small bed. To the left crates of yipping dogs stacked on one another.

She lay on the bed and invited me to it. I delayed by asking about the dogs. She was a trainer but these were a mix of both her own and boarders. I went to her bed and lay on the open side. She wrapped herself around me. My body language screamed I didn’t want to be there. She either took no notice or didn’t care. I sat stiff and uncomfortable as she snuggled into me.

She smelled of fake citrus. Her voice was gravelly as if pitched through tarred lungs. She wore the mesh shirt from her photo. At least that matched with what she’d sent me. I so wanted to leave but couldn’t find the courage to align my mind and feet. My brain blasted an SOS but I didn’t know how to exit without hurting her feelings or arousing anger. She asked for my astrology sign and rambled on about what it all meant. I told her I didn’t believe in that stuff but she gave an analysis anyway.

I traced fingers on her tits as she held me tight. Maybe I could just bang her to get it over with. She wasn’t a bad person. Just so not for me. But I couldn’t. I’m no actor and also doubted I’d ever get hard with her. As she grabbed my cock I took her hand back to my chest and said sorry but I’m not feeling it. That I’d like to go. She apologized that I wasn’t into things. That of course I could leave. I tried rising but she guilted me into staying longer. She said she never gets cuddles and asked if I’d hold her for just a few more.

She brought my hand back to her tits so I resumed twisting her thick nipples. I stared off to the ceiling and caged dogs. Disconnected mind from body to burn through these last moments. Finally she let me go, once more saying sorry it wasn’t to be. I walked out of sight then sprinted to my car, wishing I’d followed this instinct an hour earlier. Later I wondered if any woman had ever felt the same with me. If someone simply stayed in my bed to avoid the awkward conversation. I didn’t think so but there was no way to know.

I’ve spent just as much time meeting people as I have trolling desperate dudes. Creating online personas to play act as someone I’m not. This started as a young teen when I made a man fall in love with a woman I created from whole cloth. We were to spend Thanksgiving together. After the day passed and she no showed I revealed he’d been had. It was an awful thing to do. He did nothing to deserve it.

Over the next fifteen years I trolled a million men but almost never one so undeserving. I focused in on pedophiles and philanderers. I don’t know if they deserved it either but at least I didn’t feel like shit about it. Still, I’ve hurt a lot of men’s feelings. Made them think someone likes them or at the very least they’re about to get laid. It’s inevitable that over my near two decades of doing this there’d be backlash. I don’t believe in karma but I’ve been its recipient. Sometimes the internet bites back.

In Portland I posted a million ads looking for sex and snuggles. They conjured spambots and creepy dudes but on occasion a woman arose. A lot of times it was just to say they liked my goofy post and hey good luck. Sometimes they were curious enough to get together. Sometimes we banged. It was always fun or at least no worse than indifferent. Then I started getting awful emails. For months I received missives from a man calling me ugly, unfunny, and a fag. He poured through hundreds of ads to find my posts. For whatever reason they enraged him.

I have no idea what made him target me. My ads were the dumbest things ever full of corny ass jokes and PG photos of myself. He often changed emails but the responses stayed the same. Fag. Stop posting. Kill yourself. At first I responded in good humor saying thanks for the kind words or wishing him well. But my lightness didn’t lessen his anger. Fag. Stop posting. Kill yourself. This wore me down and after a month or two I simply stopped replying. The messages still poured in but all I did was delete them.

I spent a late summer day hanging with my roomies and two women from Switzerland. They were traveling down the coast and were with us for a night. I hoped one would wanna bang but that wasn’t gonna happen so I renewed an old sex ad. I forgot about it until I got home at night and checked my email. In my inbox sat a response from a girl who wanted to meet.

I messaged back and got a photo. It had black bars on top and bottom as if it were a screenshot off a phone. I should’ve asked for more but I didn’t. She wanted me to come to her place and fuck her. Rarely did a girl straight up proposition me for sex. Usually we had some dialogue or them telling me I was funny or whatever. We exchanged a couple more emails and she said “I see you’ve been posting a lot, big boy.” That response, coupled with the other signs, raised a million red flags. Yet I didn’t heed them.

My time in Portland was coming to a close and I wanted to get in as many last bangs as I could. I’m as dumb as the dorks I troll. So I ignored gut instincts and went to meet her. All the years of fine and benign meetings left me unable to imagine that this would be anything but.

It was late, at least midnight, when I drove downtown. I had the address and parked a couple blocks away. This was my standard practice but was more about anonymity than anything. The girl now had my number and texted to get a window for my arrival. I felt iffy about all this. I wondered if she was fucking around or a troll sending me off on an errant mission.

