Mom Gets Marked

"i joined a dating app. I made an online dating profile."

"That's nice, dear," mom said, sounding a bit confused about why she needed to be in a good mood to hear this. "But don't you think you'll meet someone at Beaver State? I thought it was a party school!"

"No, Ma," I said icily. Time to drop the bomb. "The dating profile is for you."

Suddenly mom went quiet. She stopped the massage. After a minute of silence, she finally spoke again. To my surprise and delight, she didn't hate the idea.

"Oh Jessica, you never give up, do you?" she asked wryly, before adding, "I love that about you. It's one of your best qualities. So I'll go along with this, but you have to help me manage the damn thing. You know I don't --"

"Way ahead of you," I interrupted excitedly. "I will manage the account. You don't even need the app on your phone. I have it set up with my cell phone number. When a guy sees your dating profile and wants to ask you out. his text will go to me. I can text back and forth to check these guys out and block any losers so you'll never have to see them, talk to them, or even know they exist."

"I like the sound of that," my mother said. "But how are you going to know what guys I might want to date? What if you set up a date wirh some guy who isn't my type?"

"You should hope I do!" I fired back. "Your tyoe sucks, remember?"

For just a fraction of a second, I thought I saw regret flash across my mother's flawless face, an involuntary acknowledgement that her "type" was basically my dad -- and look how that turned out. He left her for a barstool. But my mother's pained expression left as quickly as it came and she even managed some rueful laughter. "Ok, you got me there. I guess I'll have to trust your process, huh?"

"That's what I want to hear!" I exclaimed giddily. "Let me do the work. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll give these guys the vibe check so you don't end up with some dusty-ass rando. But just remember -- I'm not trying to marry you off or anything! I just want you to catch a dick!"

I knew that last comment was a bridge too far for my prudish mother and the playful punch she delivered to my arm confirmed it. "Young lady!" she said with pretend shock. My mom knows I have a way of saying the quiet part out loud and she loves me for it, even if she could never lower herself to say such things. Mother is too ladylike to talk like that. Not me though.

"I said what I said, bro," I deadpanned, standing on business. I knew my mother hated being called "bro," which is why it was so funny.

"I'm not your bro, I'm your mom," she said with a smile.

"I know. I love you, mom," I said earnestly, showing her it was all in good fun. "What I meant to say is that I just want to find you a... suitor," I continued, amusing myself with old-timey lingo. "A beau, paramour, a gentleman caller, if you will."

"I won't," my mother replied, barely stifling a laugh. She was in in the joke. "I need you to find me a male companion, a courter, a... swain, if you will."

A swain! There's a word only the Boomer would come up with. Now we were both laughing out loud.

It wasn't until a few days later, after I was settled into my dorm to start the semester, that I finally pulled up the app to see if any, uh, swains had asked my mother for a date. Seeing numerous texts, I called August over, patting the seat next to me on our little couch. She had to see this shit show.

As I watched August stand up from the beanbag where she was lounging, I realized I'm crushing on this girl so hard. We are not just some random duo that the campus housing lottery happened to assign to the same room. August and I specifically asked to be roommates. We became friends two years ago when we sat next to each other in a seminar on French Feminism. Back then, I was struck by her confidence and intelligence. She still has all of that in spades, but now I am even more struck by her intensely sensual energy. August drips sex. She is a tall, wispy brunette with an adorable face and a short-cropped pixie haircut. But no matter how innocent she looks, with her big anime eyes and those little freckles across the bridge of her nose, I know she is far from some babe in the woods. Behind those girlish charms is a horny little she-devil waiting to come out and play. Everything she does -- even just getting to her feet and moving across the room to me -- is just so goddamn sexy. The way she smells, the way she walks, the naughty gleam in her eye... I can almost feel myself beginning to swoon.

"What's up, babe?" she asked me, her voice low and lyrical. We aren't dating or even hooking up -- no matter how often I dream about it. We are nothing more than friends. She calls lots of her friends "babe." She's like a flirty waitress. That's just how she talks.

"I'm trying to get my mother a date," I explained. "And I've discovered that the dating pool is shallow as fuck. These guys think they're texting my mother. They don't know I'm the one answering them. But come see the shit the entitled old fuckers write."

