My Republican Hookup (or, Conference Scammin’)

     Hanging out with the girls.  It was 2 AM, so you know we weren’t discussing international politics.

      My friend was discussing the impending awkward Christmas dinner with her boyfriend’s conservative family members.  I expressed my sympathy.  

       “Would you knowingly have sex with a Republican?” she asked.

         “I’m so lonely and frustrated these days I’d probably fuck any man to the Left of Joseph Goebbels if he sent me a text promising to be at my apartment in 10 minutes.  But seriously?  Probably not.  I found out that the Surgeon gave thousands of dollars to John McCain and almost had a rage-stroke.  It was gross.”

       And that reminds me of a funny story!

       A few years ago I attended an academic conference–the biggest annual conference in my discipline.  Everyone in the field was there.  

       Now, I don’t want to give it away…but my field is old liberal white dudes.  It just is.  The reading list for my comprehensive exams had exactly one book by a female author on it.  It’s starting to change–my programs had plenty of female students–but the field is dominated by men.  Liberal men.  Democrats.  

       Well, after a long day of attending research presentations and panel discussions, I got together with my colleagues and we did what grad students often do: we got smashed (there was a moment of sheer terror when I was approached by my Dean at the hotel bar while I was drunk.  I hated the man, but I also worked for him, and he controlled the purse strings and my fellowship assistance.  I did not want to be drunk around him.  Speak as little as possible, I told myself, just shut the fuck up!  I got through it okay).  

        Then I did what I often did when I was a kool Swingle (swinging single, get it?) and not the sexually frustrated old lady I am today: I picked up a man at the hotel bar.

        A young man, about 30.  Handsome for an academic.  Especially an academic in my field.  That is actually what I thought when I met him: this guy is handsome, for being one of us.  Because people in my field are generally ugly motherfuckers.  We just are.  We are not as ugly as the poor jerks in the Philosophy department, but we are ugly, and we are dorks.  Ph.D. programs are never known for being populated by kool kats–it’s never been cool to be smart–but my field are bigtime nerds. 

        So…cute guy…let’s call him “Liam.”  He said that he was a freshly minted Ph.D. and on the tenure track at Penn State.  Penn State is a good school in my field.  I was impressed.  Quite a Young Turk here, I thought.  

        We launched into conversation easily (I wasn’t too drunk to be able to have a good discussion.  The fact that I can remember it all so clearly is testament to that.  You may not get it if you’re not in the habit of drinking yourself into obliteration).  We must have talked shop for a few hours, and I noticed something else about him: he was a bit smooth.  Not slick like my main squeeze the Surgeon–Liam wasn’t going to pull off giving a phone interview to the New York Times while getting his dick sucked by yours truly (hard to tell who gave the bigger blowjob: the reporter or me)–but, you know, he was a little smooth.  

       A little smooth for an academic.  Especially an academic in my field.  Nerds are not smooth.

        He knew a lot of stuff in the field.  Like I said, we were talking shop for hours.  He knew (of) the profs in my Department.  He inquired about them.  He knew all about the profs at Penn State.

        It was almost midnight.  I checked out with my colleagues, one of whom, my Canadian Friend who often leaves comments on this blog, were monitoring my progress across the bar.  

       Time to seal the deal. 

       “Want to show me your most recent publication?” I asked.  

        Oh yeah.  Talk nerdy to me, baby. 

        He immediately settled up with the barkeep and we took the elevator up to his hotel room, in which he had the hard copy of the scholarly journal in which he’d recently published a piece of peer-reviewed research and also joined the staff as an assistant guest editor.  

         I did not get around to critiquing his analyses. Or even reading it.  I did see it, however. 

       Liam was kinky as hell.  He was a masochist.  I’m not going to get too explicit, but I will report that I ended up beating him with the power cord to the hotel clothing iron and tying his dick up with the phone cord.  It was an academic conference, so I didn’t have any of my gear, you know?

      We finished up and made a date to get together again the following evening, after we finished attending our meetings and research presentations….

      I went back to my hotel room and crashed.

      The next morning, I fired up the Internet and decided to do a little research on Liam.  It wasn’t a Google-stalk…nothing inappropriate.  I was actually just going to look up his CV on his Department’s website so that I could learn more about his research interests and be better prepared to discuss them with him over dinner.  I was also going to read one of his articles and check out his quant skills.  

      I went to his Department’s website at Penn State…


      (can you see where I’m going with this…?)

      …..I couldn’t find him.

       A tenure-tracked professor, not listed by name anywhere on the Department webpage?

        Weird.  Very weird.  And the website was good and looked freshly-updated, as well. 

        His CV and mini-bio should be there.

