Here I am, sitting at work and searching the Internet for articles about the dangers to women on Myspace.com and Facebook.com. Strangely enough, I found more articles about the dangers these sites present to children, which is bad enough; but not enough about the dangers for women.

MySpace and Facebook seem to have a tremendous following; I should know because I have a MySpace page. But, I made sure I was not one of those (forgive me) MySpace junkies, who has about 4,596 “friends” on their page. Who knows that many people? I hardly know all my relatives on my father’s side of the family.
 

Let me take you back to how it all started and what sparked my idea for this article.

I was sitting in the waiting area of a human resources office waiting to be called for my job interview. There was a magazine on the coffee table that stood out, but I don’t recall if it was Newsweek or the New Yorker. What caught my attention was an article about Facebook and MySpace (mainly Facebook), so I just skimmed the two opinions about the site. The one opinion that caught my attention was from a couple who met on facebook.com and married a year later.

I am very happy that someone was able to find love, especially on the Internet. Finding love or anything of that sort over the Internet is tough enough alone; but for me, I was not so lucky. For almost a year, I have been on the myspace.com network, and during that year I have accumulated 83 “friends” — 14 family members, 12 real friends, 9 friends who like the movies I enjoy, 4 are people I don’t really know, 2 are organizations, and friends who like the same bands and comics. In other words, I am not on the site for a popularity contest.

There is nothing on my page that shows what I look like or provides any detailed description of me; so fellow MySpacers are gambling on the hope that I am a decent looking person. But, the pictures I do have on the site are in photo album that only my friends can view. My pictures are just of me because the friends I socialize with are not on myspace.com, nor do they want their pictures on the site, and I respect that. The few pictures I do have on the site are not viewed by anyone because there’s nothing exciting about them; I’m not showing skin or flashing any body parts.

The people who visit my web page tell me how shocked they are that a twenty-something female is into the Transformers, comics or whatever I choose to use for my web layout. I have people commenting on my favorite movies and bands. So what’s the harm in that?

The crazy thing about this whole myspace.com thing is that the four “friends” I have befriended on this site actually send me more messages and comments than my real friends or family. I’m not upset at that because we are all busy adults, right? And, I’m not saying that my “other friends” are not equally busy. I normally get friend requests just about every day, and just about every day I find myself clicking “deny.”

Now that you have an idea about my relationship with myspace.com, I suppose some background information about me would help, too. I am a twenty-something, African- American female. I like sports and have attended different sports events and enjoy watching them on TV. I’m tickled by potty jokes, and would take a pair of sneaks and a backpack over the latest designer shoes and handbag, but I do know how to dress up, if needed.

In my twenty-something years on this beautiful earth I have had two long-term, failed relationships and have relocated to different places three times. I enjoy watching cartoons, and I still love watching dysfunctional teen dramas. And, how can I forget my love: higher education? I have a full-time job and would love to call myself a “techie,” because I own pretty cool gadgets. I am on the Internet every day (either on the Web database at work or on my laptop at home). That’s pretty much me in a nutshell. I’ve actually given way more information about me in this article than I’ve given on MySpace. How funny is that?

But, just when I thought it couldn’t happen to me, I was sitting home one Sunday afternoon, broke. I was going back and forth between MySpace, e-mail and a documentary on T.V. when I got a message on MySpace about how cool my page was. I thanked the guy and continued what I was doing. When I refreshed my page, there was a reply to the message I sent. I thought “Okay, he’s about something, but what?” The messages went back and forth — we talked about movies; the new fall television season; and other things. Then he said he had to go but that he enjoyed “chatting” with me (even though we were not in a chat room). In his final message, he left his name and phone number and said to give him a call, but I didn’t want to seem too eager or desperate to call so soon, so I called him after 9:00 p.m.

When he picked up the phone, I had to admit I was smitten by the sound of his voice; there’s something about a mature sounding male with a deep voice that I love. It was weird because I never seem to have long conversations with friends or family because my roommate is so consumed with herself and feels the need to constantly talk to me. I can hardly get a word in. But this night was different; she had actually found someone to talk to on the phone, which gave me time to talk to this mystery guy.

Our conversation lasted until 2:30 a.m. We were both the same zodiac sign; we both had very similar cellular phones; we had a few movies in common that we enjoyed; and we both enjoyed watching cartoons. The thing that stood out was the fact that he was two years younger than I, and he seemed to have his life in order. He had a real career and he was looking to start his own business.

In some small way, I thought things were looking up; I thought my luck was somehow changing. In the past, any guys who had any form of interest in me, acted and looked like they couldn’t even spell “relationship.” I could not figure out for the life of me why I always attracted to the same type of guys. I don’t think there’s any part of me that infers “air head” or “dumb.”