August fluttered down on the couch next to me with exaggerated femininity, a wine glass in one hand, the other sliding around my shoulder. Like I said, everything this girl does is so fucking sexy. "Show me," she said breathily.

I loved hearing August say those words, her voice warm and rippling like honey. "You're going to be deceased," I promised as I scrolled through the many unopened messages from men responding to my mother's profile. Sure enough, there were numerous texts from men who matched with mom's profile, but didn't believe she was real. They made the now-familiar litany of accusations that mom is really just some dude running a scam, or that her photos must be heavily filtered, or even that her entire profile is an AI-generated fake. "You look easy to draw," one of them said. That one made August laugh.

"You know your mom is gorgeous when men think her actual photos are fake!" she giggled. I look exactly like my mom. My cheeks turned crimson as I blushed at the implied compliment.

The men who didn't accuse Ellie of being a catfiish were even worse, bombarding her inbox with tedious come-ons. Most of them were the boring cliches for which unattractive men are notorious: "Hey babe," "You're hot," "What's up?" or even just an eggplant emoji. Why do these low-energy trolls even bother? We just skipped over those, searching for the creepiest and most absurd openings.

"Here's a good one," I said in a low-key way. It was a series of texts from the same guy, all before I had a chance to respond once, so I knew it would be wild, but I was playing playing it cool. If August knew me a little better, she would know what a dead give away that is. I was already getting in my own head about this girl but who could blame me? August is fucking hot, pun intended. She's got that tall, tight, flat-stomached thing that gives me all the feels. And something about her short hair and big lustrous eyes makes me weak. I never really understood the phrase "animal magnetism" until I was in August's presence, but holy shit do I get it now. It is as if she radiates sensuality. Just being near her gives me goosebumps.

August saw the text thread I was pointing to and began reading it aloud. I tried to keep a straight face but when she started imitating a man's voice I couldn't hold back my laughter and that only made her go deeper and gruffer with her delivery.

"Hey beautiful," August read from my phone. "I hear you like classic rock. I do too. I'll give you +2 points for that."

"At least he read the profile!" I said. "It's amazing how many guys do nothing but look at the pictures."

"Yeah, and he was so generous with his points,"' August responded with caustic sarcasm, rolling her eyes. "We all know how valuable those are."

With that, August went back to reading the texts, fully in character as a dumb-ass fuckboy. "My favorite classic rock song is 'The Stroke' by Billy Squier."

"OMG! Gross! He did NOT write that!" I interrupted. "He gets -2 points!"

Amber laughed, took an insouciant sip of her wine and then resumed reading. "I have two tickets to a Led Zeppelin cover band next weekend. If you get six more points, you can come with me. Text back to say 'thank you' and I'll tell you what you need to do to earn those tickets."

I tried to keep a straight face, but I just couldn't. This guy was so fucking crazy and listening to August read his texts in her "bro voice" was killing me. "Please!" I managed to sputter through my convulsions. "I can't breathe! This shit is too funny. I have to see this dude's bio. Who is this asshole?"

"I'm not done reading this asshole's texts," August protested. "There's more. But I'll read you his bio first. Let's see... His name is Gordy and, according to Gordy, he's 48, fit, and a member of the 6/6/6 Club."

"Gordy actually says that in his bio?" I howled. "I love it when men tell on themselves! He's probably 5'9", works at Walmart and on his best day he's packing 3 and a quarter inches."

Now August was the one cracking up. She had to put down her wine glass she was laughing so hard. I think she liked making fun of men and I was discovering that maybe I do too. I certainly enjoyed taking the piss out of fucking Gordy.

"Ok, ok, here's his next text," August said once she regained her composure. Getting back into character, she continued reading. "I'm going to have to take those +2 points away, little lady."

"Oh no!" I feigned horror. "Now mom needs 8 points before she can go watch a Robert Plant impersonator belt out songs from before she was born with Gordy and his fucking 3 incher. Whatever will she do?"

August almost broke up in more laughter, but she managed to keep it together and continue reading. "I don't know why you would join a dating app, invite men to shoot their shot, and then not reply when a great guy shows interest. I admit you're beautiful, which is why I'm going to give you a second chance, but you need to improve your attitude. Respect is key. You're not off to a good start."