When I walked up to her place and double checked the addy that iffiness turned to something worse. She lived in a flop hotel. From the sidewalk I could see the clerk behind a safety window. Bums and junkies ambled by. It didn’t look like the kind of place a pretty girl lived at. I crouched under the awning and texted I was here. Prior to arrival my phone buzzed with every incoming message. Now it sat still and silent.

I waited under the awning to see what came next. A young man walked out of the building and off to shadows as he ducked to a recess not far from me. After a few he went inside. A little later he returned. He enacted the same routine of slipping to shadows. He wasn’t out for a smoke or to meet someone. His presence felt off. Pure mystery.

He looked different than the others I’d seen here. He was in his early twenties, pretty good looking, and dressed in decent clothes. In the normal world nothing about him would’ve registered but here he stood out. Still, I didn’t pay much mind. I gripped my phone waiting for the feel of a familiar buzz. Is this girl gonna get me or not?

I texted asking if she changed her mind. To be stood up was pretty standard and so wouldn’t surprise me. I usually give someone a few before saying fuck it. She texted that she was getting ready and I could wait in the lobby. I wasn’t comfortable with that so kept in my crouch outside.

When the wait time was almost up my phone buzzed with a flurry of texts. They described exactly what I was wearing. Said I looked gross. That she changed her mind and wouldn’t fuck me. She claimed she spotted me out her window but that was physically impossible. I was hugged against the building and under the awning.

I hustled away. Holy fuck. This person was watching me and I didn’t know from where. I couldn’t see anyone but maybe they were across the street or in a parked car. I don’t know if I was scared but I needed to flee. I sprinted to my car, so thankful I’d parked far away and hadn’t given her my address.

I put two and two together then sent a text. “I bet you’re the dude who kept coming in and out.” The person on the other end didn’t deny this. Instead they sieged my phone with a volley of vile messages calling me a faggot, telling me to kill myself. Holy shit. This was the psycho that’d emailed me for months. Harassing me over Craigslist hadn’t been enough. He drew me offline and into the world. The ugly face of the internet opened its eyes and found me in its focus.

As over email I didn’t let on that his dumb shit bothered me. In the past it hadn’t. But unlike the emails this got my heart beating. The safety of the screen was no longer there. Even as I drove away I couldn’t calm down. In a rational sense I knew I was fine but still my adrenaline spiked. This was scary. A little too real. His words had been so hateful but I never thought he’d act on them.

I wondered why he chose me or took it this far. I knew there was no rationale behind it, that it’s useless to parse through the thought process of a psycho. I’d trolled so many dudes but never out of hate. I did it to entertain myself and others. To get some laughs. For him it seemed to rise from a deep and seething disgust for anyone he made his target.

I told him nice trolling. That I wasn’t mad. That I’d fucked with men in the past and game recognizes game. My congratulatory texts didn’t tamp him down. As with the emails indifference only made him angrier. He seemed determined to have the last word. To tell me what a worthless piece of shit I was. That I was a faggot. That I should kill myself. I asked how could I be a faggot if I was there to fuck a girl? At this point logic was long gone. He operated on hate.

I reminded him that I’d seen him too. That I knew he was the person who’d harassed me for months. He ignored these things but increased the unceasing stream of animus. I drove the the ninety odd blocks back to my place. All the while my phone buzzed like an angry bee. Fag. Kill yourself. Fag. Kill yourself. Fag. Kill yourself.

I stopped responding. There was no winning with this one. Once home I texted that I was done and blocking his number. For a final time he told me to kill myself. Then I never heard from him again.

52 thoughts on “Planet Craigslist: Kill Yourself

      1. That was gorgeous. Social media is not my thing but I may try IG again to experience you. Have a lovely night. I hope it is warm where you are. It has been blizzard snowing where I am which is stupid. I miss the warm.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Lmfao, btw it just dawned on me barfbag , you are fucking genius. I was thinking it was an anagram but then I was think about freebasing your blog and cocaine…about mirrors ….I adore you