        Weird.  So fucking weird.

        I started to dig.

        I couldn’t find hide nor hair of this guy.  No trace. 

        Then I remembered: the name of the peer-reviewed journal I’d seen in his hotel room last night!

         I went to its website and searched for an article by “Liam.” 

         No article.  What the fuck?

         I could access the entire journal through my university’s database.  I opened up first few pages and found a statement by the Editor in Chief…an introduction.

          In the introduction, the Editor in Chief welcomed the new assistant guest editor “Mike Fascist CheatingMcLiarPants.”

          I Googled this stranger, Mike Fascist CheatingMcLiarPants.

          And you KNOW what came up.  You KNOW what came up.  Gentle reader, I know that you know what I found.

           His name was not Liam.  It was Mike.  And like most competent liars, he mixed lies with the truth: he really was at Penn State…but not in the Department he told me that he was in.

           He was at the Law School.  Which explains the fact that he didn’t seem like an academic supernerd.  There are plenty of smart kids in law schools, but they are not like the Ph.D. kids.  They are a breed apart, like the med students.  

            Fascinated, I continued to Google.  

            He was married.  With a tiny kid.  

             Google.  Google google.  I have to tell you, I was not even mad.  I had no emotional investment in this person.  It wasn’t like with the Mathematician.  I was actually giggling and texting my friend all the updates as I learned more about Mike.  I wasn’t upset…I just felt like I was the victim of an epic practical joke.  And it seemed weird to me.  Weird, but funny.  Like something out of a movie.  I wasn’t angry.  Besides lying to me, Liam/Mike’s treatment of me was perfectly decent.

          Google.  Google google.

           I found a video of him.  An interview that he gave on his local television station. 

          I clicked it.

          It was an interview in which he defended Extraordinary Rendition   and the invasion of Iraq and waterboarding AND GITMO. 

           My arms broke out in gooseflesh.  I called my colleague down the hall and told him the Awful Truth.

            “I basically just fucked Alberto Gonzales!” I wailed. 

           Oh, the shame.  I don’t think that I’ll ever get over it.  

           I found the man’s politics much, much more troubling than his marital status (and for the record, he did NOT wear a ring or mention his family in any way). I’m not sure what that suggests about my moral character.  

            I cancelled our date, even though he wasn’t half bad in the sack.  I just couldn’t do it.  He voted for Bush.  Twice.  Gitmo?  Gitmo?  Really?  Do you know what a shithole that place is?  Even the soldiers can’t stand it there!

         And that is the story of my hookup with Mike, aka Alberto Gonzales Jr.

11 thoughts on “My Republican Hookup (or, Conference Scammin’)”

  1. Great story. Can I ask — because I’m naive about such things — at one point you learned he was a masochist? Did it seem like a vanilla hook-up that turned kinky in the bedroom. Or did you talk about this before? And how did he know that you were kinky too?

    That conversation comes up from time to time on Fetlife or Max Fisch — how to spot a kinky person in a vanilla setting — but there are never really any good answers. So, curious here.

    Enjoy the blog, as always — Michael

    1. As memory serves…please keep in mind that we were both drunk, so inhibitions were down…I was straddling him on the bed, both of us fully clothed, and paging through the hard copy of the journal he was telling me about. We were horsing around. He was teasing me and started to dig his fingers into my torso, where it’s ticklish for most people, you know (in retrospect, he was probably doing that so that I’d put the journal down and stop asking him about it)? I smacked him with the book and the second time I smacked him I said “Sorry, didn’t mean to do it so hard.”

      Again, please keep in mind we were drunk. Booze makes you babble.

      He was like, “You can do it harder.”

      So I started poking him all along his torso like he was doing to me, and I said, “What, you like?”

      Then we were roughhousing, and he told me that he’d been to Shibaricon. I honestly do not remember precisely what made him say that. But I remember, distinctly, Shibaricon.

      Then we were off to the races. I was telling my friend about it the next morning, and he was all, “THE CORD TO THE IRON? It’s like you’re Jack Bauer in 24! All ghetto-rigging torture devices!”

      yes, yes indeed

  2. The question of intellectual and political compatibility is really non-trivial. In fact I can honestly say that if I met a beautiful woman, the epitome of all my kink and fetish dreams, and she turned out to be a) stupid and b) politically right-wing I would pass.

    Part of the problem that I see in the blogs that I read is that people (alas men more often than women) are far too fixated on opening up their Mary Poppins bag of perveries and looking for a match while forgetting that there are other far more important things that are the basis for a functional relationship based on love and mutual respect.

    ‘Liam’ is a complete arsehole because in order to get what he wanted, he had to confabulate an identity that was false in every way, even down to his political ideals.