This time, I didn't have a quip ready to go. I was actually speechless for a moment, just in awe of this man's sense of entitlement. Even though the text wasn't overtly hostile, I could tell that Gordy is tapped in the fucking head for sure. He has the gall to think he can control an adult woman, whom he has never even met, with his absurd made-up "points." He apparently thinks he deserves respect for doing nothing. And I know what that "great guy" comment means -- it means he's some incel misogynist egomaniac assface who thinks he's a "nice guy" whom women overlook because we're all just fickle sluts who want "bad boys."

August broke the silence. "Gordy, who hurt you?" she asked rhetorically, shaking her pretty little head. "But don't worry, babe, there's more. This guy isn't done. He's about to go full Bye Felipe."

I braced myself for Gordy's next missive. I don't know how I kept my shit together when August shifted back into her comically fake man voice as she continued reading Gordy's texts.

"Well you blew it," she said slowly and stupidly. "No points for you at all. I gave you a second chance, but I guess your too much of a stuck up bitch to write back to me."

"It's 'you're,' Gordy," August interjected drily in her normal voice before getting back in character. I think my heart skipped a beat. This girl gets me.

"This is why you can't get a man," she continued. "You think no man is good enough, even a big-dicked winner like me. You think your [sic] special. You think you are a queen. But you are a fucking bitch. You'll figure that out yourself when it's too late and your beauty is gone and no man wants your dried up old pussy. Die alone you fucking bitch!"

"Goddamn!" I said. "Bro is triggered!"

"Bro is fucking fragile," August said scornfully before tapping the screen on my phone. "Blocked!"

"Good call," I said as I spun a strand of my pink hair around one finger. "Obviously I'm not setting my mom up with that fucking psycho. I knew that dating sucks and men are trash heaps, but this shit is extra."

"For real," replied August while she scrolled through my phone looking for the next douchy text to read.

I poured myself a glass of wine, refilled hers, and settled in for the night as we took turns reading texts from men looking to date my mother. We had no shortage of material to keep us drinking and laughing for hours.

We must have read texts from 100 men, but they were all dullards, red-pilled man-babies, awkard weirdos, or just pieces of crap. August kept sipping her wine and making a running commentary on their mansplaining bullshit. After experiencing so many losers, I was beginning to rethink this whole fucking app, but then my roommate found a text from a man who stands out from the crowd.

"Ayo," she hollered. By this point, we were both tipsy and boisterous. "Here is a guy who's on his own shit. Check him out."

I followed her extended finger to a text from "Mark_U."

"Hi, my name is Mark, nice ro meet you," he began. It was a bare-bones opener, but the bar is on the floor for men in the online dating world. Toxic men filling your inbox with their rage, mommy issues and unwanted dick pics are so ubiquitous that a man who can introduce himself politely makes a bitch want to say, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

He followed it up with some self-deprecating humor. "I've been told I'm a 'serious' person, but recently it seems like life is a joke and I'm the punchline. I'm a supervisor for a big contracting outfit. Picture me as the guy driving around the job site on a sweaty summer day in a company truck, never getting out, rolling down the window now and then to shout at some underling, then quickly rolling it back up so the air conditioning doesn't escape, all while sipping a Blue Collar Mimosa out of a thermos. That's me. But I didn't know until recently that there are dozens of YouTube and TikTok videos devoted to making fun of guys like me. Anyhow, I figure if I'm a joke, I might as well find a good woman to share the laughs. How about I take you to dinner? You choose the restaurant. I'll pick you up in my truck. When you get in, try not to let the A/C out."

"Good one, Mark_U," August groaned. "I see what you did there."

"Hey! Be nice to Mark_U, he might be my future step-father," I said, pretending to get defensive.

August just gave me a look.

"Come on," I cajoled her, when we finally regained our composure. "This guy didn't call my mother a 'bitch' and didn't murder the English language. He deserves +2 points right there!"

"Oh my Goddess, you didn't just bring back fucking 'points,' did you?" August nearly spat out her wine and we both fell into a fresh round of silly laughter.

