Thursday, August 26, 2010

The Boy Collector


BOY COLLECTOR

boy col-lec-tor [boy kuh-lek-ter]
n.

1. One that collects boys

2. A woman who surrounds herself with men without putting out to gain power and confidence

Synonym: Tease

WARNING: Men must be weary of the boy collector.


Some may say the boy collector does not exist. They are like unicorns, leprechauns, and Eskimos. But they do exist. And they are dangerous.

I have been a victim of the boy collector on two occasions.

The first time was at NYU. I met a beautiful Asian girl named Kim. She was a knockout, and I kept wondering why she was talking to me. I hit on her at a networking party and I was shocked when she started asking me questions. I was enamored by her beauty. She was 5’ 9”, had a gorgeous face, perfect body, and a smile that lit up the room.

She even laughed at my jokes. I wished I were on camera so I could’ve documented the whole conversation. She entered her number into my cell phone. I was giddy. I called her back right away so she had my number too. It was also a failsafe to make sure she hadn’t given me a fake. Her phone rang. It was official. We had each other’s numbers.

It was hard, but I waited the customary three days to call her. The number drew me to her everyday, but I insisted on waiting. I didn’t want to blow this.

On the third day, I called and she answered. She actually remembered me, and I was very excited. She invited me to a small house party that she was hosting, and really hoped I could make it. I may have jumped up and down, but I don’t remember exactly how it played out.

I vividly recall picking up a case of Heineken; her favorite beer. I figured with a case of beer, I’d be a shoe-in. I showed up about 45 minutes after the party started. I didn’t want to seem too overzealous. I played it cool the best I could.

I arrived to the door, buzzed, and she let me in. I exhaled and prepared for an amazing night. I pictured us flirting, drinking, making bad decisions. I’d never hooked up with a girl this hot before, and imagined if she kissed the same way as mere mortal women did.

I entered the apartment and was met by Kim. She looked incredible. A tight dress clung to her fit body. I couldn’t believe this girl actually wanted to hook up with me.

I looked around and noticed about a dozen people chilling in her apartment. At first I thought it was just a regular party. Then as I looked closer, I did a double take, and realized it was all dudes. They waited on her hand and foot and were at her beck and call. I placed my case of beer next to a dozen others. I was just another nice guy that completed the baker’s dozen.

Our next stop was a bar. Thirteen guys surrounded this ultra hot chick. I took some time to get to know the others guys. One she met a bar, another at the gym, and another on the subway. She made conversation, batted her eyes, and pulled us all in.

We all hoped tonight would be the night. We would party with her, hang with her, and see what her bedroom looked like. But instead, we were just part of the collection.




















After an hour, I gave up. A few other guys left with me. It was like an episode of The Bachelorette. Maybe she was weeding us out. She wanted to see who would commit the longest. I lost in the early rounds. I don’t know want happened to the other guys, but I imagine they went home empty handed as well.

As I walked home, I realized I was a victim of the boy collector.

I swore to myself that this would never happen again, but history has a way of repeating itself.

I met another type of boy collector just months later. She was a lot more direct with her hobby, but looking back, I’m not shocked I fell victim to her scheme as well.

I met this girl dating online. She was a fairly attractive brunette. She wasn’t hot, but was cute, and her confidence exuded a sort of sexiness.

It took a while for her to warm up. Maybe it was my charm or the whiskey, but she started to laugh at my jokes. She crossed her legs toward me, and her hands casually touched mine. Any dating guru would tell you these were green lights.

Her body language was an A+, but her words contradicted all of her actions. She had hit the honesty stage and was telling me about her past relationships. She took it one step further and told me about all the guys she was currently dating. She had a date the night before, one tomorrow night, and another one that weekend, all with different guys.

She wasn’t bragging or trying to make me jealous, but was more just a matter of fact. She liked having countless guys take her out and even admitted that she had no real interest in dating or hooking up with them. It was as if she kept us on the shelf and only took us out when she felt like it. She basically told me up front that she was a boy collector, but my brain didn’t register because she kept touching my leg with her fingernails.

When the overpriced bill came, I slapped down my credit card without hesitation. Sure, it was a little pricey, but I didn’t care. Things were going in the right direction.  

We left the bar and headed back to her place. When we arrived, her roommates were home. That’s when my date looked at me and pleaded for a deal. “Don’t tell them we met online. Pretend we work together, and you’re in real estate. OK?”

At this point, what was I gonna say? I nodded my head in agreement.

We entered her living room, and I met two male roommates who were ecstatic to see her (poor guys--they were already part of her collection.) They grilled me about real estate, and I made up answers on the spot. Luckily, everyone was satisfied. 

Somebody made me a drink, and I consumed it on a Lazy-boy. My date was across the room pretending I was a work acquaintance, and barely acknowledging my existence. I made conversation with everyone the best I could. (Part of me hoped that if I were social, my date would be turned on. Girls like the idea of men who get along with their friends.)

Unfortunately, my friendliness did nothing except get me a free vodka and soda. I sat through an agonizing episode of reality TV. I hoped my date would show me her bed or at least her room, but it never happened.

When the show ended, it was time to go. My date didn’t even show me to the door. I knew where it was. Plus, she had to get ready for her date the following night. She was going to the Mets game with another dude. I wondered if he was going to get any...probably not.

He would just be the next victim of the boy collector. 

1 comment:

Annah said...

That's a little crazy. I guess some people have the capacity to do such things. I actually know a few girls like that.