        Liked by 2 people

      2. I came up with it when I was like 15 after I kept stealing barfbags off planes. I wouldn’t attribute too much genius to it haha. It does make me laugh though.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. The part with you and the girl you did not want to fuck is so great described. So raw and so real. I think this is a pretty common situation specially when you are young or less experienced or perhaps in some relations. I have found myself in situations like that and just went trough with it , aslo starring at the roof just counting the stains at the window or anything. Would not do it today but I do recall the feeling in your post.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks! I tried to capture the feeling of what that kind of moment is like. I agree that it’s common in youth or inexperience or with someone who’s non confrontational. It’s a hard thing to do of essentially rejecting someone without making them feel rejected, especially if they’re been pleasant about everything. Sex and the dance around it can get pretty complicated at times haha. I think these days I’d have the ability to just be upfront from the get go but I’m also a lot smarter about screening people before it reaches that point. I’m glad you know yourself enough to now say no or avoid that situation. Fuck getting banged while counting ceiling stains.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yeah, he’s really not nice. I wonder if he’s as horrible to people in his real life. I think your blog is awesome and love that your showing us the dark side of the internet and your adventures into it. We’ve all got secrets but your sharing them online (very brave) and its such a compelling read. Stay safe, I need to read more lol x

        Liked by 2 people

      2. I used to be play MMORPGs and loved flirting with the guys but never dared meet them. I pretended I was blonde as I thought they’d prefer that to a redhead. I became friends with most in the end and after 10y admitted my true hair colour and finally sent them a pic (still won’t meet them). They all stated friends.

        My BFF had a go at online dating & I told her she should have blogged it. Some of the meet ups were hilarious – you couldn’t make it up.

        I love how raw honest you are and that you are doing stuff I wouldn’t dare.

        Liked by 2 people

      3. Haha I love that you were inexplicably afraid to tell them your actual hair color. I’m sure the WOW dorks appreciated the flirtation, even if it was coming from a FILTHY REDHEAD. That’s awesome that you collected a little group of friends from there!

        You should make her blog the stories! Online dating from a woman’s perspective is an endless well of creeps, weirdos, idiots, scary dudes, a few interesting ones, etc. Any time I pretend to be a woman online my mind is blown by some of the things dude’s say. At the very least it’s an interesting insight into human love/longing/thinking/desperation.

        I believe emotional honesty is at the core of great storytelling and so that’s why I approach things from that perspective. I mean a lot of my writing doesn’t make me look so great but I’d rather be real than pass my world off as something it’s not. I’m getting old and boring now but I’m sure I’ll have more weird internet encounters to come. Thanks again for reading 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      4. You are right about the dorks, one could not speak to girls in real life (bless him), so really appreciates my time. I thought one guy had figured me out as he said, ”You’d be my perfect woman, if only you were a redhead” lol.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Great writing! Back in the day when I was hot and single…now I’m lukewarm and married. I talked to a man on instant messenger (yahoo), should give insight as to my age. Anyway, we decided to meet…he sent me a old 1970’s picture mind you. Of course I knew instantly this wasn’t going to go well..but ya know, curiosity. We met at a safe area and yes he was 70 if a day, in an ill fitting suit and smelled of cigars. Also, he had ear muffs of hair growing in his ears and out touching his lobes.

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Hahahaha I love that so much. Hilarious. Stunk of cigars. Ear hair. Sounds like every girl I’ve ever dated. What on earth was he thinking? So, how did you react? Did you go through with the date or peace out?