We had made plans to meet since I was off work and he had a break before he had to see some clients. After I hung up the phone with him, it felt like I had the holiday syndrome — when you know the holidays are coming and you get so excited you can’t sleep, even though you’re clearly tired. I haven’t had that feeling in years; when my birthday or holidays come up, it’s no big deal to me. But this time, thoughts were weighing heavily on my mind: What if this guy could be someone I could get to know better? Maybe it could develop to bigger and better things.

When Monday arrived, I had to drive my roommate to the airport; she was going on a short vacation. That morning, he sent me a text message telling me to keep an eye on the news because there was a big messy accident over by the airport and traffic was horrendous. I thought that was very nice of him. After I dropped my roommate off, I met him that afternoon at the mall nearest my house. I arrived a few minutes early and he arrived less than five minutes later, nicely dressed and looking okay.

There’s a great thing about emotions; they let you know what will and will not happen before you can part your lips to say anything. I knew from the way my body felt that he was okay and a nice guy, but he wasn’t the one I wanted to get to know well enough to possibly start a relationship. I’m not clear to this day what I was thinking when I invited him over to my house. I suppose I was expecting him to behave the same way he did over the phone and when I met him at the mall.

He was cool for ten minutes, but then everything just went out of control. He sat next to me and tried kissing me. I told him no because I didn’t know him well enough. He stopped, but then he went on trying again. I don’t know what was going through his head, but just from the kissing alone, he should have been able to tell that this was not going to go anywhere. Then he went on, trying to feel me. I was truly disgusted by this. He tried his best to unhook my bra and more, but I kept moving to different sides of our living room to keep him at a distance. In hindsight, I should have told him to leave; that would have been the wisest thing to do, but I was fearful because I didn’t know how angry or aggressive he could get. I did not want to draw any attention from the neighbors because I’ve been in this neighborhood for three years, and no one has ever heard a peep from my roommate or me.

I sat at the computer desk, which is a good distance from where he was. He got up and started kissing and feeling my thighs. Horrible is the word I want to use, but this situation was a lot more than horrible. I can’t even go into further detail without cringing and getting upset again.

When the nightmare was over, he left and said he enjoyed the tussling and the “one midday stand.” After he was gone, I cried. I didn’t even feel safe in my own apartment. I constantly fought with myself and stayed in my bed with the covers over my head even though it was about seventy-eight degrees in the apartment. All the calls I received went unanswered; I did not get on the Internet; and I did not eat. To add insult to injury, he called me, but I don’t know what made me answer that particular call. He said he was still thinking about earlier this morning and hoped we could have a “round two and possibly three.” When he asked what I was wearing, I hung up the phone.

On Tuesday, I thought I was ready to return to work, but I kept having these visions pop up in my head while driving to work, and I started to cry once more. I called out, made a U-turn and headed back home; I didn’t go back to work for the rest of the week. The hardest part was when I went to pick up my roommate. I had to pretend that nothing was bothering me and fake interest in her vacation, but after listening to some of the details, I told her I wasn’t feeling well and was going to my room.

The following week I went back to work, and some of my co-workers, who know me pretty well, knew there was something wrong with me, especially with my clothes. I was not dressed in my usual attire. It was the dead of summer, and I was wearing jeans and shirts that covered just about all of my upper body. I finally broke down and told them some of the details of what happened, but I could not tell all because I would get those looks and the question “What were you thinking?” I also told one of my closest friends and one of my cousins. Honestly, the story had to change each time I talked about it. The whole story was told to my cousin because I knew she would not scream at me or look at me funny. She suggested I tell my brother, who is ten months younger than me. I said, “Are you crazy? He will kill me and this guy.” I guess this was a form of precaution. After all, this guy knew where I lived and no one knew how mentally stable he was or wasn’t, especially since he considered that “moment” we “shared” as a form of playing and tussling. I didn’t feel the need to tell my brother.

Fast forward a month later; I am a year older and still trying to be comfortable in social settings again. I went to my first party in weeks and did manage to dance, but I had a breakdown while driving myself home. I felt so dirty, like people knew what happened to me, not just at the party but everywhere I went. I felt like people were staring at me. Have you ever had the feeling that someone was watching you; that something you do may change, like your facial expression or something? Well, it may have been all in my mind, but my walk started to get funny. I felt like I was missing steps and I needed this feeling to go away.

I even started going to church, which is a huge deal for me. I have had countless dealings with people of faith and am baffled how they behave (not saying that’s everyone). I’ve lost count how many times I’ve heard the phrase: “Give it up to God.” And because I don’t have a strong religious background, I’m not quite sure how to do that. I suppose the next step is to seek some counseling.

I am still trying to figure out how to get over this completely. I am still trying to understand the article I came across that day in the human resources office. How does someone know that the person they’ve met on a website is safe? I suppose it’s just the same as meeting someone in person. You don’t truly know what they’re about until you really get to know them. I suppose it’s just the gamble. I just wish there was some form of certainty so your first or next blind date will not be one you’ll regret.

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