Shit that happens

Yesterday a man asked to interview me. He was referred by an editor I respect and have worked with amiably. I said sure. Before we began, he sent a picture of me posted on my page. I was much younger. He asked where it was taken. I told him. For the interview, I thought we would speak on the phone. He wanted to do it through email. Normally I do not write out answers to questions. It’s work. He told me English was not his first language and asked me to correct his English as we went along. It was a condition. I said okay. He sent his first question: “When I was young, my favorite female name was Laurie. I always wanted to meet Laurie. However, I never met her. She remained to my dream. My favorite band was the Rolling Stones. You are the living embodiment of my youth. Tell me and ours readers a little about yourself. Who you are is Laurie the girl from my dream?” I wrote back, “Have you read my work?” He wrote, “Is that important?” I wrote, “Why do you want to interview me?” He wrote, “Forget it. Sorry about my suggestion” He sounds aggrieved. He thinks something has happened to him. He has asked me to do his work, and he has asked me to enjoy watching him jack off to a fantasy about me. When I decline interest and in doing so call attention to his aggression, I become the aggressor. This happens all the time in large and small ways. No more brushing it off. No more fake smiling. No more quiet.

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