      Liked by 1 person

  3. 😂 well, I figured you would want the rest of the story haha. The meeting place was at a crowded popular eatery. I entered the front door of this establishment, scanning the area for a 70’s photograph (any sign of what was) he was on a seat at the bar area drink in one hand and what looked to be a portfolio/pleather case in the other. The dreaded eye contact…he smiled a broad George Washington yellow wood teeth smile. I don’t know how he could keep from seeing the look of terror on my face as I was 27 and he was clearly 77. He motioned me to join him, my stomach was at this time in my throat and my heart was pounding in my ears. I squashed the urge to bolt out the front door and decided to be now 48 yr. old self realizes this is possibly how women have been abducted,raped,killed…from being POLITE!!!! ALAS! I was taught to respect my elders. I pensively moved forward as he was excitedly motioning for me to come. Every step worse than the one before..closeup was terrible. My eyes were drawn to the Woolie worm eyebrows that were horned to devil points at the end of the arches, ear hair so thick that an immegrant family of 12 and six possums and possibly the missing Jimmy Hoffa could be living there. He said in a low tone Dreamweaver? And here..this..was my chance..I SHOULD have said, No? But nooooo…I replied, thunderstruck? Ugh. He patted the seat next to him. I asked him what was in the pleather case. He stated that he had told his wife that he was meeting someone here for an interview…this was one of many times, I was very disappointed that I am not gifted with the genetic genius of cocking an eyebrow..the God’s failed me. I am imagining Aunt Bea at home baking pies, and fixin dinner. While hairy ole thunderstruck is here trying to rendezvous with his granddaughter’s best friend. He asked what I wanted to drink…again my NOW self being the accomplished, experienced self I am would have said milk..but I said tea instead. You don’t drink he asked? Ummm..I drink tea. Small talk followed..I loathe smalltalk. One would think if your going to be such a brazen lier you could at least be interesting or even entertaining such as your pants catching fire. Meanwhile the bartender, who was in the vicinity of my age keeps looking at me, I think prepared to answer any smoke signal I was going to send up…or possibly trying to figure out if I was an escort? Just as ole thunderstruck is telling me he’s rented a hotel room, In walks my saviour, a male co-worker, karma has always played nice with me, playfully slapping me but never really hitting me with the full on bus. I leave my increadibly high seat at the bar with the grace of a drunken albatross, I am 5’2..why are those seats pole vaultible? Anyway I greet said co-worker with such enthusiasm that he is dazed and confused. Thunderstruck makes a fatal error, he heads for the restrooms. My coworker waits for him to turn the corner..and says, “so who is the refugee from the nursing home?” I quickly fill him in and he is crying …CRYING, because he is laughing so hard. I remember saying shutup and more than a few colorful metaphors. Thunderstruck comes back, takes his seat, and I begin to hastily tell some pretty elaborate lies…this is “TIM”, my cousin who lives in California, flew in for our family reunion, I am so very sorry, but I haven’t seen him since we were little…Mr. Thunder slams his pleather secret documents case on the bar and exclaims, you little whore, you are going to pay me back for the hotel room plus my traveling expenses and reaches and roughly grasps my arm. I’m feeling faint, like a southern lady with the vapors, my coworker yells duck, I apparently didn’t move fast enough because I’m slung to the ground dramatically, and his fist connects with thunders eye. And the bartender hops over the bar like every movie you’ve ever seen, and shows thunder the door like lightning speed…notice the play on words 😁. This is indeed a very long reply to your questions..but I wanted to paint a picture. And I would LOVE to be able to say I married the coworker and we are living now munching granola and smoking doobies. But,no…we did have a pretty amazing trist, that is even now, 20 years later making me smile. I also had to endure for about a period of more than a few months…”hey Ang…cruzin any nursing homes lately? Geratol and prune juice were my birthday gifts from my other co-workers. You are certainly braver than I in your escapades..I learned my lesson.. LoL

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh god. Thank you so much. That was pretty incredible. I fuggin loved reading it. You should clean it up and put it out as a piece of creative nonfiction.

      His teeth sound lovely. I still wonder what in the hell he thought your reaction would be? Maybe he thought he’d charm ya. I’ve had people misrepresent their looks or use old photos but never to such an egregious degree. Your coworker got in some hilarious lines. Also, you met with someone who went by Thunderstruck? Uhm……I think that’s on you, pal. Haha. Thankfully my internet meetups are way more lowkey than yours. But now I lust for Thunderstruck and wonder if I’ll ever get to kiss his cotton filled ears, lick his yellowed teeth, and get busy with him in his motel. I guess he’s probably dead but that only makes me want him more 😦

      Liked by 1 person

    2. OMG this is an amazing story! I cringed with you the whole time. Pay him back for the hotel room … GROSS! More like nasty motel with meth labs. I’m really glad you survived thunderstruck. Pardon me while I throw up now.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. He really was very very gross! I think I’ll take my new buddy’s advice though and clean this up to post on my blog….if nothing else but the pure shock some family members will have that I even met up..😂😂😂


  4. Hey, this piece was beautifully gripping. Why did you move from Portland, I would die to move there. I’m sorry I haven’t been following your posts as closely as I did in the past, my notification emails were sending in a different inbox than what I usuallly check 😦 but this was intoxicating in the best way possible!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hell yeah! Thank you! I’ve lived in/visited Portland on and off since late 2010. Then three years ago I came to a point where I felt I’d done all I could do there so moved away. Since then I’ve lived there part time (including right now) and am heavily flirting with going back full time. It’s an incredible place with an infinite amount of nature in close proximity. I’m sure you’d love it. If you ever have a question about Portland or Oregon I can try answer it for ya.

      No worries about not keeping up! I lose track of who all reads my stuff. I don’t know if you’ve read this (and you def don’t have to) but it’s my best piece and explains a lot of my life and the things I do:

      I read your recent posts a couple days ago. I admire your drive, ambition, and accomplishments. Best of luck at UCLA. Sounds like you’re gonna kill it!


  5. I started reading because I’m not a fan of craigslist. To me it’s just bait and switch every time. Very rarely have I had a legitimate response to an ad for the simplest things. Exasperating. I was surprised thoroughly at some of your adventures. Wasn’t sure how to reply after reading except to say be safe .

    Liked by 1 person

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