The Stranger from Manjam

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I come back home tired after a long day at work. I take off my clothes, eat something and take a shower. Then I go online. As usual, I log onto my MSN, Facebook and Manjam accounts. A few conversation windows pop up, I find a couple of notifications on Facebook, and the usual number of messages pending on Manjam.

I read the messages: One of them is from a stranger without a picture, saying he wants to be my “top” and that he’s discreet, and he’s attached a picture of his private parts.

Another message is from a foreigner telling me he will be in Beirut for the summer, and that he will be happy to “have some fun” while he’s here. But one message catches my attention. Someone writes that he would love to get to know me better, and actually comments on the few poetry lines I’ve written on my profile.

I take an interest in the mysterious guy so I add him to my MSN contacts list. Five seconds later, a chat window pops up.

“Hi” he says, and I say hi back. Instead of the classic questions “asl plz/ role?/ u have a place?” I find this stranger asking me about my interests and hobbies, about books and music and movies. My interest piques and I find myself thinking: I’ve found some kind of treasure, a decent guy online.

We chat for hours the first day, and I go to sleep, elated thanks to my new discovery, and I think about the connection I just had with this stranger.

The next day, I come back home, and I find myself waiting for him to go online. When he finally does, we chat for the same number of hours.

Days go by, and we chat about so many things. Then we exchange pictures, and I find him rather cute. And I feel myself getting a bit attached. We keep chatting day after day until we exchange phone numbers, and decide to actually meet.

That day, I tell him to meet me Downtown in front of Virgin. He was completely different from what I expected him to be, but cute nonetheless: beautiful eyes, and an even more beautiful smile. We go to De Prague, and we talk… a lot. We talk about movies mostly, and I find myself fascinated how much our tastes match. There isn’t a movie that I love that he’s found less than good. Then he tells me about his family, how much he loves his little sister, and how he’ll give the world to see her smile. Being the sensitive type, I find myself touched by this guy’s human side. He tells me about his dreams, about wanting to become the next Tim Burton and conquer the world by making movies, and his grandiose ambition draws me nearer to him. Just before that day, I was the talkative type who confesses his longings, ambitions and aspirations. But with him, I just wanted to listen… And I would have listened for hours if the clock stopped ticking, leaving me with this beloved stranger for a couple of eternities. But time is never your ally when you most need it.
My insides ache as we walk to his car. I tell myself that I like him, and hope to God that he likes me too.
We get into his car, and he drives me home.

I do not take my clothes off . I just lie on my bed, butterflies in my stomach… Could he be feeling the same thing?

I stare at my phone: Do I text him? Or do I wait for him to text me?

I keep staring at the phone for minutes that seem like hours. And then it rings…

- Contributed by theRibz


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