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Freddy Kreuger, Leonard Cohen, and other adult dating mismatches  

__Crusoe__ 55M
14 posts
10/31/2016 11:25 pm

Last Read:
4/12/2019 2:10 am

Freddy Kreuger, Leonard Cohen, and other adult dating mismatches

Newcomers to a site such as this may initially think they've stumbled on an Aladdin's cave of willing flesh, and begin typing “applications” with feverish little fingers, anticipating an avalanche of ardent replies and a full dance card for several months ahead. After all, who could possibly resist what you have to offer? However, it soon becomes obvious that people (or at least the vast majority) have a variety of selection criteria, and there’s a sinking realization that you are not young (or old) enough, inked enough, tall enough, black enough, ripped enough or pierced enough to cut it out there.

I’ve always been one of those who believes a little homework is essential before arranging to meet anyone, because with a few mail/pic exchanges, two people can tell pretty quickly whether they’d get on, and it helps to avoid one of those situations where you wish you hadn’t shown up for a date because obviously it’s not going to work. I’m pretty honest, and if I suspect through mail chat that I’m not on the same wavelength, then I’ll say so. Conversely, if my correspondent realizes I’m not for her, then I’ll accept it gracefully. I must admit that I’m at an age now where it’s becoming less unusual to suffer abrupt unilateral termination of correspondence as soon as I’ve sent a face pic. Imagination is a wonderful thing, and the media you choose to put up on your profile form the basis of the mental image people construct. Sending a face photo after a few rounds of promising chat requires a deep breath, even for people who may feel confident about their looks. It’s the internet equivalent of a wolf rolling on its back to expose its belly. It shows your true colours and once you’ve hit the “send” button, the Rubicon has been crossed. Women may get excited about disembodied Abs, tats and dicks individually or collectively, but for them the face is the acid test that brings together the whole man. For example, you never hear women say something like “Yeah I wouldn’t mind shagging him if he put a bag over his head” (except in the context of BDSM perhaps……… ) Lately I’ve had a few experiences of the “face-pic suicide bomb” phenomenon that has blown to smithereens previously enthusiastic mail threads. It’s been almost as effective as sending, say, a photo of Freddy Krueger or John Kramer (why do these guys always begin with “K”??): you can almost hear a muffled “Awww………Jeezus!!” coming from somewhere down the pipe, as if they’ve put their hand on something slimy in the dark 

Rejection and being rejected is a delicate business. No matter how brave a face you put on, and no matter what kind of self-image you possess, it still stings, even a little. On the other hand, it is a test of character and your response can say a lot about you.
So … I’m sort of curious to hear about people’s experiences of this. If you receive an off-putting face photo from an otherwise promising correspondent, what do you do? Suddenly go quiet and hope they’ll go away? Send them a polite reply and try not to hurt their feelings too much? Accuse them of having totally misleading profile media and wasting your time?
And if you are on the receiving end of rejection? Do you regard it as an intolerable insult to your pride? Do you resort to name-calling and abuse, or rant away with terms such as “your loss” (in sharp contrast to the almost sonnet-like qualities of your previous love-mails)?? Or do you just slink away to a dark corner, suck your thumb, and listen to Leonard Cohen?
I’m also intrigued about what kind of response (if any) you’d rather have from a “rejectee”. For example, if you’re a woman and have just blown out a guy, would absence of any response merely serve to justify your rejection of him (“yeah…I knew he was a wimp…”), or would you rather he come back at you with all that macho posturing? Enough material there for a psychological symposium ....

© Crusoe 2016


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