Out Of My League, Part Two

Not ten minutes after I posted the previous article I went back to check out the Russian's profile on Lovetastic; apparently it's been deleted. It seems he's a spammer, at least according to them. Lovetastic's automatic response was very contrite.

I'm still intrigued, though, so I'm going to keep writing to him.

It's a useful bit of masochism to continue corresponding with someone who is very possibly a con artist. I want to see what he does to keep my attention, and how he handles any objections I may have. I'm curious to see how a player reacts to being played.

I've already let him know that there are numerous mail-order bride scams from the city where he lives. I lied rather extravagantly when I said that such scams were well-known in this country, since they are so commonplace. He seemed both dismayed and ignorant of these, which naturally he would.

He also has the sort of email address a spammer might have, a weird clump of letters that doesn't yield any results when translated by software. I may need to get Mr. Barr to try translating it as well, since his built-in software is far superior to anything found on CD-ROM.

I've sent the Russian a link to my blog, as well, thinking maybe I can track him that way. There's still the faintest glimmer that he could be legit, although, let's face it, it's not likely. In case he is, I don't want to cut loose some lonely kid stuck in some Russian dirthole.

I feel my reactions to the situation are very telling. Of course, the initial reaction - why would a guy like that want to get to know someone like me - is entirely in keeping with my good old self-loathing self. But my unwillingness to be duped speaks volumes about some possibly healthy self-esteem that must have sneaked into my system by accident somehow, either by aliens or else virally (from reading O magazine, for instance).

Because I developed a vigorous cynicism early in life, I may in fact have done myself out of some positive experiences in the name of self-preservation. Still, I'm not about to go all foolish whether approached by a virtual hot guy or a real one.

Some years back there was a con artist working the bars of Davie Street. The guy was a real model type, and he'd targeted guys in their fifties, shy types, who probably couldn't believe that such a prince would be interested in them. Following the usual modus operandi he'd take them back to the dupe's place, drug 'em or slug 'em, then proceed to rob them blind.

While I felt bad about the guys this happened to, I knew for sure that such a thing would never happen to me. It was the same thing when the "I Love You" virus was going around. In either case, I'd never believe such things if they crossed my path.