"Ok, ok, no points," I relented. "But I'd say he earned a first date."

"Did you even read his bio yet, you eager little slut?" August shot back at me with a smirk.

For a moment, I felt as if August could see right through me. Her words hit me hard because I am exactly that: an eager little slut for her. I can't help myself. She's just so hot and fuckable, with that super short haircut that accentuates her perfect face. But then I realized she's right. I had to read the dude's bio before I could approve him dating my mother. I clicked the link, but there wasn't much there. He had just one photo, with a three-word caption: Single Christian Contractor. The photo showed a burly, bearded man wearing sunglasses, a Carhartt vest and a hardhat. He looked like a man who knew how to work with his hands. I approved of that. On the other hand, there's a good chance this "Single Christian Contractor" is a Trump voter, and I don't approve of that. Not by a long shot. But Trump wasn't wrong when he called dating his "personal Vietnam." Just reading the texts in mom's inbox felt like taking a fucking tour of duty. I couldn't let my mother go through that -- the woman should get a medal for what she already went through with my broke-ass booze-bag of a father. At least Mark had a job and could string a coherent sentence together. I decided to give him a chance. "Ok, I read his bio. He passes the vibe check. He's datable."

"Smashable?" August asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Datable," I repeated with a chuckle.

"Fine," August said, "now let's go out so I can try to get a hot chick like your mom. All this wine is making me horny. I need to get scissored tonight."

Hearing August talk so frankly about casual sex was making me feel like the ultimate Pick Me Girl, but I did my best to stay chill and appear indifferent. I sent a quick reply to Mark_U, accepting his invitation and telling him I would like to be wined and dined at Vincent's, a fancy schmancy Italian place that recently opened downtown. I liked this guy's disarming sense of humor, but I also wanted him to know that my mother is a classy lady, not some high-body count ho you can take to Burger King. After hitting send on my text to Mark, I put my phone away and jumped in the shower to get ready for a night out with August. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but she did say she wants a hottie like my mom. I'm blushing again.

The next day, I slept until early afternoon. When I awoke, I had the room to myself. August was already at the gym, which was impressive considering how much she drank the night before. August and I had made an appearance at several off-campus soirées. We met up with a few friends, had more wine and danced our asses off, but noone got lucky. We ended up stumbling home a few hours before sunrise and passing out in our separate beds.

I had some homework to get started, but first I sent my mom a text to let her know I already scored a date for her. "Friday night," I wrote, "you're going to dinner at Vincent's. Your date's name is Mark, he's a bit older, seems like a real charmer. I can come home to babysit Tyler!" I loved being back at college, but I was still only a half hour drive from home. My mother loves having me so nearby and I have to admit I love it too. I would hate to be away from her and I would especially hate being away from my baby brother.

The week seemed to crawl by slowly. It didn't help that I kicked it off with that hangover. At my age, they're supposed to be easy to get over, and that's usually true, but I really got carried away the night August and I hit the town. We didn't hook up, though, so I guess I didn't drink enough. When Friday rolled around, I invited her to come back home with me while I babysat Tyler. I figured there's no better prop for attracting a woman than a cute baby, and Tyler is the cutest. He still has baby fat all over: his chin, his cheeks, even his wrists and elbows are chubby. He is irresistible chick bait. Unfortunately, August said she couldn't make it, but she would help me babysit the next time mom needs me.

A rain check is better than nothing. It would have been nice to bring August home to meet my mother and baby brother, but I'm not complaining about having that little guy all to myself. I don't like sharing him anyway! He is too beautiful. I love him so much it hurts. He's just two years old, but I can scarcely remember life before him.

When I finished my last class for the day, I headed to the dorm to grab my phone charger before going home to take over for mom so she can start getting ready for her date. Inside the room, August was lounging on her beanbag in some short shorts, playing a Taylor vault track loudly, her lips pulling on a live rosin vape cart. She exhaled flamboyantly and handed it to me. "Happy Friday, babe!" she said as our fingers touched. How could I say no? I took several short pulls and then a deep one, drawing the Guava Now N Later vapor deep into my lungs before exhaling a silky white cloud. I didn't want to

overdo it -- August is a legit stoner, but I'm still just a neophyte.