    The odd thing is, I can imagine telling the odd porkie to impress a woman and get laid, but lying about my political ideals is definitely not kosher.

    Ooops, I forgot, you’re a Yank. Translation from cockney rhyming slang:

    porkie = pork pie = lie

    1. Tony, I love this comment.

      I don’t know how Liam/Mike pulled it off in his mind, either. I’ve lied about my politics before whilst undercover for journalism pieces, and it was very difficult. I mean, I know enough to fake it, but when you actually have to say “Raising the minimum wage will result in higher unemployment” and “Labor unions are fascist” with a straight face, it gets very difficult. I’d freeze up.

      Liam was a total fraud. I could not believe the video I was watching where he defended torture and Gitmo. It was surreal. He was very aggressive about it, as lawyers are wont to be.

      A “functional relationship based on love and mutual respect.” Must be nice. Please enjoy it for me. And I mean that sincerely; I am not being sarcastic.

      So a porkie is like a fib? Do you say fib?

    2. Yep, a fib. My parents (both) used to freak me out as a kid by saying “You’ve got F I B written on your forehead” even when I was telling the truth.

      “Liam was a total fraud.”

      So a sort of political version of Dr Cockatoo Fraudster, no?

    3. ARGH! MY FOLKS DID THAT, TOO! My god, it’s easy to psych children out! I hope I never do that to a kid! It’s cruel!

      Actually, it’s not quite the same. My father would say, “It will be easier for all concerned if you tell me now” and stare at me like an owl that didn’t speak English. Too bad he devolved into a degenerate junkie, as it caused him to miss his true calling. He should have worked for the FBI or Homeland Security.

      I would be very curious to learn Dr. Cockatoo Fraudster’s politics. He was a highly intelligent man, but almost never shared his political opinions. In retrospect, the only reason that would be so is because they must have disagreed with my own and he wanted to keep the seduction going. And he went to Church, which I thought was very odd for an intellectual (Church of England). But then, the Surgeon attends as well.

      Liam didn’t hurt me. Even at the time I found the entire thing kinda comical, and a strange-but-true example of what some men will say and do to get laid. Perhaps I should have taken the lesson more to heart…maybe I could have avoided getting burned by the borrower of his neighbor’s exotic birds.

      A lawyer! “Tenure-track professor,” indeed! BWAHAHAHA!

      And I remember bitching about Chicago School economists at the bar and him not saying anything. HA! wonder why?

  3. Living as I do In The Reddest State Of All, I get a ton of experience just nodding and smiling – mostly when my (white) elderly patients spout off about how Obama is ruining the country (translation: “we are still freaked out that there is a Negro in the White House”). Curious that pretty much all of them are dependent on Social Security and – if they’re lucky – a pension. All of which would be history if the Right had its way.
    But the most disturbing of all is my Mom. Who wasn’t conservative when we were growing up. But just a few days ago she told me “I’m not going to donate any more money to the Republican Party” and I’m thinking YAY! I mean, I’d rather she donate it to some evangelist if she’s going to waste her money. Then she said “Ted Cruz is my new hero” and THAT is where she’s donating her money. I figure this should be evidence that she’s no longer competent to manage her affairs. It broke my heart a little. I hate to say it, but I just don’t love her quite as much as I used to, and that really bothers me.

    1. Anne, I sympathize.

      My own dear brother became a Republican (well, he’s an Independent, but he votes Republican most of the time now). I have no idea how it happened, as he’s an atheist and there are no Republicans in our family. I mean, they are all more conservative than myself, but even still…pro-labor Roosevelt Dems, you know?

      My brother got into hunting, and then he got into guns. We all have guns and my cop uncle probably has 10 guns, but my brother REALLY got into guns.

      …and you know what sort of politics gun nuts have. Oh boy, being in Texas, I’m sure you know alllllllll about it.

      I love my brother and he is a decent human being. It’s not like he spends Christmas dinner bitching about poor people and foreign aid. But he hates Obama. I’m not an Obama fanatic, but I don’t get it. My town was decimated by the foreclosures. The local economy was ravaged, I mean RAVAGED, there are neighborhoods that are like ghost towns. And my brother hates him for the stimulus package.

      I still love my brother very much, but now I can’t help but feel…that there is something wonky about his values system. I know maybe that sounds weird coming from ME…but yes, I just don’t feel as if I know him as well as I thought I did.

      So yes, I feel you, Anne. Sorry about your Mom.

    2. how could I know he was lying to me right off the bat? I dumped him as soon as I learned it was a fan of…well, Bush Jr.! And you must admit, it took a little sleuthing to track down the man’s real identity!

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