CALL OF THE DAY: one nerd’s daydream

Subtract 15 years and a whole lot of stubble, and this might be something close to "Scooter."

Subtract 15 years and a whole lot of stubble, and this might be something close to “Scooter.”

He did a spree of long calls with me over four years ago, but nothing since, so of course he doesn’t remember me. I think I would remember him, even without the written record, because his fantasy is so specific and his manner is so… focused.

At the start of the call he asks me if I know such-and-such movies, like Revenge of the Nerds, Porky’s, etc. I say, “Yes, but it’s been a long time.” I need to leave him room to maneuver, space in which to tell the story he likes to tell. His calls always involve a lavishly detailed narrative about Scooter, a 13-year-old boy with atrocious taste in clothing and a seemingly insatiable curiosity about well-dressed, affluent MILFs. Together we follow Scooter’s journey from geeky, awkward boy to geeky, sexually humiliated young man.

The story he tells is, shall we say, loosely inspired by those movies, but he prefers to talk about them like it happened that way in a movie, so I can’t be an expert. I need to be surprised, I need to await the plot twists with bated breath and pretend to be drawn in by each new development, and respond appropriately. Scooter wears polka-dotted footie pajamas? Hahahhhah, wow, what a geek! The neighbor lady is wearing a really low-cut blouse when she opens the door? Hahahaha, poor boy, he doesn’t know where to look! The jocks capture him and he has to walk a half-mile back to his house in a makeshift toga crafted from a banner for a pep rally? Oh, poor Scooter!<not-quite-stifled laughter> That’s so humiliating!

And even while I pretend to be surprised or titillated, I have to be thinking ahead. My caller will ask me, when I say “oh no!” or “poor boy!”, he will ask: why do you say that? Even though he is setting up the story so there is no other possible way to react, he seems to want someone else to say out loud what is happening in the psychosexual life of Scooter. And not just in his life. The caller wants to hear what I think about the motivations of the MILFs, and Scooter’s cold-hearted aunt or sister, you know, the relative who doses Scooter’s chocolate milk with Viagra for their own mean ends. (If it’s the aunt, she’s doing it because the male stripper didn’t show up for the women’s party she’s hosting at the community center. If it’s the older sister, she’s doing it to get back at her brother for being such a brat.)

Inappropriate boner in front of gorgeous older women with big racks: this is the crux of the dilemma. These women are child-molesting cougars who are drunk enough on their high-end champagne to be curious about what that is popping a tent pole in poor Scooter’s pajamas. Laughing the whole time, they back him up against the wall at the community center and tear the pajamas off of his body. CHRRRRRRICK. CHRRRRRRICK.

Yes, I make the noises of fabric tearing, or paper tearing, if Scooter is wrapped in a banner for this version. The noise involved in an involuntary reveal is one of the hot buttons for my caller, along with the hungry, almost predatory, laughter of the women, who are both amused and aroused by his big ears and his polka-dotted pajamas and his beet-red face and his shyness.

HAHAHAHAHAHAH! Oh, how adorable! Look at how hard he is! Get out of the way, Julia, I want a piece of his pajamas!


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