If you’re one of my regular readers, then you know I’ve done the whole GSM (“gay slut magic”) thing. (Those posts have been added to the Sex Magic category.) In this world, it behooves a person to stay completely anonymous (or “discrete”) until such a time as an actual, physical meeting takes place. And even then, it’s a good idea to make it a stereotypically “safe” meeting (i.e., in public for the first time, having notified at least one other person where you will be and about how long you’ll be gone).
Well today, I proved to myself, once again, why it is a good idea to remain as anonymous as possible.
So this guy who has written to me before decided to email me about hooking up. He asked if I was available today. I emailed him back and basically said that I couldn’t, primarily because I was too tired. He then asked me to send him a pic. (In the world of hooking up, that generally means, “Please send me a face picture so that I don’t meet with you and end up surprised in a not-so-good way.”) Any other day, I might’ve obliged. But today was not that day.
Today was not that day because (a) I didn’t want to hook up anyhow – so there really was no need for me to send him a pic; and (b) every time I chatted with him before (which is how he was able to contact me to begin with), he committed to showing up but didn’t. I have no time for that kind of bullshit. So I politely declined sending him a picture. And he immediately retaliated.
His exact words were, “No matter, I know who you are. You’re a sloppy cumdump and I’m going to put your business out on the street.”
My reply was: “Cool, cool. All publicity is good publicity. The more folk know what I do, the more folk participate.”
Then he goes: “I’m going to tell all your family and friends what you’re doing.”
I said: “Awesome! Cause then the dudes at work will know and they’ll all want head before I go home.”
He wrote back: “You’ll see what I do today, bitch.”
My reply was: “Good luck.”
In return, he wrote, “I don’t need luck. I’ve got roots. Do you know who Legba is?”
So I replied, “Oh goody, you’ve seen AHS: Coven.”
To which he responded, “I’m going to throw something in your yard that’ll make your ass deathly sick.”
My prompt reply was: “Well, first, you need to find my yard. Second, you’ll need to get past the Gatekeepers. Third, you’ll need to figure out where my Wards are and how to take them down. And finally, you’ll need to figure out how to contend with the Spirits that keep my land, myself and my family safe. And you can’t contend with Spirits unless you know Their names.”
And all he could say was, “Kentucky trash.”
I asked him for proof a million times during our conversation ~ proof that he knew me. I asked him what kind of car I drive, what my address is, where I work, what kind of clothes I usually wear and even my skin color. On my skin color: you could take a wild guess and, with a little bit of luck, at least try to freak me out a tiny bit. He didn’t even attempt that.
Why? Because he really has no idea. And if he did, he would’ve proven it.
If somebody wants to be a “hero” online and start spitting mad bad blood at you, don’t let them in. Don’t let them fester your emotions. Keep calm, cool and collected and let them know how many fucks you really don’t give. “Behold the field in which I grow my fucks! Set thine eyes upon it and see that it is barren!” There’s no need to pay heed to fools who dangle themselves over the pitch-black darkness of the abyss with no rope to grasp.
By the way: nothing has happened. There’s nothing in my yard or hidden in trees. (I’m a Witch – I know the tricks, how to throw roots, and where to put them if I don’t want them found.) There are no new holes in my yard. There were no powders on my doorstep or animal remains lying around. Trust and believe – I know what I’m doing, boo boo. I am not the Witch to cross. Because all I really need to fuck up your world, I’ve already got.
So take heed: remain as anonymous as possible until you get firm commitment. And always keep your Gatekeepers, Wards and Spirits on proper lock. They’ll make sure you’re good to go.
(I was about to write: “All I really need to fuck you up is …” but then thought better of it. No need to give away secrets that have served me so well over the years.)